Chapter Three
Trials and Tribulations

Quidditch Trials This Saturday
Gryffindors of all years may attend
Bring your own broom
16.00 at the Quidditch Pitch

Harry had barely posted this notice before he was bombarded with questions: how many open positions, would he be considering replacement players for currently filled spots, had he promised anyone a reserve position, and would he promise them? Finally, he posted an addendum to the notice:

Please hold all questions until trials

His workload had quickly picked up after the first few days of class. His free periods, instead of being blissfully filled with romantic Ginny-time, were filled with just trying to keep up. Professor Vector had taken to assigning them two essays a period, and McGonagall was about two lessons away from magically monitoring their practice time outside of class if their performance didn't pick up. He had just begun to work into a sort of routine, and now he realized he would have to add both Practical Defense classes and Quidditch practice. He suddenly felt very overwhelmed.

As for the business with the new student, Harry had noticed a new blonde boy in his Potions, Transfiguration, and Defense classes, but nothing remarkable about him, which was both a relief and a disappointment. In fact, Harry had almost quite forgotten he was there. It had been a big disappointment that the only real attraction the new boy garnered was from girls, and even they kept their distance. Harry was too busy to give him a second thought.

The rest of the week melted past, and before Harry had even started to ready himself for it, Saturday had arrived. He made his way through the common room earlier than usual for breakfast, accompanied only by Hermione, since everyone else was either asleep or preparing for the trials that afternoon.

"Are they really going to spend all morning practicing?" asked Hermione as she and Harry settled into the nearly empty Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

"I guess." He picked at the food on his plate. Wouldn't it all be easier if he just kept the lineup basically the same?

"Don't revert to nepotism, Harry," said Hermione as though she could read his thoughts. "You'll put together a good team as long as you judge them on how well they fly."

She was right, but the knot in Harry's stomach wouldn't disappear. His two best friends were trying for the same spot, and one of them would be disappointed. He tried not to think about it as he chewed and attempted to swallow. The toast wouldn't go down his throat.

The morning passed agonizingly slowly. Hermione left him to study in the library for a few hours before she would go down to the pitch to watch the trials. Harry left to roam on his own, partly seeking out his friends, partly just wandering. Finally, the afternoon came, and it was time to set up.

After putting the tables and forms in place and bringing out the ball trunk, Harry jogged into the locker room and pulled on his wrist and shin guards. An amazing sight greeted him when he entered the Quidditch pitch. It seemed nearly the whole House had turned out to try for a spot on the team. And they were all early.

"Harry, there you are!" exclaimed Hermione as he entered the pitch. "Everyone's ready . . ." She trailed off as he simply gave her a nod and walked past. The crowd gathered in front of the stands watched him like he held the fate of their lives in his hands. Ron and Neville stood among them, while Ginny and Carolyn's red heads poked up somewhere in the middle. There was Katie Bell, really only as a formality. Jonas Longbottom stood in the front, clutching his broomstick with white knuckles. There were many students he did not know, and he immediately regretted opening trials to first years.

"Okay," he said loudly, clearing his throat. "Well, since you're all here, I think we can start. On the table here—" he gestured to the parchment he had just laid out "—are lists on which I want you to post your names and take a number. That number will be on your chest and back during trials today so I can identify you. Please sign your name under the position you would like to try for. Only put your name under one position, please. If you are interested in another position, let me know after your first round has been finished. Are there any questions?"

A tiny first year at the front put his hand in the air. "What's your name?" he asked. The crowd laughed.

"It's Harry Potter," chuckled Harry. "I'm your captain." He addressed the rest of the crowd. "Let's have a good trial everyone."

The hopefuls filed over to the table, and it took a full twenty minutes for everyone to put their name in and for the numbers to appear on their robes. When they'd finished, Harry collected the parchment and shuffled through to pull the Chaser list to the front.

"If you signed up to try for Chaser, please come over here. Everyone else, wait in the stands."

A group of about fifteen students, including Katie, Ginny, and Jonas, trouped over. Harry divided them into three smaller sections and instructed them all to fly around the pitch so he could observe them in the air. The first group was all right, though three of the five were first years lucky to stay on their brooms. Harry asked them to wait to the side and sent the other three on their way. The next group was pretty impressive, including a remarkably confident Jonas, and Harry asked them all to stay. The final group contained both Ginny and Katie, and Harry sent only one out of the pitch when they'd returned to the ground.

"Okay, now I'm going to Keep for you while you each throw penalty shots," he said. The first few hopefuls got nervous and missed all three of their tries, which caused them to be dismissed from the pitch nearly in tears, but then a small boy with the number 16 emblazoned on his robes came at him like a streak of black lightning and got two of his three shots past Harry. Harry congratulated him and checked his notes. Noah Smith, a fourth year. Harry made a note and turned his attention to the next player.

Ginny got all of her shots past Harry and Katie did the same, only she even managed to make him foul her once. The last one to fly was the one Harry had been most curious about. Jonas Longbottom took the Quaffle Harry had tossed back to Katie and rose hesitantly into the air.

Jonas came closer at a notably slow pace, then suddenly picked up speed and chucked the Quaffle toward a hoop. It passed over Harry's left shoulder and through onto the other side. He'd made one. His second pass was much more confident; Jonas swooped into a vertical dive before turning sharply left and catching Harry off guard. He'd made his second shot. His third shot came, and Harry waited to see what he'd do. He looked incredibly nervous, almost as though his luck had run out, and sure enough, Harry was able to block him.

"Good!" said Harry as he landed. "I'm going to call the numbers of the six players I'd like to stay and place as starters and reserve. Everybody else, thanks for coming, and if there is really another position you're interested in, you can stay.

"All right, then, in random order, number three, Katie Bell, number twenty, Sarah Noble, number ten, Demelza Robins, number sixteen, Noah Smith, number fourteen, Ginny Weasley, and number nine, Jonas Longbottom."

Jonas looked so shocked Harry thought he was in danger of having his eyes fall out of his head. Harry couldn't help but smile a little at the younger boy's reaction. High up in the stands, out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught a lone figure practically dancing with joy. His sister, remarkably tiny from this distance, celebrated with a solitary victory dance. His smile broadened, and he chuckled to himself.

It took some talking to get the rejected Chasers off the pitch. Finally, Harry threatened to hex them if they didn't leave, and that sent them off running. He turned back to the six chosen.

"Okay, everybody, you've made the team. Whether you start or are on reserve will depend on how well you work together and how well you work under real game stress conditions." He let loose the Bludgers that had been straining against their holds in the box beside him. "I want you to use teamwork, think quickly, and most of all, show me what you've got!"

Harry Kept again, and was amazed to observe how differently each candidate performed under the pressure. Katie did as well as she had at any of their previous matches, and Ginny was spectacular at dodging the Bludgers and getting goals past him. She and Katie worked quite well together, too. Sarah Noble, a little second year who looked as though she'd been born with a broom in her hand, naturally teamed up with Jonas, who had a couple of close encounters with a Bludger, but still managed to score a few goals.

After a while, the duo that was Ginny and Katie was joined by a third: Noah Smith. The three looked like they had been Chasing together for years. Harry grinned and called for them to stop.

"Well done, everybody," he said. "Our starting Chasers this year will be Katie Bell, Ginny Weasley, and Noah Smith." Those three congratulated each other. "Which means that Demelza, Sarah, and Jonas will be our reserves."

He couldn't help but notice the slightly disappointed look on Jonas' face, but he had more players to get on with. The Beaters were next, a set Harry wasn't particularly concerned about, scanning the list. But wait . . . there had to be a mistake.

"Ron, I think you've got your name on the wrong list," he said. His friend came forward.

"What, am I not with the Beaters?" he asked, leaning over to look on the list.

Harry looked up at him. "You're going out for Beater?" Ron nodded. "Oh . . ." Well, that made things less complicated. But he couldn't help noticing the odd look on his face as he walked away.

"Okay, Beaters, over here," he called. The trial went more quickly than the Chasers' had, with Harry deciding on Ron and Seamus Finnigan easily. The others could chuck the Bludger quite decisively, but Ron and Seamus worked well as a team and Seamus could actually aim. They joined the selected Chasers on the sidelines as the Keepers had their turn.

Each of the new Chasers, both reserve and starting, were sent at each of the Keepers trying out. Neville blocked all of them, while number five, Cormac McLaggen missed just one. Carolyn, one of three first years who made it through to actually try, missed two, making Neville the starting Keeper and putting McLaggen in the reserves.

Harry let the Keepers come to join the group and then he congratulated them. "Well, practices will start next week and be posted on the notice board. I'll see you all then."

The team dispersed, chatting excitedly to each other. The crowd that had gathered in the stands rushed down to join them. Harry watched Elizabeth skip down from her high perch and launch herself onto Jonas, who looked very pleased with himself (although whether it was making the team or having Elizabeth launch herself onto him that made him so pleased Harry didn't know). Hermione gave Neville a congratulatory hug and together the group walked to the castle.

Harry set about cleaning up, thankful they didn't have to try a new Seeker, gazing lovingly at the tiny gold ball safe in its spot in the ball crate. He reached out and gently touched its smooth surface. Maybe a quick go wouldn't hurt . . .

Making sure he was completely alone, he popped the Snitch out of its restraints and let it soar off into the air. He gave it a few seconds to get lost, then he kicked off the ground and began his search for it.

It wasn't exactly the same without the Bludgers whizzing past his ear, the sound of the commentator, the thrill of being ahead, the anxiety of being down, and the general roar of the crowd that filled Quidditch matches, but this was a refreshing moment. He was alone with the Snitch; physically where he tried to be mentally during matches.

He couldn't see any sign of it, and for a moment he thought maybe he'd lost it. Panic rising, he searched the pitch frantically.

Wait . . . there it was . . . hovering mere inches above the ground. A grin spread across his face and he positioned himself just slightly to the right of the thing, keeping his eyes on it the whole time. He readied himself, circled once, then fell into a spectacularly vertical dive. This was his favorite part: rocketing toward the earth at breakneck speed, clutching the slender handle of his broomstick with his hands and ankles, trying against gravity to stay in his seat, the wind whipping his hair back and threatening to pull his glasses off his face. His sense of timing honed with years of crashing headlong into the ground, he inhaled sharply as he yanked up on the handle of his broom, bringing him back horizontal, and a split second later he'd reached out his hand and his fingers were wrapped safely around the Snitch. Even without the rest of the game, that thrill would lift his spirits every time.

"Nice catch," came a voice. "Too bad there isn't a game tonight, eh?"

Harry nearly fell off his broom at the gruff voice behind him. Not wanting to lose hold of the Snitch or his broom, he could only turn sharply to see who had intruded upon his solitude.

Professor Levinsky stood there, looking amused, wearing a pair of old corduroys and a red plaid button-down. He looked like some sort of twisted lumberjack with his broad shoulders, trim, square build, and the greying fringe that fell into his dark eyes. He crossed his arms as he looked at Harry.

"You are fully aware you're not allowed out here on your own," he said in his severe voice. Remarkably, he held very little trace of a Russian accent. Harry assumed his work in the Guard had required him to be fluent in many languages and accent-free. He had always been fascinated by the tantalizing bits the Professor had hung before them about his old life he'd locked away somewhere on the Siberian tundra. He was Harry's favorite professor, although he was his Head of House and did teach his favorite subject, so that didn't hurt his cause. Harry grinned at him.

"But I'm not on my own," he said impudently. "You're here, Professor."

Levinsky snorted. "Don't try your cheek with me, boy. I know hexes that would send your tongue as far away as Alaska, and you might not be able to get it back to properly kiss your female admirers, whoever that happens to be this month."

Harry shook his head. "Not anymore, Professor," he said, letting the Snitch escape his grasp for a few feet then catching it again. Levinsky laughed.

"Ah, so you've decided to give up the ruse and go completely for the same sex, then? Or perhaps lifelong celibacy interests you."

Harry gave him a dark look. "I mean about the monthly female admirers. They're not monthly anymore."

"Weekly, then. Sounds fair. Each one should get a second go, I think. Gives them a rather fighting chance at capturing your attention for more than an hour at a time."

His romantic life wasn't usually such an obsession with Levinsky. Harry decided he either felt incredibly good-humored today, or he'd had a mind-addling experience the past summer. He didn't really mind answering the gruff man truthfully, since his secret was perfectly safe. Wait . . . when had it become a secret?

"No. I . . . well, there's a girl who's lasted longer, that's all."

"Ginny Weasley."

Harry was so surprised he accidentally lost his grip on the Snitch. "How did you know?" he asked, grasping for the feathered thing before it could get away. Levinsky laughed.

"She caught me in the hallway and asked me to 'Bring my boyfriend inside, the stupid git.'" He'd affected a very droll monotone when quoting Ginny, which seemed to amuse him. "I could only assume it was you."

So Ginny'd called him her boyfriend. Interesting. He guessed he should probably set about calling her his girlf- . . . yeah, that, pretty soon.

"You've signed up for my class," said Levinsky. Harry nodded. "Good man. If there's anyone who could go without it, it's you, but there's never enough practice time in the world. Plus, you might learn something you didn't know before. Lecture is important as well, no matter how much your dad's taught you."

Harry hadn't thought about his father's training for quite a while. He'd always dismissed it as just an excuse Dad used to give them more father-son time. The last thing he'd learned had been how to duck. He'd thought it funny at the time, but the more he thought about it, the more practical he found it. Levinsky gave him a rough pat on the shoulder.

"You really should go in," he said. "Before McGonagall has your head."

Harry nodded, then dismounted his broom and tucked the Snitch away. He levitated the trunk into the locker room, then tucked his treasured Firebolt over his shoulder and made his way back into the castle.

Gryffindor common room was flooded with noise and activity. Apparently, someone threw the new Quidditch team a "good luck" party, judging by the giant banner above the fireplace bellowing "Good Luck!" to match its chartreuse block letters every few minutes. Dean and a few younger students, including two fourth years Harry knew as Logan Quincy and Nate Dashwood, greeted him, beaming.

"Like it, Harry?" he asked. "We decided we'd do it as sort of a good luck party for the team, and for the year."

Somewhere something roared like a lion, causing all the gathered first years in a corner to screech. Harry looked around the room and saw that even the rejected players were enjoying themselves. Hermione had put aside her books for the moment and was toasting a good season with Neville, Ron, and Ginny, while Elizabeth and Jonas sat in their usual spot, sipping punch and talking intimately. Lavender had plastered herself to Seamus, and the two were kissing quite intently somewhere near the staircase. Harry made a note to himself to knock before he went upstairs. He turned back to Dean and grinned.

"Yeah, it's really good!" he said. Dean clapped him on the back.

"Go join your party, mate!"

Harry crossed over to his friends, who laughed about something that had happened at try-outs. They all extended their greetings to Harry as he approached, and someone clapped a glass of punch into his hand.

"Good picks this year," said Neville. "Should be the best team we've had in years."

"Ah, you say that every year," said Dean as he passed. Neville shook his head.

"No, it's true. We've got Chasers that are impossible to pursue." Here Ginny cheered. "We've got Beaters that are quite unbeatable." Ron raised his glass. "A Seeker whose prowess cannot be sought." Harry laughed. "And, of course, a Keeper you just can't keep down!"

The group applauded him as he gave mock bows to those nearby that had been listening. Harry thoroughly enjoyed himself the rest of the night, and as it grew dark, he found that he did not want to go to bed. Hermione eventually excused herself, claiming one Butterbeer too many and she wanted to sleep. Ginny went soon after, saying she was already too far behind in her homework and wanted to get an early start in the morning. Harry watched her go with an admiring gaze, the ruby of her hair caught in the dimming light, swinging in time with her hips. Neville chuckled beside him.

"You're caught, aren't you?" he asked. Harry blinked and looked at him. Neville grinned in response.

"You're caught, my friend. And since when is Harry Potter caught?"

Harry shifted in his chair. "I'm not caught. And who says that, anyway?"

Neville plopped into the chair next to Harry. "Ladies and gentlemen, the womanizing days of Harry Potter are over! The wild stallion has been tamed by Ginny Weasley at last!"

"Would you not refer to me as a wild stallion, please?"

"Ah, but you admit you're tamed?"

Harry gave Neville's chair a sound kick. "I admit nothing. You need to keep your large mouth shut."

"All the better to kiss you with, my dear," Neville croaked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Well, where's Ron? He's keeping awfully quiet in this."

"I've gone temporarily deaf and haven't heard anything you've said about my little sister," said Ron from the sofa. Neville laughed.

Harry kicked his feet absently as he stared into the fire. Thoughts of Ginny were pushed aside by Slughorn's essay and McGonagall's mandatory practicing. Marius Lestrange had transfigured Harry's teacup into a viper on Friday which had proceeded to bite Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott on the ankle. Harry had been blamed, of course, and was given detention. Hannah spent the night in the hospital wing. Marius chuckled all the way to the Slytherin dungeons.

"I think we need to pay back Lestrange," said Harry, changing the subject. Neville perked up at that.

"Cheers! What should we do?"

"Ron, are you in?" Harry asked.

"I'm in for anything that gets Lestrange, you know that."

"What's the plan?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Well, what haven't we done yet?"

"There was the balloon filled with bubotuber pus . . . that was good."

Ron laughed. "Yeah, it was also first year."

"But a classic, you must admit."

"We should rule out bubotuber pus," said Harry, "it's a bit out of season."

"Venomous Tentacula in the prefects' bathroom?" suggested Ron. Neville cringed.

"That backfired last time. Almost drowned poor Ernie Macmillan."

"But the intent was dead on."

Harry's mind whizzed. This he was good at. The impromptu pranks were Neville's area, but the premeditated stuff . . . this was his. He listened to Ron and Neville reminisce and debate for a while before a slow smile spread across his face.

"Mates," he said. "This is going to be good."

---

Elizabeth pushed a flyaway bit of hair out of her face and ended up smudging dirt on her nose. Since her whole hand was covered in moist potting soil, she couldn't wipe it away, so she left it. She was trying to replant a puffapod before the third years' Herbology class gathered their pods. This was a very delicate process as the slightest jolt could dislodge the useful things that the younger students would collect and the floor of the greenhouse would burst into bloom, making for tedious clean up time. Finally, the bell rang announcing the end of the period and the end of Elizabeth's long day.

She stood to gather her books, avoiding the urge to brush her hands off on her robes, but found someone solid standing in her way.

Nate stood between her and her things. She smiled at him; he'd been remarkably silent all day. When he didn't reply, she stepped around him and walked to the table.

"See you later, Nate," she said, going to her bag.

"Here, let me get that," he said quickly, taking it from her. She stepped back in surprise.

"Oh! Well, thank you."

Awkwardly, the two of them walked out of the greenhouse and across the grounds. Elizabeth cast a glance back at Jonas, who walked behind them, and shrugged. Nate said very little as they walked across the grass to the castle entrance. Elizabeth stopped by the girl's bathroom on the second floor where she uneasily excused herself, washed her hands, then came back to Nate, still holding her book bag.

"Thank you," she said, taking her bag back.

"Oh, you're welcome," he said. He smiled at her again, then leaned forward and brushed at her nose. He was so close she could've counted the light freckles across his cheeks, and she definitely caught a hint of his cologne . . . something woodsy that kind of made her swoon. What on earth . . . ?

"You had dirt on your nose," he said quietly, his smile fading only slightly. She blushed, but he didn't look away. His eyes were a hazy green, almost jade. She hadn't noticed that before. Did she just imagine that look that passed behind them? That maybe . . . his feelings for her went beyond apathy? They didn't say anything for a few moments, but then Elizabeth caught sight of Jonas standing just down the corridor, looking odd.

"Well, I think I'm going to go to the library," she said. Nate really is quite good-looking, she thought to herself. Suddenly, she didn't know whether she really wanted him to go. "But I'll see you later?"

Nate gave a small laugh, almost embarrassed, and smiled again. "Yeah, I guess you will." They didn't move for a second, then both laughed slightly and passed each other. She took a deep breath and continued to meet Jonas, chancing a last glance at Nate. To her surprise, he was still standing there, watching her walk away. She smiled at him sheepishly, tucked her hair behind her ear, then turned the opposite direction and quickened her pace.

"What do you think about Nate Dashwood?" she asked Jonas as they walked together to study before dinner in the library.

"The same thing I thought of him last year," he said shortly. There it was, the tone that matched his look.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "You didn't get in trouble today, did you?"

"No," he answered. There it was again!

"Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No, I'm not ill. I'm just . . . tired. Can we not talk anymore?"

Elizabeth looked at him as they walked for a moment, then decided not to press it. "Okay," she said, sounding a little hurt despite herself.

Their time in the library passed very slowly. Jonas didn't say a word to her the whole time, and she could have sworn he didn't turn a page in his Transfiguration text the entire three hours they spent sitting at the table. A disturbance in a row nearby was the only break in the near silence of the library. Madam Pince escorted both of their brothers out by the ear, Ron chuckling a few paces behind. She rolled her eyes and reminded herself to stay clear of them for the next few days lest she be the accidental recipient of a balloon full of bubotuber pus (a prank so "classic" that they had pulled it more than once). Elizabeth bit her quill and tried to concentrate, but by the time they decided to leave for dinner, she had barely written a paragraph in her essay on Jupiter for their Astronomy class.

They dropped their bags in the dormitory and continued down to dinner. Elizabeth wished Jonas would start talking, and if she wasn't so certain he was upset with her, she would have eaten dinner with someone else. But the way Jonas stabbed his lamb clearly sent a message that something had upset him. And it had happened sometime today.

After dinner the time came for Elizabeth to go to Practical Defense, and she half expected Jonas to just leave her at the Great Hall and continue up to Gryffindor Tower on his own. Instead, he accompanied her up the marble stairs to the first floor and Professor Levinsky's classroom.

"I'll see you later, Jonas," said Elizabeth, and he continued on in silence. Elizabeth opened the door and stepped into a completely different room than she remembered. The tables and chairs had been removed, and the shutters on the windows were wide open, revealing the moody twilight outside. It was strange to be in class this late in the evening. Most of her classmates were already there, seated on the floor in the middle of the room, whispering excitedly to each other. Harry and Neville were lounging back on their hands near the wall, Ginny and Hermione next to them obviously eager to see what Professor Levinsky had in store for their first lesson. Ron sat just in front of them, fingering his wand nervously, sometimes adding a bit of conversation to Ginny and Hermione. Elizabeth went over and sat with them, shoving her bag against the wall with the others and placing her wand in her lap.

She didn't notice him at first, the thin silhouette sitting apart from the group. The feeling that came over her was strange; as if there was a presence there she hadn't ever felt before. It was almost like a chill, but it wasn't cold . . . like when she held a wand and forced her magic through it. The same feeling that went through her fingertips went coursing through her body, as if a great wave of magic went through her head and out through her toes. The abrupt entrance of Professor Levinsky, however, broke her concentration and things returned to normal.

"The class will come to order," came Professor Levinsky's traditional greeting. All whispers ceased, but the buzz of excitement didn't. Elizabeth waited with rapt attention, her eyes fixed on the most revered professor in all of Hogwarts.

And he was so with good reason. Aside from his commanding air and tough military demeanor, Professor Levinsky just looked impressive. He was tall and square-jawed, and his features were sharp and precise, much like his teaching methods, but not severe. There was wisdom in his face born of horrors beyond any of their comprehension, but his eyes were untouched. They were two bright dots of cobalt blue set behind a curtain of greying brown fringe. Now, as he leaned back against his desk to address the students, those brilliant eyes caught the gaze of each individual student. Elizabeth swore she caught a slight wink when he looked at her.

"Welcome to Practical Theory and Training of Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said after a moment's proper silence in his no-nonsense baritone. "This class is designed for those students who wish to pursue a singularly keen interest in Defense, or perhaps a career in Defense. We will be exploring subjects of a most advanced and mature nature, and we will approach subject matter that may be disturbing to some of you. As such, this class is not for the faint of heart, or those with the idea that this class will be anything but intense and serious. I reserve the right to permanently remove anyone from this class at any time throughout the term, and trust me; you will not be coming back."

No one moved. Elizabeth was impressed. There were only a few students that didn't belong to the D.A., and even they were highly interested, to say the least. Professor Levinsky seemed somewhat satisfied and wasted no time.

"Partner up," he said. Immediately the room gravitated into pairs. Ginny grabbed Harry's hand and the two were off toward a corner, while Hermione and Neville stood next to each other. Elizabeth stood and made her way to Ron, but before she could make contact with him, Cho Chang cut her off.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, did you want to partner Ron?" asked Cho, though her body language clearly indicated that only when hippogriffs clipped their wings and decided to serve the Lestranges afternoon tea would she give him up. Elizabeth just smiled and shook her head.

"No, you go ahead," she said. "I'll find someone else."

By now everyone in the room was already in a pair, awaiting directions from Professor Levinsky. Elizabeth made her way through the crowd, now spread more evenly across the room, looking for someone to partner her. She began to panic just a little bit. However much she liked Professor Levinsky, she did not want to be his guinea pig. Hoping against all hope someone was left without a partner, Elizabeth squeezed past the last two couples and into the empty space near the door.

And there he was. Alone, of course. She knew immediately who he was: the exchange student everyone talked about. He must be, because anyone as perfect in appearance as he would not have gone unnoticed before now. Whatever rumors she had heard didn't do him justice. He was like an icy angel: cold as steel but perfect in form. If he was made of anything, it was ice. His skin was a snowy white, not pasty but rather it looked as if the pigment had been purged from it, leaving behind a soft, alabaster shell. His carriage was that of affluence and breeding, and he had an unnervingly alluring air. His hair fell flawlessly into his eyes, drawing all interest to the stony jewels. It was his eyes that were truly remarkable: heavy silver-grey and captivating, with a sharp intelligence and deep as pools of frigid water. And yet, for all their beauty and depth, they possessed a certain hollowness, a lifelessness that betrayed an almost inhuman serenity.

He smiled at her with an immaculately calculated smile that strangely seemed to alter his features very little.

"I suppose everyone else is taken," he said. His voice stirred something inside her, and she smiled back at him for no real reason she could think of.

"Yeah," she said apologetically. She couldn't think of anything better to say.

"I am Draco," he said, grace and manners exuding from every syllable.

Draco, she thought. The white dragon. His parents must be mythology enthusiasts.

"I'm Elizabeth," she answered. He inclined his head in almost a bow.

"I am honored to meet you, Elizabeth."

"The class will come to order," called Professor Levinsky. Elizabeth and her fellow classmates fell silent, awaiting instructions.

"Today we will be studying basic dueling practices," he said, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "We will not be casting any actual hexes until next week, but you have to learn how a duel is structured. Now, I'm certain you are all clever enough to know that most of your enemies will not follow the rules of engagement, and we will be addressing that issue later. But for tonight, I want you to practice blocking and disarming. Allow me to demonstrate."

It all happened in a matter of milliseconds. Professor Levinsky pulled his wand out of his belt, flipped it in the air, struck a perfect dueling stance and bellowed "Expelliarmus!" pointing his wand at Harry. Harry, occupied with his arm around Ginny's waist and nose in her hair, jumped as his wand flew out of his hand and into Professor Levinsky's. The class erupted in laughter as both Ginny and Harry turned tomato red. Levinsky strode toward them and handed Harry back his wand, turning it in his fingers first and extending the handle toward him.

"That kind of partner work outside of my class, Potter," he said. Harry nodded sheepishly while Elizabeth laughed behind her hand.

"Order," barked Levinsky and again there was quiet. Ginny was angry at Harry for embarrassing her in front of the class, but Harry quickly gained ground: they were already back to holding hands. Elizabeth shook her head.

"All right, now that we know how disarming works, let's see if Potter can block it this time."

Now he had been given fair warning, and Elizabeth watched somewhere between annoyance and admiration as her brother struck a dueling pose with a beckoning look on his face. He loved this.

Professor Levinsky, whose tactics were slightly less formal, jabbed his wand out, calling the spell again. Harry ducked and it went whizzing past his ear, and Professor Levinsky cast it once more. This time, Harry twisted his wand once in his hand and waved it just in front of the oncoming spell. The class gasped as it ricocheted off of an invisible barrier and dissipated. Everyone applauded.

"Well done, Potter," said Levinsky, helping him up off the floor. He turned to the class. "Get to work."

Elizabeth saw Neville and Hermione routinely casting the spell at each other, sometimes disarming, sometimes managing to block, but never anything more than practicing the mechanics of it. Harry showed Ginny the finer points of the blocking maneuver while flirting up a storm. Ron and Cho, however, were clearly not getting anything done, since apparently Ron wouldn't cast a spell at a lady. A soft sound behind her reminded her of her own partner.

"I suppose we should practice," she said, turning to him.

"Would you like to cast first or shall I?" he asked. Elizabeth floundered.

"Er . . . I guess I will," she said. Being disarmed by a strange boy went against everything her mother ever taught her. She chuckled at her mental joke and tried to imitate her brother's dueling stance. Both had been taught basics by their father, but Harry always garnered the most attention in this area. Elizabeth once asked her father why he didn't teach her as much about dueling as he taught Harry, and he answered that he might not be able to keep Harry out of the war, but he was going to do everything in his power to protect her. She was rusty, but she still remembered the feeling of the disarming spell, that gasp from her stomach as the spell flew through her wand, and the temporary sensation of being winded afterward. She kicked up her front foot and jabbed her wand at Draco, not surprised at the strength of the feeling in her gut, but still a little jarred by it. The surprise came when the spell hit Draco squarely in the chest and his wand sailed through the air on a zigzag pattern to land at her feet. She had fully expected him to block her.

A flicker of something like astonishment passed over Draco's face as he looked at his wand. Elizabeth bent down and picked it up tentatively, extending it handle outward to its owner. Draco took it gratefully, but didn't mince words as the two began to amicably cast the spell back and forth at each other.

Time passed quickly without a word, and so when Professor Levinsky called, "Take a seat," and conjured chairs arranged in a circle, they barely noticed any time had gone by at all. Elizabeth gave Draco a parting smile, which he returned with his bow-like head inclination, then quickly crossed to steal a seat between her brother and Ron before Cho could get there. Hermione wisely wedged herself between Harry and Ginny, so Neville was left to sit on the other side of Ron.

"Sorry about the whole Cho thing," whispered Ron.

"Don't worry about it," said Elizabeth. "I felt more sorry for you."

"He didn't seem too sore about it," interjected Neville. "Considering he spent the whole time trying to get in good with her."

"Oh, Ron, you didn't."

Ron turned red. "Well . . ."

Neville burst out laughing, and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She couldn't blame Ron for wanting to partner up, considering Harry and Ginny were together, and Neville and Hermione were as good as. It was hard being the fifth wheel. She could vouch for that.

"Order," said Levinsky and they were quiet again. He leaned back in his chair. "So . . . how was it?"

Everyone laughed. Colin Creevy had disarmed himself more often than his partner, and there were very few who mastered the blocking maneuver. Hannah Abbott was still apologizing for her wand hitting Justin Finch-Fletchey squarely in the nose when he disarmed her, even though it hadn't been her fault. There were a few other minor mishaps, but mostly the class had been . . .

"Boring," said new Chaser Noah Smith. "Disarming is easy. I thought this was an advanced class."

"You may leave this class any time you wish, Mr. Smith. The door is always open."

Noah didn't move. Levinsky gave him a stare that made everyone else in the room uncomfortable, much less Noah. When everyone had fidgeted long enough, Harry ventured a comment.

"I think, Professor," he said, "that it's much harder to cast spells on someone you're close to. If you're facing an enemy, it'd be easier to actually try to defeat them."

Levinsky looked concerned but not surprised. "But Potter, what if that enemy is someone that you're close to? That is a fact that most of you so innocently refuse to consider. This war . . . you can never know who is on what side. You must always keep your guard up; keep your secrets in, because even that person that you love very much and would do anything for could be across the line when the fighting starts. What would you do then, Potter?"

"With all due respect, sir, even if they are someone you love very much, they're still the enemy, and I'd do anything in my power to bring them down. If they'd betrayed me like that, then they deserve what's coming to them."

"You say that now, Mr. Potter, but have you ever been betrayed like that? The ultimate betrayal? Have you ever been standing toe to toe with someone you thought was your best friend but turned out to be everything you thought you were fighting against? Men who have done that have never had murder first in their thoughts. You think of your first meeting, of all the times you shared together, of the schemes you've hatched, and the lives you built. Then you think about it all as a lie, and you get angry. But only for a moment, because even if it all was a lie, those were still some of the most important things that have ever happened to you. Show me a man who can think all of those things and still kill his friend, and I will concede defeat."

There was another highly uncomfortable silence in which Professor Levinsky looked very far away. After a moment, however, he checked his watch and glanced up at them all. "Good lesson. Be here promptly at six next Tuesday. Class dismissed."

Elizabeth went to look for Draco to tell him goodnight, but Hermione caught up with her step and she had no choice but to leave the room with her.

"That turned out to be a highly informative lesson," she said. Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

"Yes," she said. "I'm just glad we don't have homework. I have enough from Professor Slughorn as it is. Two and a half rolls of parchment on the basic properties of the Moonshine Potion. It's ridiculous."

"Just you wait, it gets worse. If you need any help, just let me know, I'll be happy to oblige."

"Thanks, Hermione."

Hermione parted ways with her at the Charms corridor to go with Harry, Neville, Ron, and Ginny. Elizabeth continued up the stairs on her way to the owlery.

She loved the owlery at night. The wide windows opened up onto the stars winking in the sky, and the soft rustle of feathers remained always in the background as the nocturnal animals swooped in and out of the windows. Tonight a cool breeze blew around her as she stood watching them, thinking about the world beyond Hogwarts, and what Professor Levinsky said about the ones you love . . .

"Sickle for your thoughts."

Elizabeth jumped the sudden voice behind her. She whirled around to see who was there, but the figure was shrouded in shadow.

"Show yourself," she said, one hand on her wand. The figure timidly put a foot forward and stepped somewhat into the dimming light.

"It-it's just me . . ." he said tremulously. Jonas' face appeared from the darkness and Elizabeth relaxed.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on someone like that?" she said exasperatedly.

"I . . . I'm sorry." He'd changed track mid-thought. He always did that around her. It seemed as though he'd gotten over whatever had upset him earlier, though, so she forgave him, though she still wondered exactly what had set him off.

"It's fine. I suppose I'm just a little jumpy after Levinsky's class. You know, 'Constant Vigilance!' and all that. We always said he and Moody would make a wonderful pair."

Jonas kicked a little at the floor. "What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

"Ugh, writing that essay for Slughorn," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason." It didn't appear so. "It's quite dark, we should go."

Elizabeth took one last look out of the window. "All right then."

They walked down the stairs side by side, Elizabeth's mind lost on what Levinsky had said. There was no way Jonas could ever betray her. They had known each other since before they could cast spells. He got a little ahead of her and she watched the back of his head as he descended the stairs. His somewhat mousy, dark brown hair flipped oddly in the back; like some wind had blown it sideways and he hadn't bothered to fix it. Each step was like a hop, his gait like that of a young gazelle. Actually, it was quite amusing when she thought about it. No, someone as gentle as Jonas could never betray her.

"Jonas," she said. He stopped and turned to face her.

"What?"

She descended the stairs to him, looking directly at him all the while. His hazel eyes were trained on her in wide-eyed curiosity and his sweet face held nothing but innocence. She smiled at him, then threw her arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

"Wha- . . ." he managed. He awkwardly slipped his hands around her back and held her loosely.

"I just . . . wanted to give you a hug," she said, pulling back. He looked somewhat stunned. "Well, let's get back to the common room. Don't want to be caught out-of-bounds."

"Right . . ." said Jonas as she descended the stairs. She smiled to herself, relieved. At least things were back to normal.

An icy chill ran through her just before they'd reached the portrait hole. She stopped suddenly and turned. The corridor was empty, just as she'd expected, but before she turned back to climb into Gryffindor Tower, she caught a glimpse of a handsome silhouette and feather-light blonde hair. Shaking herself of it, she followed Jonas into the common room. It had been an unexpected breeze in the hallway. Coincidence, nothing more. And tomorrow it would all go away.

---

School continued to trudge on, although Harry found that he could achieve solace in Quidditch training. The match against Slytherin, the first match of the season, was in a little less than two months, but, as Ron would brag, they were ready now. Harry had never seen three Chasers work so well together, and Neville's Keeper skills were warming back up after a slightly rusty spell. The reserve players sat in on every training session, but never really did more than watch. Harry knew the Gryffindor team was usually prone to game-threatening injuries, and he wanted his reserves to be prepared.

The prank against Marius Lestrange was scheduled to go off in just a few days. He, Neville, and Ron had spent the last week in the library trying to put the finishing touches on their spells. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he thought about the results that were certain to come.

It had been two weeks since the start of their Practical Defense classes and Professor Levinsky still wouldn't let them use their wands beyond Disarming and Blocking. And at the end they would all come together and discuss what they had learned that day. Part of Harry told him that Levinsky was looking for someone to say the right thing in their discussions before moving on. He always got that glint in his eye, that one when they were just missing the point behind precautionary wards or something in his regular Defense class. That aggravating look.

Harry plodded up to Gryffindor Tower with Hermione and Neville one afternoon after meeting them at the greenhouses. They'd both continued on in Herbology, and Harry and Ron usually met them after they'd spent a good two hours in the library "studying". Today Ron had made his excuses and spent those two hours instead . . . well, Harry didn't really know where. He hadn't worried about it, assuming that he was practicing or taking a break from the constant workload. So it was only the three of them that passed through the portrait hole and into the common room.

"SURPRISE!"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked up and saw the whole of Gryffindor House gathered before him. Ron stood in the forefront, his arms held wide, beaming at the balloons and streamers and general chaos that had engulfed the room. Large, spinning, sparkling objects bounced freely about the room. Harry's mouth dropped.

"Ron, are those . . .?"

"Filibuster Fireworks!" he exclaimed. "Yes they are!"

Harry couldn't understand quite what was going on, but he didn't have to wonder much longer. As Hermione and Neville drew level with him, a terrible blush crept up Hermione's face.

"Happy birthday, Hermione," said Ron, his glowing face dimming just a little waiting for her response. Hermione surveyed the bedlam before her (Harry could tell she was battling with the prefect inside her – Filibusters were banned by Filch) with a look Harry couldn't quite discern. It was something in the middle of astonishment, reproach, and gratitude. She stared around the room, and everyone waited for her to speak.

"Ron," she said uncertainly, "I thought you . . ."

Neville suddenly burst out laughing beside her. Ron's face slid from joy to confusion. Everyone stared at Neville until Harry could no longer hold it in, either, and laughed right along with his friend.

"What were you thinking, Ron?" he asked. Ron looked a bit green.

"You've never paid attention to birthdays before, mate," said Neville. "Why all this?"

Ron turned a strange shade of red and green together. "She turned seventeen . . . that's special . . . in our family . . . our mum . . ." He trailed off.

Harry did feel a little bad about laughing, but really, Ron was being ridiculous. If anyone should be throwing Hermione a party, it should be Neville. And she certainly didn't look as if she wanted all the fuss.

"You're a dolt. How much money did all this cost you?" Ron mumbled something intelligibly. "You really should have asked . . ."

"I think Hermione can speak for herself, can't she?" piped Lavender Brown from somewhere behind Ron.

"I think it's pretty clear from the look on her face that Hermione's not happy," said Neville.

Ron put on a face and tried not to look crushed. He beseeched Hermione with his eyes. "Are you . . . do you not like it?" he asked.

Hermione looked desperately from Harry to Neville to Ron and at the disorder around her. Floundering, she said tightly, "Well, Ron, you really shouldn't have gone to all the trouble . . ."

Ron's jaw twitched. Neville put a hand on Hermione's arm and started leading her away. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, Ron," she said, and clearly there was more, but Neville had already started convincing her to just go to the library.

Ron watched the portrait hole long after they were gone. The crowd behind him gave sympathetic looks, but generally everyone milled around and headed down to the Great Hall for supper. Harry waited a few awkward minutes as the fireworks bounced around them and Ron continued to stare.

"Well, I guess I'll just—" he began.

"Oh no, you don't," hissed a voice next to him. He looked down to see Ginny latched onto his arm, pulling him back toward her brother. "You are going to stay right here and help clean up!"

She didn't seem to want to be trifled with, and she set him to work tearing down streamers as she went to comfort her brother.

It took the three of them quite a while to clean up the decorations, the fireworks putting up quite a fight. Finally, and well into supper, they sat down and Vanished the pile of rubbish in front of them. It wasn't long before students started returning from the Great Hall, none of them making eye contact with Ron or Ginny or even Harry. When Hermione and Neville came in, she smiled weakly at Ron, then continued toward her stairs. When they'd reached the foot of her stairs, however, they parted strangely. Neville tried to pull her in closer, but she put her hand on his shoulder and nudged him away, shaking her head, then she continued up to her bedroom rather moodily. Neville simply crossed his arms and walked up the boys' staircase. Harry looked over to see if Ron had noticed this, but the redhead was staring resolutely at the floor. Suddenly, Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

"Ron . . . do you, er . . . like Hermione?" he asked.

"Of course I like her, she's my friend, isn't she?"

Harry knew this was going to make him angry, but he continued. "No, that's not what I mean." He looked at Ginny beseechingly, but she just shook her head. You asked, not me. He cleared his throat. "Do you, you know, like her . . . more than a friend?"

Ron gave him a sharp look, but Harry could've sworn he turned red for just a second. "'Course not, why would you think that?"

The way you go red and shut up whenever she's around, thought Harry. But the way Ron had finished his sentence ended the conversation. Harry kicked at a piece of missed streamer.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this prank on Lestrange," said Harry. Ron snatched the thing off the ground.

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Well, because you're head's not in it, and that makes for a dangerous operation."

Ron glared at him. "You want me out of it? You want it to just be you and Neville?"

"That's not what I—"

"Forget it, I'm pulling myself out. You and Neville can get on with it. I quit."

With that he stomped off up the stairs. Hopelessly, Harry stared after him, then looked at Ginny. "Wha—" he began.

"Not my problem," Ginny said cheerily. She stood up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. "You have to admit you're really clueless half the time."

And for the second time that night Harry watched a Weasley walk away without having any clue what they'd been blabbering on about before they left.