A/N: A brief note on Japanese: The -ko suffix designates a female child's name. Akiko (ah-KEE-koh) means "girl-child of the autumn"; Kiko, therefore, is merely a truncation and not to be confused with Keiko (KAY-ko), meaning "loving daughter". Sakura (sa-KOO-rah) means "cherry blossom", and in the Shinto pantheon, Uzume (oo-ZOO-may) was the goddess of happiness and joy, a figure somewhere between the Greek Bacchus and the Norwegian Loki. (Etymologically, Uzume means "whirling", but I quite fell in love with the name and I'm disinclined to change it.) In the Japanese educational system, Daigakuin are undergraduate colleges, and Daigakuin Daigaku are graduate schools. Wazuma is Japanese stage magic, slight-of-hand and the like.

By the time the opening feast rolled around, Harry Potter was truly ruing the day that he'd allowed Hermione, Ron, and Mrs. Weasley to persuade him to return to Hogwarts. While having the run of the entire Hogwarts Express to share with what could have been no more than 40 other students had its benefits—lots of legroom, almost no Slytherins worth worrying about, no run-ins with unfriendly prefects—those same benefits did not apply to the nigh-empty Great Hall. There were so few students that all of them fit at one table, the other three having been magicked away over the summer. Hufflepuff barely had enough students remaining to muster a full Quidditch squad; of the Gryffindors in his year, only he, Hermione, Ron, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom remained. Hermione had been named Head Girl (to no one's surprise but her own), and Anthony Goldstein of Ravenclaw had been named Head Boy. (This last news caused Ron a considerable bit of consternation, but at last he reckoned that ever since Percy had worn the Head Boy badge, it was probably cursed.)

"Five first years, blimey; they don't really need us prefects, do they?" Ron said under his breath as the first years marched in for sorting with Professor Flitwick, the new Deputy Headmaster. After what Hermione pointed out was the shortest sorting ceremony recorded in Hogwarts: A History (in which Kevin Creevey, a third Creevey brother, and Elise O'Connor, a wide-eyed Muggle-born, were sorted into Gryffindor), McGonagall rose to her feet at the staff table to say a few words. Harry noted grimly that a few of the staff, in addition to Snape, appeared to have departed with equal haste as the majority of the student body. Slughorn had returned, surprisingly, although he continued to steal furtive glances at McGonagall as though he hoped to slink off while she wasn't looking. Only one new face had appeared, a woman who looked slightly familiar but whom Harry couldn't place.

"Due to the dangers inherent in having so many students outdoors, Quidditch has been cancelled," McGonagall added, snapping Harry's wandering attention back to her with a jolt.

"Oh, come on; you can't say you're surprised," interjected Hermione in a dismissive whisper, and he nodded tersely.

"As you may have noticed, we now have had several changes on the staff in light of recent...losses. I am now Headmistress, but I shall continue to teach Transfiguration as usual," she stated.

"Thank heaven," Hermione breathed.

"Professor Flitwick of Ravenclaw has taken on the position of Deputy Headmaster, and Professor Slughorn has graciously accepted the responsibilities of Head of House for Slytherin House." Slughorn smiled, a grim, forced leer that suggested that either dinner hadn't agreed with him, or that his acquiescence to McGonagall's request was anything but gracious.

"We have also retained, for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, Professor Sakura Uzume, late of Wazuma Daigakuin Daigaku of Sapporo, Hokkaido, Japan."

The woman seated in the Defense Against The Dark Arts Professor's chair rose to her feet beside McGonagall and waved, a rather cheeky gesture in Harry's judgment. She wore resplendent, high-necked robes of teal brocade, and her thick, shining black hair was pulled back into a high series of buns and swoops, laced throughout with cherry blossoms and black enameled chopsticks. She had merry-looking, slanted brown eyes, and what little skin they could see looked like fine china, making her resemble an extremely lifelike and incredibly fragile porcelain doll.

"That's Sakura Uzume? The Sakura Uzume? The Japanese witch Charlie brought to the wedding?" Hermione whispered.

"Yeh. They're really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one," Ron muttered.

"Ron, don't you read Advances in Defense Against The Dark Arts? She's one of the world's foremost experts in combat magic; she's written loads of innovative articles," Hermione replied with a hint of exasperation.

"Rita Skeeter's written a load of innovative articles, too, but they're not necessarily useful," Ron retorted. "She can't be that strong in Defense, can she? Just a little tiny Japanese lady."

Hermione stared at him, incredulous. "Haven't you learned anything, Ron? Outward appearances are deceiving! I mean, look at the people we know, like Sirius--" she backtracked, knowing it was a sore subject with Harry, "erm, like your mum! She looks like a happy sweet little lady, but she really can give you what-for!"

"C'moff it, Hermione! She looks like she'd break if you dropped her!"

"Oh, you're hopeless," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes.

While they had been bickering, Harry's mind had wandered back to where he had last seen the Japanese witch. Mrs. Weasley, Ron, and Hermione were sitting across the table from him; Bill and Fleur had already left the reception and the torches were burning low. "Dear, you have to return to Hogwarts, at least until the holidays. We'll all be ever-so-worried," Mrs. Weasley was fretting. Her words washed over him uselessly.

"If not for your own safety, then at least do it for strategic purposes. We both know there's no place that Voldemort wants more—oh, for Heaven's sake," Hermione had said exasperatedly as both Mrs. Weasley and Ron flinched. Harry hadn't noticed, he was looking over their shoulders to where Charlie Weasley was standing, with three witches who were speaking in hushed tones with several members of the Order: a short, slender, merry-looking one with honey-colored braids that he had recognized as Lee Jordan's elder sister Saundra; a tall, angular, sharp-edged one with severe-looking, peppermint-green eyes and deep crimson spiral curls, so dark they were almost maroon; and a willowy, merry-looking Oriental witch, with thick black hair and a sapphire-colored satin kimono.

"Ron's got a point, Hermione. We've never had a competent woman professor in Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry commented.

Over the summer, Harry had learned to take their bickering in stride, appreciating it as a bit of an art that was entertaining to watch, but even more entertaining to prod in the directions he wanted it to go. This time, Hermione took his bait and drew herself up to her full, seated height, her bushy hair quivering. "Just because Dolores Umbridge was a pea-brained hag, that doesn't mean that all witches are."

"Well, she's assigned Umbridge's book, didn't she?" Ron accused. "Defensive Magical Apathy, by Wilbert Slimehard, World-Class Prat. Oh, that's going to be a really thrilling class. Ripping. Brilliant. And first thing tomorrow morning, too. I might skive off the very first day, honestly."

"Ronald Weasley, YOU. ARE. A. PREFECT." Hermione enunciated each word as a separate sentence. There was a dangerous pause, after which she tutted dismissively, "Besides, the bookstore probably got it wrong."

"When has Flourish and Blotts ever got anything wrong?" Harry asked. Hermione pointedly ignored him, applying herself to renewed vigor to listening to McGonagall, who was now going over new security proceedings.

"In the absence of ... our former headmaster; there are many who believe that He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers will be attacking with renewed fervor. The Ministry of Magic has made some...modifications...to Hogwarts in an effort to ensure your safety." Harry noted the disdain in her voice, and, recalling the last time the Ministry had made any modifications to Hogwarts, gulped. "In order to cut down on unnecessary time in the halls, a team of technicians from the Ministry has installed an internal Floo network inside the castle so that students may Floo from their common rooms directly to their classes. Students are not to use the corridors unless absolutely necessary. We've put further shields and wards on the school; however, I must warn you that under no circumstances is any student to attempt to take on You-Know-Who or any of his followers." McGonagall peered severely over her spectacles at the table of them. "Failure to comply will result in severe penalties to yourself and your House. "

Well, Harry thought to himself, There's yet another rule I'll just have to break.

Shortly thereafter, McGonagall shooed all the students off to their common rooms, but asked the Prefects to stay behind. Neville was talking with Luna in the back of the queue, which left Harry alone to wander back to Gryffindor Tower. "Shibboleth," Harry muttered to the Fat Lady, who swung open a crack just small enough to admit him and slammed shut rather quickly, almost trapping Harry's robes.

With only five or six students in it, the common room seemed positively dismal, and so Harry ascended the stairs to the seventh-year boys' dormitory, seriously contemplating climbing astride his Firebolt and pulling a Weasley.

These thoughts were interrupted when he found Hedwig sitting on his bed atop a large box and a letter. He reached out absently to stroke her, and was completely shocked when the white owl bit his finger, hard, drawing crimson blood.

"Oi!" Harry cried crossly. "What was that for?" Hedwig settled back down on the box and the letter, and he reached out for them, picked them up, and moved them to his desk. He turned back to the bed to sit down.

This time, Hedwig shot straight for him, resentfully hooting and flapping her wings about his head like a large snowy bat. "Look, I don't want to be locked up here any more than you do!" Harry shouted at her as she fussed around his face, landing a particularly nasty nip on his ear. "All right, I'll open it, but only if you sod off!" He tore open the letter and waved it at her. "There, you see? I've opened it!" he snapped, and slammed open the window with a bang. "Honestly."

Hedwig flew out the window, with a furious hoot of righteous indignation. Still grumbling, Harry settled himself on his bed and looked at the letter.

It was on a rather garish-looking letterhead, from the barrister's firm of Blackstone, Dowery, Habeas, and Limine, L.L. W.B., motto: Quando legis haesito, nunquam legis exsisto . Flashy text at the top advertised, alternatingly, that William Blackstone was fluent in Legalese, that Gideon Habeas was an expert in estate law, and that Clytemnestra Dowery and Doreen Limine were certified members of the Wizengamot bar. Harry snorted—his opinion of the Wizengamot was rather low, owing to the fact that in over a year, no one had filed an inquiry into Stan Shunpike's placement in Azkaban.

The form letter was addressed to

Master/Mistress Harry James Potter, Esq.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Gryffindor Tower, 7th Year Boys' Dormitory

In The Matter of: The Estate of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Dear Master/Mistress Potter,

Your name was mentioned in the last will and testament of Albus P.W.B. Dumbledore. You were left the following items, which are/are not /are partially enclosed:

The contents of the desk of Severus Snape
Custody of one (1) phoenix, Fawkes (phoenix not enclosed, see below)
One (1) Pensieve (Pensieve not enclosed, see below)
One (1) personal letter
One (1) map
One (1) necklace

Should you accept the above items, please send the attached acceptance paperwork by return owl at your leisure/as soon as possible/yesterday.

Once again, Blackstone, Dowery, Habeas, and Limine are truly sorry for your loss.

Yours sincerely,

G. F. M. Habeas, I.F.P.W.B.

Gideon Fullilove Marbury Habeas
Member, International
Federation of Practicing
Wizard Barristers

Phoenixes are Class E magical creatures that cannot be delivered by owl unless directly signed for and received by recipient. Ministry of Magic Owl Safety Decree #125
Pensieves are Class H magical objects that are private and cannot be carried by magical creatures of any kind. All Class H magical objects must be delivered by a Ministry-licensed courier. Ministry of Magic Privacy Decree #713

Harry crushed the parchment facedown into the soft surface of his bed. He didn't want Dumbledore's things to be his. He wanted them to still be Dumbledore's. Reading the letter would only mean something if it told Harry how to bring Dumbledore back from the dead; which was doubtful. Having Fawkes around would be useful, but it would only serve to emphasize that his owner, Dumbledore, was no longer alive. But still, he couldn't decline the items. He decided that he would send the paperwork tomorrow: there could be no possible way he could Floo to the Owlery this late, and Hedwig was in such high dudgeon that she wouldn't be returning this evening.

He really didn't want to open the box; not even the prospect of setting fire to Snape's belongings held even the slightest interest for him. Listlessly, he sat, and imagined what the letter might say; some drivel perhaps, about how "death was but the next great adventure." He had no use for a necklace, and the map would only make him even angrier that he was stuck here at school.

Just then, Ron burst into the room, disgruntled. "They're making Prefects do rounds in the corridors all night long," the redhead complained. "Pain in my arse, that…"

Harry showed Ron the letter. "What's he on about, leaving you the contents of Snape's desk?" Brown eyes peered at Harry over the top of the letter. "Checked this with your Sneakoscope?"

"Good idea," Harry said. "Accio Sneakoscope!" The Pocket Sneakoscope came flying out of his trunk towards him, and he caught it deftly in one hand. Tapping it once with his wand toactivate it, he held the sphere above the letter. There was no reaction.

"Looks like there's nothing dodgy on there…just a bunch of boring barristers. Blimey, I'm tired. I think I'm going to go to bed," Ron yawned. "Got all-night-rounds tomorrow night and Defense first thing in the ruddy morning."

Harry stayed up, and stared at the ceiling, going over his list of Horcruxes in his mind. Hufflepuff's cup they had found behind wards and shields at Borgin and Burkes. Theodore Nott had helped them there— the stringy Slytherin boy had met them one day at the Hog's Head, and told them in whispers about a restricted corner he had found while on the job at Borgin and Burkes. They'd been wary, at first, but Tonks had watched the shop for a few days, even wandering in, once, in guise of Rabastan Lestrange. Theo Nott had bluntly refused to sell her anything, and had shown her the door. They approached him again about dealing with the cup, and he had let them in after hours. The cup was filled with vile, slow-acting venom that wouldn't empty out of the cup unless drunk. There was no way that the boys were going to let Hermione drink that one: over her protests, Harry and Ron had split the cup. Ron had gone first, gagging and crumpling to the ground while Hermione scurried to push a bezoar down his throat, pale as death with concern, and Harry had tipped the foul cup upwards. He'd awoken a day later in St. Mungo's, after a two-day stay, he'd been released. Augustus Pye had blessedly failed to inform the Ministry of their hospitalization.

They'd found Ravenclaw's sapphire-encrusted bronze dagger that summer, in Lancashire, deep below Gideon and Fabian Prewett's old cottage. He had a mental image of Hermione dragging the vicious tip of the triple-bladed knife across the inside of her upturned arm, defiance in her face, while Ron turned pale green behind her. The knife had required the blood of a Muggle-born in order to be removed from its case. It was typical of Tom Riddle's disdain for wizards that weren't pureblooded that he had assumed that such a wizard would be unable to bypass the traps he'd set and get to the dagger. Neither Harry nor Ron had wanted her to do it, they'd begged her to wait until they could fetch someone from the Order, Sturgis Podmore perhaps, but she had insisted it be done quickly, before they were discovered. He winced as he thought of the nasty scar that ran from mid-bicep to wrist, which was why the girl would only wear long-sleeved jumpers now.

Harry thought of the beautiful but deadly instrument that was residing in a padded, locked box in his trunk: its handle carved out of a single, solid sapphire that had to have been the size of an ostrich egg, the pommel of solid bronze, and its three graceful silver blades carved like serrated snowflakes and all tapering to a vicious point. He wondered why he'd even brought it, snorting at the idea that someone at Hogwarts—other than Dumbledore, he thought ruefully—would be capable of removing the piece of Voldemort's soul from the Horcrux.

Slytherin's locket…Harry wished that Dumbledore had started telling him things a year earlier; the older wizard might still be alive if he had. The moment Ginny had seen the false Horcrux Harry had brought home, she'd pointed out that they'd thrown an almost identical one away at Sirius's two summers ago. It had instantly hit them: R.A.B was Regulus Apollyon Black, the cowardly Death Eater brother that Sirius had sneered at, murdered by Voldemort. It was still at large.

And Nagini…well, best to deal with that as they came to it. To kill Nagini would only alert Voldemort that other witches and wizards were destroying his Horcruxes, and that was the last thing they wanted him to know. He rolled over on his side tetchily. Sleep would be a long time in coming tonight.

Harry was forced to forgo breakfast in order to visit the Owlery and persuade a grumpy Hedwig to take his letter back to Blackstone, Dowery, Habeas, and Limine. He only Flooed back to the Gryffindor common room just in time to avoid running head-on into Hermione, who was the first in the queue of sixth and seventh years lining up at the common-room fire for Defense. She cast him a disapproving look as he hurried to the back of the queue.

As he took a pinch of powder from the waiting urn, still yawning, Harry thought to himself ruefully of his first Floo trip, that had landed him at Borgin and Burkes, and hoped that he didn't end up in the Slytherin dormitories by mistake. "Defense Against The Dark Arts," he commanded as he threw down the powder and stepped into the fireplace. He spun around only once or twice, then was pushed out into the rear of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, and settled into a seat beside Ron and Hermione.

"See, Hermione?" Ron murmured as he stretched. "No one should have to be up this early, not even the house-elves….even the professor's late."

Just then, the rear door of the classroom opened with a loud thunk, and the willowy Japanese witch strode into the front of their classroom. Gone were her resplendent teal brocade robes, replaced by a practical looking pair of black pants and a rust-red padded doublet under a long white linen outer robe; she also carried a four-foot-long black staff that came down to a malicious-looking point. No longer resembling the delicate, perfect geisha that she had at the opening feast, Uzume looked all business as she asked the class, "Does everyone have their books?" Harry started. She spoke disorientingly perfect English, of a type of accent Harry couldn't quite place, but knew he had heard before. "Good. Leave them in your dormitories next class, chuck them in the fire on your way out if you'd like. You'll never need them again."

Hermione looked positively faint with disappointment.

"Now," she said as she tossed her staff at an ornate hat rack, which reached out a gnarled three-clawed hand to catch it, "My name is Sakura Uzume. I would prefer that you just call me Sakura, or Uzume; this Professor Uzume business makes me feel horribly old, but, if it makes you feel more comfortable you may most certainly call me just Professor." She reached over to the hatrack and extracted her wand, which looked like an enameled ebony chopstick, from the end of the staff. "If you'd be so kind as to step away from your desks?" she asked. "I know it's early, but please."

Grudgingly, Harry started the process of detaching himself from his desk, amidst scattered grumblings as the rest of the class laggardly began to comply around him. "And take your things. Quickly, if you please? I would hate for any of you to be run over by a desk on your first day." This inspired somewhat more rapid movement to the front of the room. "Crevaccio!" Desk-shaped niches opened in the walls like yawning mouths, and the desks themselves shot like bullets to the walls and sealed themselves into them within seconds, leaving a wide, open space.

Uzume walked over to a large roll of thick matting. "As you may have heard" she said, grunting as she lifted it, "this year's class will focus more" here a satisfied heave as she dropped them on the floor "on practical magical combat: self-protection, dueling, and the like. Grades will largely be based on skills as opposed to paper tests and lectures. We'll also have a brief unit on some physical forms of combat." She glared at a grinning Slytherin sixth year whom Harry would have sworn was a doppelgänger of Vincent Crabbe. "But not many, so don't go thinking you can take the mickey out of each other for extra credit." The Crabbe clone's face returned to the stony expression that he always bore. Sakura rested a slippered foot on the rolled-up mat and looked about, breathlessly. "Right-o. Hands up if you were in Dumbledore's Army."

"How the hell did she know about that?" Hermione swore under her breath.

As though she'd heard them, she said, "I'm not Dolores Umbridge, it won't hurt your faces and I won't punish you," Uzume said. Seeing a classroom absented of a forest of hands, she added, "It's all right if you don't trust me now, though. Understandable that you can't trust someone you just met, especially considering that only one of your last six instructors in this course was worth trusting. You know who you are; and I look to you to help your classmates." She kicked the rolled-up mat, and it unrolled with a spectacular series of thumps. She then waved her wand, and dull rust-red piles appeared before each of them. "Now you all have--your armor, and we'll begin with some light dueling. Nothing major. Just things you should already know."

Hermione raised her hand hesitantly, and Sakura looked as though she were about to dance on the spot. "Yes?" she said expectantly.

"Isn't dueling in the school---against Hogwarts rules?" Hermione asked timidly.

"Oh, rules. Right-o. Quite forgot about that, but I can't exactly teach you to duel without actually dueling, can I? How about this...since we've already spread the room out, we'll do some Tai Chi for the rest of the class, and I'll get special permission from McGonagall before the next session, how's that?" she asked, as though Hermione's approval was necessary.

"Well...I'm sure...it's not a problem..." Hermione stuttered, flustered. Harry watched the internal struggle playing out on her face: the desire for further knowledge doing battle with her instinct for law and order.

"Well…if that's the case then, and so long as none of you lot sells me out to the Headmistress….I suppose we can start today?" Uzume asked, with the expectant Christmas-morning look on her face again. Hermione nodded nervously, and the Japanese professor beamed.

"Brilliant. Everyone find a dueling partner, slip on your armor, spread out…" The room erupted into a flurry of motion and flying arms as students slipped into the dull, rust-red doublets like the one Sakura was wearing. "By the by, I'd like to ask that the ladies wear pants next class, and everyone should at least bring a pair of trainers, if you're not going to wear them in class," Sakura called over the noisy movement. Harry poked at the padding—it wasn't half-bad, truthfully, and he almost wanted to keep it. It felt like it would be useful in a fight.

"Hm, let me pull an O student at random to be my partner. How about…" She stabbed a blank piece of parchment with her wand, and spidery script appeared on it. "Weasley, Ronald."

Ron, who had partnered with Hermione, grimaced. "No? Already found a partner? Allright then," she said brightly as she poked the parchment again.

"Patil, Parvati." She looked up. "No longer here. Third shot's the charm, allright, let's go…." She jabbed the parchment a third time. "Goldstein, Anthony."

Harry, who had still been seeking a partner that wasn't one of Romilda Vane's clones, jolted. He'd been hoping half-heartedly that the professor would call his name. If this Uzume person didn't know her stuff, he'd know in a few moments whether staying at Hogwarts would be worth his while. As Anthony Goldstein walked away from his partner, Harry zipped over quickly to take his place, and found himself, with an unpleasant start, facing Ginny Weasley.

She smiled. "We meet again."

"Indeed." As he turned to listen to Uzume, Harry had the sinking feeling that he was going to come out of this lesson with a galloping case of bat bogeys.

Uzume was walking up and down the rows, teaching them how to cast two spells at the same time. "It requires a lot of concentration, you have to cast one verbally and one non-verbally. But you're all sixth and seventh years, and if you'd had a decent teacher in the classroom your OWL year, you'd know how." It's usually easiest to cast Protego non-verbally, so we'll start with that." She squared up before Anthony Goldstein, and said, "Right-o. Partners closest to the windows, you will be Group A, the rest of you, Group B…Group A, watch me. Anthony, cast a Stunner at me, now."

Anthony looked scandalized. "But—I'm Head Boy! I can't stun a teacher!"

"Trust me, if you succeed, you'll never have to do homework in my class," Sakura said. "Same goes for the lot of you. If anyone succeeds in Stunning me before the year is out, you'll be excused from attending class, with top marks. Only rules are, no more than one person trying at a time, and only during class! No fair sneaking up in the corridors." Harry rather liked the sound of an extra hour of sleep, and resolved to try it; from the sound around him, so had the rest of the class.

"Ready, Anthony?" The Ravenclaw boy nodded. "One…two…three…" Anthony shouted, "Stupefy!" at the same time that Sakura yawned, "Expelliarmus!" and flicked the sharp end of her chopstick-like wand. The scarlet jet of her spell knocked Anthony back a bit as his wand flew from his hand; she caught it deftly as his Stunner bounced harmlessly off the Shield Charm. "Allright then, group B, have a go. But with Expelliarmus, please! In fact, all of you, use Expelliarmus, or if you know any interesting short-term hexes, use that; I haven't got time to carry you all up to the hospital wing." Sakura hadn't noticed that she'd accidentally disarmed Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood until their wands practically hit her in the face. "Sorry…Look sharp!" She tossed the wands back to Luna and Dean. "Ready then? Group A: Three, two, one…GO!"

Harry yelled, "Rictusempra!" at the same time that Ginny called, "Protego!" and, sure enough, sent an orange jet shooting viciously towards him, which he ducked. He was not so fortunate, however, as to duck his own Tickling Curse, which rebounded on him and sent him to the floor in a fit of giggles. From the looks of it, it was almost doing the same for Ginny, which heightened the factor of embarrassment for Harry, a factor only tripled by the appearance of Uzume beside them. "Miss ---erm, I'm terrible with names, you are?" She consulted that same parchment. "Weasley, Ginevra, and Potter, Harry." She looked at him a moment, as though she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. "Right. Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter have done it…albeit a bit unconventionally—did you use Rictusempra, Ginevra?

"Ginny," she said.

"Ah, Ginny…well, did you?" Ginny shook her head no. "Oh, I see. Right. Harry must've used it then, and his own curse rebounded on him." The professor raised her voice to the rest of the class. "Something for you lot to watch out for, allright? Don't get hit by your own hexes. OK, then, Finite incantatem!" Students around the room rose from the floor, and bat-bogeys disappeared from the faces of several of the students. Sakura scurried across the room to bring Zacharias Smith back to enervation.

"Should've left him, the prat…" Ginny muttered.

"Your real name is Ginevra?" Harry asked, a bit amused. She cast him a dangerous glare, which he didn't have time to answer because Sakura's voice was ringing out across the classroom.

"All right, group B, your turn. Cast Protego nonverbally, Expelliarmus verbally. On my mark...Three…two…one…and GO!"

A/N again: Thanks for all your reviews! The overwhelming question seems to be whether Akiko Vance is related to Emmeline, and the answer for now is, "All will be revealed in the next chapter, (provided I haven't been snowed under with work by then.)" I was quite upset at the fact that my barristers' firm letter wouldn't display properly, as I had a significant amount of fun with that part of the story. The motto Quando legis haesito, nunquam legis exsisto means "Where the law hesitates, there is no law." Bonus points if you recognize all of the legal terms and cases crammed into the firm's (and barrister's) name.