Desclaimer: This is the last time I'm going to say this, since I think all of you had already got the point; only the plot is mine. The rest belongs to JKR.

Author's Rambling: As you see, I am very much alive, meaning I have passed my math finals. Hooray for me!

This chapter is dedicated to my cat, which I have tripped over a score-breaking number of five times today, two of which were at the staircase. I take this as a hint, and humbly dedicate this to her before she'll cause me to break my neck, or something.

Third Chapter, in which Draco is evil and scheming, Kingsley is all drill-sargent-y (maybe too much. Army, anyone?), and Harry is mostly out of breath. Some angst, too.

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Draco fell into routine faster than he had expected; a whole week had passed by already, and now, Saturday morning, Draco felt as though he had been a sixth year forever.

Wake up, half an hour before anyone else, run, shower, go to breakfast, glare at Potter over toast and tea. Then go to class, write down notes (if Potter's in the class as well, glare at him a little more for good measure), go to the next class, go to lunch. Eat, talk to Blaise and Pansy, throw dark looks at Potter in between sentences (if they had Potions that day, be glared at by Potter, since Snape turned a blind eye to whatever antics Draco was up to). More classes, do homework at the library, think of elaborated, painful ways to kill Potter, eat dinner, go to sleep.

It was quite boring, actually.

Now, it was Saturday, so early (by free days' terms) that only Draco was awake, and he just couldn't manage to go back to sleep.

He switched to his back, but after staring at the ceiling of the four-poster for a few minutes, he decided it was futile. He wasn't going to fall asleep again.

He got out of bed, pulling his robes over his nightclothes. He slipped his feet into a pair of shoes, grabbed a book and headed out, deciding a little fresh air would be just the ticket right now.

The corridors were empty, and his footsteps sounded too loud, echoing from the stone floor and the walls. Draco, feeling exposed (although who he had to hide from here, Salazar knew), muttered a quick silencing charm and allowed himself a little smile when the sound was gone.

He pushed open the front doors, intending to find a dry spot somewhere near the lake and read for a while, until everyone woke up.

But as he approached the lake, he saw someone had beaten him to that thought.

The black mop of hair was unmistakable, even from this distance, and Draco stopped, scowling. Just when he wanted some peace and quiet, the boy-who-lived-to-be-a-nuisance had to happen along and ruin it for him.

The Gryffindor was sitting with his back to Draco, hugging his knees. He was wearing a faded red jumper over his trousers, a few sizes too large. He was completely unaware of Draco, staring forlornly at the lake.

Oh, bad move, Potter, Draco thought. Didn't your overgrown Auror bodyguard teach you anything? Like not to sit with your back to the castle, where anyone could walk up to you unheeded and hex you?

He fingered his wand. In fact, why not hex him now? No one was around to interfere, to point out to Potter that Draco was right behind him, aiming a wand at his head. No one would know. After he was done, Draco could just sneak up to the castle, slip back into his bed, and pretend he was asleep all morning.

His hand shook, his fingers curled so tight around his wand that his knuckles turned white. What should he use? Something slow, painful, something that wouldn't appear straight away; days, weeks would pass before Potter would start feeling something was wrong.

Draco has read about those kind of curses, in one of the ancient tombs he had extracted from his father's library; curses that would slowly eat the victim from inside, curses that would poison him slowly, so sweetly. All time triggered, all promising an excruciating, unhurried death, after a long, long time of torture.

Should he choose something that would burn him alive, turn his blood to fire in his veins? Or maybe something that would make his lungs constrict a little more with each passing day, like a belt tightening one hole at a time, until his lungs would fail and he would choke to death?

His hands were shaking so badly now. It's the taste of victory, Draco, he told himself. It's satisfaction that makes you tremble like this.

Not fear, of course not. What do you have to fear?

All untraceable, all forgotten and incurable, unless you knew the specific curse. The voice in his thoughts was starting to sound more and more like his father.

Hex him, Draco. Avenge me. Avenge our humiliation. Your humiliation.

Don't be a fool, another voice spoke up suddenly. You don't know what protection charms Dumbledore's put on him. You don't even know if you can cast those curses.

He almost dropped his wand along with his hand. It wasn't relief he felt, naturally. He wanted revenge, he wanted to hurt Potter. Just, now wasn't a good time.

Yes, he should've seen it before. He'll need to research first, to practice, to find out what spells Dumbledore had placed on Potter. As far as he knew, his curse could've bounced right back at him.

Mind busy, Draco turned around and walked quickly back to the castle. He had plenty to do before the other students would wake up. He needed to read about protection charms.

He put his wand back in a pocket. Not that he was afraid to drop it or anything. It was just much more comfortable.

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Noon found him in the library, browsing the shelves for helpful information. An impressive stack of books was already discarded on a table, along with a few parchments covered in Draco's small and neat handwriting. When Pansy came in, looking for him ("really, Draco, homework on Saturday?" she said, wrinkling her nose, after telling him she'd already been to the grounds and the Quidditch Pitch), he had pretty much everything he needed, at least for now.

As he sat down for lunch, he caught sight of Potter, who had just entered. Delighted with himself and unable to control it, he smirked at him. Potter looked up, meeting his eyes, and blinked, looking startled. As his eyes narrowed in suspicious, Draco's smirk widened, and he looked away.

Finally, he thought. At last, I'm starting to act.

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The next day, he bumped into Potter in the corridors. In that split second when he pretended to tumble, he slipped his wand into his hand from where he was hiding it inside his sleeve, and whispered an incantation he had found the day before.

Then he straightened, assuming an angry face "watch were you're going, you idiot! Are you that near-sighted that you can't even see the people walking in front of you?"

As Potter scowled, rubbing his side, where Draco's wand had been pressed into him, Draco walked away. He turned to look after Potter a few steps after.

The spell was harmless, in its self. It merely showed what protection charms a specific person was under. Draco had the spell write the names of the different charms on a piece of parchment that was currently tucked safely inside his bag. As he looked, Potter began to glow, soft at first, but increasing rapidly.

No one else would see the glow, of course, only the castor. The Gryffindor began to sparkle, red turning to yellow turning to blue turning to purple, and Draco felt disheartened.

So many charms, he thought. So many spells. It would take me ages to remove all of them.

Then Granger turned and caught him looking, and he quickly turned away and hurried down the corridor.

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Figures Dumbledore would do something like this.

Draco was sitting on his bed in the dormitory, a few books he had checked out from the library earlier spread out before him.

After the fiasco of last year, he would want to make sure Potter was as protected as he could be.

He studied the parchment the spells were written on. He hadn't even heard about half of those, and the ones he had recognized, well, Dumbledore must've been the one to cast them. It was hopeless.

In an act of anger, he pushed all the books of the bed. They tumbled to the floor in a mess of open pages and crumpled paper.

"Damn," Draco muttered, "Madam Pince will kill me".

He bent to pick up the books when something caught his eye. The cover of one book, already old, was torn a little when he flung it to the ground. And underneath the leather cover, a piece of parchment peeked.

Draco raised his eyebrows "well, what do we have here?"

Carefully, he freed a little more of the cover and pulled the paper out. It was yellowed and ancient looking, with spidery writing sprawled all over it in faded ink.

He frowned and bent closer, squinting at the words. After reading a few sentences, his mouth dropped open.

This was exactly what he needed. A spell that will slowly dissolve any protection spells on a person, eating away at them until the victim is left bare and ready for the kill.

It couldn't be a coincidence. It was too strange to be a coincidence.

Too wonderful, Draco corrected himself.

No matter what it was, it was just in time. It would take a long time, months even, but Draco had time. He had plenty of time.

It seems the gods of fate had enough of you, Potter. Draco smiled to himself as he mended the book and started studying the incantation.

They're with me now.

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The first week couldn't have gone any slower for Harry.

First of all, Dumbledore called him up to his office during lunch on Monday, and told him Kingsley would be giving him special lessons, starting this evening. Harry, apparently, would also have to resume his Occlumency lessons.

"I won't," he said flatly, his hands clenching into fists "not with Snape".

"Professor Snape, Harry. And yes, I assumed as much. I would be the one to teach you".

"I don't trust you either".

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and then he sighed, looking very old and tired. Harry never noticed how wrinkled his face was before, how fragile the bones in his hands. He almost regretted his words, but not enough to take them back.

"Harry-I… I realize you're angry with me. You have every right to be. But we all make mistakes, even me".

Harry folded his arms across his chest "Sirius' death was my fault, but it wouldn't have happened if you had told me the truth".

The Headmaster closed his eyes "I understand you think you can't trust me now, but-"

"I can learn to trust you again, if I'll know I can. No more secrets, Professor. If I'm the one supposed to end all of this, if I'm the only one who can, it's my right".

Dumbledore looked as though he might cry.

"Alright, Harry," he bowed his head. "No more secrets".

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His first lesson with Kingsley was tiring, but satisfying. It seemed Dumbledore had gained permission from Fudge to give Harry Auror training. Kingsley didn't waste time on talking, but started working and testing Harry right away.

"You have good reflexes," the Auror said approvingly, when he told Harry he could stop at last. Harry nearly collapsed to the floor, panting.

"Very good, even," he continued, "but you're terribly out of shape. You shouldn't even be breathing heavily after this, but you're all over the floor".

"Am not" Harry protested weakly, but was ignored by Kingsley.

"You have a natural ability for anything DADA related. The fact that you managed to master the Patronus charm in your third year proves it beyond doubt. But," Harry cringed, "you know only the basics. None of what you've learned so far will help you against Death Eaters. And that," he smiled "is where I come in".

Harry didn't like the evil gleam in his eye.

"From now on, starting today, you will do fifty push-ups every morning. You will do a hundred sit-ups. You will join me for my morning jog. This is not a recommendation; I am not giving you any choice in the matter. When I feel you are ready, I will start teaching you martial arts".

Harry groaned.

Kingsley continued, without any mercy "you will meet me by the front doors tomorrow at five A.M. sharp". At Harry's disbelieving look, he added, "tardiness will not be accepted. This is not a game, Harry. Your life may depend on it".

"Now, start doing the exercises I gave you. After you have finished- and if they are satisfactory- we will start learning shielding charms".

He was right. This wasn't a game. Harry nodded at him and dropped to his stomach.

"One," Kingsley started counting, and Harry pushed himself up, "good. Two…"

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He dragged himself out of bed at twenty minutes to five Tuesday Morning, brushed his teeth and put on his clothes. He met the Auror next to the front doors at two minutes to five. After a set of warming exercises, Kingsley straightened.

"Right. Now, lets run to Hogsmead".

"You've got to be joking," Harry boggled at him. Kingsley looked as though he wouldn't recognize a joke if it had run past them now, wearing Tonks' bright orange T-shirt.

"Bugger," Harry said, and started running after Kingsley.

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The rest of the week was more or less like that, with Harry receiving Auror lessons from Kingsley every evening and Occlumency lessons from Dumbledore twice a week. He staggered after Kingsley every morning, while the Auror literally ran laps around him. He almost fell asleep in his breakfast in the first three days. His waking hours were crowded, one thing following another, and not leaving him almost any time to himself.

Saturday couldn't have come sooner.

He had to wake up early today, too, but Kingsley had given him an entire hour more to sleep. Harry could've kissed him, and then found himself thinking he was pathetic, if he felt that ecstatic about having to get up at six rather than five.

After the run, though, he decided to stay outside. The weather was nice, and the lake peaceful and beautiful to look at. The grass looked inviting.

"Go inside," he told Kingsley, who was hovering impatiently beside him. "Really. I'll be fine. What could happen?"

After the Auror left reluctantly, muttering about coming to check on Harry in an hour, Harry walked over to sit beside the water. He hugged his knees, resting his head on them.

I have so much homework to do, he thought. He didn't have time to finish them all during the week. But for now it was nice to have a little time to himself, to pretend he was just a regular boy.

He sat there for a long time, lost in thoughts. When he stood up and turned to go, he noticed the grass was trampled a little way from where he sat, like someone had stood there a while.

Kingsley must've been to check on me, he thought, and didn't wonder about it anymore.

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At lunch, he was picking at his food when he felt eyes on him. He raised his head, meeting Draco Malfoy's eyes, staring right into his. The Slytherin was looking terribly smug, he thought, but after Malfoy turned away, Ron said something to him, and he forgot about it.

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The next day, he, Ron and Hermione were hurrying to the Library between classes. "I can't believe you, Harry" Ron was ranting. "Since when do you care about essays? Since when do you go to the library!? Don't go all Hermione on me, mate, one is enou- Ow, Hermione, that hurt!"

"Well I, for one, unlike some unsophisticated people in this corridor," Hermione said coolly, throwing a nasty look at Ron, "think this is great. You've finally seen the importance of studying, Harry. Good for you".

Harry rolled his eyes "I've already explained this to you, Ron. I have no other time to do this".

"Ah, yeah. I forgot" Ron said, smiling sheepishly.

"I'm glad you can" Harry muttered, somewhat bitterly, and Hermione patted him sympathetically on the arm while glaring at the redhead again.

Just then, someone walked into him. He raised his head, about to apologize, and met Malfoy's sneering face.

"Watch were you're going, you idiot! Are you that near-sighted that you can't even see the people walking in front of you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes, rubbing his side, where Malfoy had hit him with his elbow, as the blonde stalked off.

"He has very sharp elbows," he commented, wincing.

Hermione, though, was looking past him, a suspicious expression on her face.

"He's staring at you," she said, frowning. "And he's looking expectant- now he's looking annoyed".

Harry looked behind him, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

"Come on," he said, "forget it. We won't be able to stop at library if we don't hurry".

After all, it wasn't like Malfoy had actually done anything. He probably just waited to see if Harry would start a fight, or something.

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Err, was Kingsley over-doing it? I wasn't really sure about it. But look, Plot device! Plus, it gets Harry all muscle-y and hot, so why not, right?