Chapter 5

Lupin had taken to wandering the castle, already restless after less than a day as Harry's official minder. As he had promised, he did not constantly watch the boy, only checked in now and again. That left him even more bored than if he had been focused on the Eye all the time. Sighing, he walked into the Potions classroom. Snape was sifting some finely-ground leaves into a mortar.

"You again, Wolf?" he said, annoyed. "Please do not distract me before I am finished with this. It is rather delicate."

"Certainly," Lupin smiled, taking a seat and letting his eyes go out of focus. "I'm just going to check on Harry... What the Bloody Hell!" Snape glared at Remus, ready to make some scathing comment, when the werewolf leapt from his chair, eyes focusing on his surroundings again. "He's under attack. At least four against one. Come on!"

The two professors pounded up the wide stone steps of the castle, from dungeon level to ground floor, with Lupin checking the situation through the Eye every few steps. Since this rendered Remus repeatedly blind to his immediate surroundings, Snape took his arm to guide him and keep him from smashing into a wall on his way. At the speed the two men were travelling, Remus might have knocked himself unconscious or done himself permanent damage if he had hit a solid surface. Lupin could tell that Severus was disturbed at having to actually touch another person by the tension in his fingers and the uncomfortable way he offered guidance through that tense grip. In addition to having to overcome his aversion to touch, Snape was worried, and took his worry out on Lupin, repeatedly castigating the werewolf for his laxity in observing the boy. As quickly as the men were moving, it seemed that they could never arrive in time to prevent any serious attack from turning fatal.

But as he ran, Lupin became more and more confident. Harry was holding his own. Remus wasn't sure how he was doing it, or what spells were pouring out of the boy's wand, but Harry wasn't being hurt. The werewolf did not slow his pace - he had no idea of how long Harry could hold out while so badly outnumbered. But he didn't feel quite so bad about how long it would take him to reach the boy.

By the time the two men had reached the front entrance to the castle, Remus could see that Harry's attackers had taken to their brooms. They were taking turns at swooping in, casting a curse and quickly flying away. Harry was forced to act defensively, and if he tired, the flyers might get a chance to harm him. Remus and Severus sprinted around the castle, Snape focusing on the greenhouse area. He was puzzled. There was no evidence of a magical duel taking place there. Then Remus pointed toward a pair of tiny-looking figures in the sky. They were not really small... just distant. The broomstick riders were well beyond the greenhouses. With a grimace of effort, Severus dug in, trying to run faster, his breath whistling painfully in his throat. Lupin was feeling a stitch beginning to stab his side. He gulped a single deep breath and pumped his legs faster to keep up with the potions master at his side.

The two men reached the top of a small rise and finally had a view of the battle. Remus exhaled gratefully, glad to see that the rest of their run would be downhill. But Snape gripped Lupin's arm hard and murmured, "Wait."

Both men were experienced in magical fighting. Each was an accomplished duelist. And either one was powerful and knowledgeable enough to teach an effective Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

Neither man had ever seen a defense such as the one Harry Potter employed.

Harry had pointed his wand at one of the diving flyers. A spray of silver sparkles, much like the first stages of a successfully cast Patronus, emerged from his wand. But it did not take a Patronus shape. Instead, it spread like water from a fountain, entangling the flyer and forcing him to retreat. At the same time, a second flyer had dived in from Harry's flank. He attempted to cast a curse at Harry's unprotected left side. Without even looking, Potter raised his left hand, palm out in a 'stop' signal. The curse, accompanied by a slight red glow, seemed to strike a shield of silver and die. The silvery dome around Harry, centered on his upraised left hand, glowed for a moment, then faded away. Another flyer, hovering high up and behind Harry, tilted his broom into a steep power dive at about the same time as the previous attack faded away against Potter's shield. The boy on the broomstick leveled his wand and spoke something, the exact words carried off by the breeze, in an attempt to curse Harry from behind. Harry spun on his toes and held his wand crosswise to the oncoming curse, the way a fencer might try to block a slashing blow with his sword. Very clearly, Snape could hear Harry shout, 'Repellimus!' Snape cringed. The foolish utterance was not a spell... not even a real Latin word. The attempt at making magic with it was doomed to failure. To Severus' amazement, the vaguely green-glowing curse heading Potter's way seemed to strike his wand - and immediately reversed direction, slamming into the boy who had cast it. The flyer fell chest-first along the length of his broom, and wrapped both arms around it in a desperate attempt to hold on. Hanging ridiculously beneath the stick, he rocketed on past the boy he had tried to curse, apparently unable to steer.

As the fourth flyer dove at him, Harry did cast an actual spell - with surprising results. He pointed his wand at the broom heading straight for him and pronounced, 'Incendio!' Lupin nodded in approval. Giving a broomstick rider a hotfoot was a good way to break his concentration. But the spell Harry cast did more than make the oncoming broom uncomfortably hot. The entire device, handle, twigs and all, burst into furious conflagration. Shockingly, so did the other three brooms.

The boy who had been riding directly at Harry bailed, hitting the ground rolling, and turning numerous summersaults under the impetus of his tremendous momentum. The boy who had been hanging beneath his stick simply fell, landing with a 'thud' that Severus could hear clearly, even removed by such a long distance. The other two dove their sticks toward the ground, pulled up once they were quite low, and leapt off, running away from the scene as soon as they had found their feet. The other two boys were up and running as well, although with decided limps in both cases. The brooms sent towers of flame into the air, burning to soot and ash in seconds.

Harry stood with his teeth clenched, shaking all over in rage. His wand tracked the slowest of the running boys. Loudly and clearly, he pronounced, "Avada..."

Lupin was already running. "Potter!" he screamed. "Potter, No!"

His face twisted in a grimace of hatred, Harry turned his wand toward Remus. Lupin did not stop. He charged as quickly as he ever had to get to the cub that was the future of his pack. "Harry! Don't do it!"

Harry lowered his wand. His shoulders drooped, his face fell. He looked as though he were about to cry. "Are you all right?" Remus called, still running toward him.

"They got away," Harry said in a dull, tired voice. He sat on the ground right where he was, simply falling onto his butt. He looked down and said, even more mournfully, "They got away."

Remus knelt by his side. "Harry, that is not what is important. What is important is how you are, whether you are hurt, and what medical attention you might need."

Harry would not look up. "They got away," he repeated dully.

At that moment Professor Sprout came hurrying along the path. "Harry Potter!" she called. "I saw fires! What is going... Professor Snape? Mister Lupin? What is this?"

"Harry was attacked," Remus told her, putting his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Four boys, probably students, on brooms. Harry took care of himself quite well, I should say."

"They got away," Harry said again.

"And the fires?" Professor Sprout asked suspiciously.

"Harry set their brooms ablaze," Remus said proudly. "I daresay it saved his life."

"Oh..." Professor Sprout said, somewhat mollified. "If it was as serious as all that..." She trailed off, staring at the pile of dirt to which Harry was to have added his wheelbarrow's worth. "Harry Potter!" She demanded angrily. "What in Merlin's name have you done to my soil?"

Harry, tired and confused, looked up and considered the question for a moment. Then he seemed to give up trying to make sense of it. "What do you mean?"

"I'll show you," Professor Sprout huffed, walking over to the mound of earth. She extended her wand. "Nox," she said crisply. Harry had seen the spell used to extinguish lights before, but Professor Sprout's spell cast a deep darkness over the entire area. She then cast a simple Detect Magic spell, but since Professor Spout was an uncommonly gifted witch, the spell showed uncommonly clear results. Under its veil of darkness, the dirt pile sparkled as though tiny fireworks were going off all over it. "Harry Potter, you have enchanted this entire mound of soil," Sprout scolded furiously. "How on earth can we expect it to behave properly when it's full of magic? I shall have to disenchant this entire mound!"

Snape had no intention of waiting around while Sprout and Potter sorted out their ensorcelled soil. "Lupin," he called crisply. "I presume you can dispel magic."

Remus stood slowly, not eager at all to leave Harry's side while he was in such obvious distress, but he understood Snape's plan. "Oh... quite," he admitted. "Shall we begin?"

The adults had yet another surprise awaiting them. The store of soil had not been hexed, or cursed, or - in a proper sense - enchanted. The magic with which it was imbued was raw, unformed, and in such a state, completely immune to Finite Incantatem, or any of the simple 'turn it off' types of spells. Instead, laborious disenchants and dispel magics had to be employed. As irritating as it was for them, the three adults were all glad they had discovered the situation right away. Leaving this kind of magic lying about in something as malleable as a pile of soil was a little like leaving dynamite lying about without any detonators nearby. It appeared to be safe with nothing to set off an explosion. But any idiot who happened by with a blasting cap could initiate a tremendous amount of devastation.

Once the pile of soil was magically neutral to Professor Sprout's satisfaction, Remus helped Harry to his feet and apologized to the Herbology teacher. "I realize that Harry will have to make up some of today's work tomorrow, but we really have to get him into the castle for some tests." He indicated Harry's dull expression. "He may be in a bit of shock. Sorry, Professor."

"Take him," Sprout said disgustedly. "We'll start again tomorrow. Seven o'clock if you are able, Mister Potter."

Harry nodded, his mouth slack, his eyelids drooping. "Uh-huh," he murmured, then leaned against Remus for support.

With Lupin on one side, holding him up, and Snape on the other, Harry walked back toward the castle. As soon as Sprout was out of sight, Harry's face focused sharply into an expression of rage. In a low, dangerous voice, he asked his Potions professor, "Are you proud of your House, Professor Snape?"

Severus seemed unmoved. "What was that, Potter?"

"Your House, Professor," Harry snarled. "Four Slytherins attacked me... but you can discount three of them, they were just there for backup. The real effort was made by one of them - on behalf of someone we'd all recognize."

"You're delirious, Potter. Make some sense or I'll sedate you," Snape offered calmly.

"Apparently - from what they were bragging about when the four of them thought they were going to be able to kill me - there has been a kind of contest organized, and three competitors have been chosen to go for the prize. Wouldn't you know that the three would be Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy. The test is killing me. And the sponsor is Lord Voldemort!"

Snape looked down his nose at Harry. "Your accusations would be so much more believable if you got any of your facts right," he sighed. "Mister Malfoy is out of the country. Mister Crabbe is equally unavailable at this time. Mister Goyle... if that was Goyle, and not some other ponce under Polyjuice... may have had any number of reasons to lie to you. But if a price has been placed on your head, it is not Mister Crabbe nor Mister Malfoy who have been tapped to collect it."

--- --- ---

The four conspirators did not stop running until they were halfway to Hogsmeade. Detecting no pursuit, they broke down into a dispirited walk. Breathlessly, Goyle asked, "On the hill... when we left... did you see... who?"

"Snape," panted Thrasher. "And some other teacher."

"Horseshit," Goyle spat. "No one... would have believed... Potter's story. But now..."

"C'mon, Greg," Boyd chided. "There were the flamin' brooms."

"Burned away..." Goyle gasped. "...nothin' left of 'em."

"Yeah, well, we're fucked now," Thrasher complained. "Snape knows us all."

"And what? He's gonna turn us in for a little fight with a Gryffindor?" Reimuth challenged. "Nobody even got hurt. We're the ones who lost our brooms! What could he do, give us detention?"

Goyle knew better than that. Their results had been pathetic, but their intent had been serious enough to bring criminal charges against all of them, especially considering the distance they had travelled to make the attempt. Greg's stomach hurt. He had never considered that puny Potter would be able to put up such a defense. None of the four had even been able to get close enough to him to throw a punch. Thrasher had been knocked back on his arse, and Greg hadn't even seen how Potter had done it. The entire expedition had been a horrid, bloody failure. Potter had not agreed to join Voldemort under Greg's sponsorship. Potter had not been killed, or badly injured, or even beaten at all. In fact, the little puke had sent four serious toughs running, and had burned their brooms to top it all. Greg could only hope that Potter had been made so angry that he wouldn't be amenable to any offers from Crabbe or Malfoy. But then, the Dark Lord wouldn't be very happy about that, would he? The whole situation sucked.

The four boys walked into Hogsmeade thoroughly discouraged and beaten. Greg looked over his own robes. They were badly burnt, torn and grass stained. "Anyone look presentable enough to go into the Three Broomsticks and fetch Boz?" Greg asked. Jordan Lurker lifted a finger and nodded. "Do it, then. We'll..." he looked at Chaz and Boyd, who were as ragged as he was himself. "We'll hide in an alley or something. Hurry up!"

The Three Broomsticks was crowded with customers who were, for the most part, cheerfully drinking. Madam Rosmerta was serving multiple tables at once, her high heels clicking rapidly across the floor as she balanced a huge tray of drinks. Boz was sitting at a table alone, three empty tankards in front of him and one more lifted to his face. Jordan slid into the seat next to the big man's and quietly said, "Hello, Boz. Your brother's outside. He's ready to go home."

"Well, fuck 'im, then," Boz rumbled, his voice carrying enough to cause several customers to look his way, then quickly look away again. "Why dinn'e come gimme hi'self?"

Jordan allowed a smile to pull slightly at the corners of his mouth. "He looks like he's been in a fight."

"An' you look like ya fell asleep wi' a meter-long spliff in yer mouth," Boz countered, pointing at the long burn down the front of Jordan's robe.

"There was fire involved," Jordan murmured. "You should see the other guy."

Boz burst out laughing. "At'sa spirit. Yeh wan' summat tae drink?"

"A butterbeer would be warming," Jordan allowed.

"Can yeh pay fer'it?"

"Yes. Buy you one?"

"Rosmerta!" Boz bellowed, "Ale and a butterbeer! Aw, put yer coins away, ye daft git. I was fuckin' wi' ye."

Boz and Jordan enjoyed their drinks in silence, which was astounding to Jordan - he

hadn't thought Boz could have done anything silently. Boz tossed some coins onto the bar, then the pair went out to find the rest of their party.

When they discovered the other three, hiding in an alley, as Goyle had suggested they would, Boz laughed for nearly a full minute before taking a long breath and starting to laugh once again. He caught his breath, and the boys thought they might have a chance to ask him to apparate them immediately. But before any of them could speak, Boz said, "Me aun li'l bro... cooked like a chicken!" and dissolved into hilarity again. He stopped, wiped tears from his eyes, then pointed at Chaz and said, "Like a spitted chicken!" and guffawed some more.

When the volume of Boz's laughter died down a bit, Goyle said, "We have to be about establishing some alibis far from here," and waited for some response.

"Chicken," Boz said and laughed once more.

"The sooner we can establish that we were back at home..." Goyle began again, then stopped, choking, as Boz circled his neck with a powerful arm.

"Yeh, 'ats smart, 'at is," the huge man agreed, wrapped his other arm around Jordan, and apparated. Within another two minutes, all five were back in the garage at the Thrasher's.

--- --- ---

Professor Sprout hurried back to her greenhouse muttering under her breath. It was bad enough that the best helper she could get for the season was barely able to push dirt when it was shoveled into a wheelbarrow for him; worse still that he was - as she had suspected - a magnet for terrorists; but now, even that little bit of assistance had been taken from her. Professor Sprout was generally supportive of her students, but this particular boy had already been much more trouble than he was worth. And now, she had more work to do than before, since she had been robbed - not only of her assistant - but of the time it had taken to disenchant an entire mound of soil that had been free of magical contamination only this morning.

So it was that Professor Sprout was not in a very pleasant mood when she finally reached the bench she had lately been forced to leave, and saw Headmaster Albus Dumbledore making his way toward the greenhouse. She had not yet gotten the opportunity to touch a single one of her plants that so desperately needed repotting when Albus opened the greenhouse door - nearly letting one of the creeping creeping charlies escape - and wound his way through the overflowing tables and workbenches toward her.

She did not give him a chance to say anything. "Where were you?" she demanded as soon as the old man was within range of decent conversation. She was not about to begin shouting - yet.

With his trademark twinkle in his eye, Dumbledore replied. "I have lived a long and active life, Pomona. I would hardly be able to list all of the places I have been. Have you a particular occasion in mind?"

"Yes, I do," Sprout replied icily. "When your pet boy was attacked. That would be today, just before your spy and your werewolf took him away."

Dumbledore looked very disappointed. In his most grandfatherly cautioning tone he began, "My dear, it is hardly wise to speak of..."

"Can it, Headmaster," Professor Sprout snapped. "I notice that - one - you are fully aware of Potter being attacked. You are certainly not surprised by what I just told you. And - two - that you only show up once the difficult work of disenchanting that entire huge mound of soil has been completed. Another wand would have helped, Albus. The boy was no more help with that labor than he is around the Herbology department in general. And what makes me really angry is that I told you this would happen. The first time - the very first time - I send him outside, out of my direct sight, he attracts a quartet of hoodlums who cast curses all over my storage area, and spill wild magic all over my clean soil!"

Dumbledore assumed his lecturing posture. "The truth is, Pomona, that hoodlums are generally criminals of opportunity. If they were hovering in the area waiting to cause mischief, I daresay that anyone who had ventured out..."

"Bollocks, Albus!" Professor Sprout interrupted. "Stop giving me your 'made for the Daily Prophet' interview selection of the day! You know damn good and well that it was not Hogwarts - and certainly not Herbology - that was the target of the attack, it was Harry Potter. I told you this would happen, and it has happened - on the very first occasion on which I had Potter step outside! Will you at least allow me that? That I was correct in my assessment?"

"Certainly, Pomona," Dumbledore conceded, with apparent humility. "And I have a crucial question about the aftermath of the attack. Did you actually have to dispel wild magic?"

Professor Sprout drew herself up to her full height and faced Dumbledore head-on. Her diminutive size and rotund shape, which usually made most people think of happy gnomes and nurturing woodland spirits, now suggested something more like a battle tank. "You might have seen for yourself if you had been here to help," she said bitterly.

"The thing is," Dumbledore said in his most pleading tone, "that I don't believe that any of the magic you had to dispel came from curses. And if..."

"I don't care if it was Manna from Heaven," Professor Sprout said. "It did not belong in the soil! Using that dirt as it was could well have poisoned some of our more delicate - and rare, and therefore expensive - species. And such magically charged ground might have given something like a mandrake such a boost that it could well have become a danger to all of us, myself included. My God, Albus, if plants intended for use by students in regular classes had been planted in that dirt before it was disenchanted, we could have had injuries, permanent disfigurements, even deaths. I know that you tend to think of my department as the 'cute, harmless,' section of the Hogwarts grounds, even though that is a dangerous misconception, I assure you. But how would you feel if you had a dozen lawsuits for wrongful student deaths sitting on your desk? How would you deal with that? Would it just be a matter of bargaining down the damages the school would be required to pay? Or would you feel each and every injury as deeply as I would?

Dumbledore appeared to be truly taken aback by this outburst. He stood silently for a time, then said, "Pomona, I feel personally responsible for each and every student that crosses our threshold. I try to make each student's time here as productive for that particular person as it possibly can be. And when there is an accident, or a case of malicious mischief that leads to an injury..."

Watch yourself, Albus," Professor Sprout warned. "I'm not as young as I look."

"I know that you have seen some cases in which you felt that greater punishments for particular perpetrators were called for."

"Come on, Albus," Sprout challenged. "I've seen you cover up attempted murder. Quick case in point. About twenty years ago, Sirius Black."

"Sirius is dead, Pomona," Dumbledore asserted gravely.

"And his life may have turned out completely differently had you dealt with his 'malicious mischief' properly at the appropriate time!" Professor Sprout insisted. "Neither of the punishments Sirius suffered - neither Azkaban, nor his violent death - fit the crimes he actually committed, and even if they had, they were imposed upon him far too late to be considered justice!"

"Both of the intended victims of Black's most... serious... misdeed are alive," Dumbledore pointed out. "And, in fact, are here at Hogwarts at this very moment."

"Which is more than my plants will be if I don't get some competent help," Sprout said. "Potter is a perfectly acceptable student. Which means, if I tell him exactly what to do, every single step of the way, he can... he will... do it, and do it the way I instruct him. That is not what I need in a summer worker! I am scheduled to leave here in two weeks, Albus. When I go, I want to leave my work behind me. Part of the reason that I am leaving is to remove myself from the constant demands of my living subjects. I remind you, my plants are alive, Headmaster. They may be vegetables, but they are living creatures. They need water, sunlight, food, magical nourishment - not once a year, not once a month, not even once a day - but constantly! Temperature, humidity, acidity... those things are not to be checked every so often. They're to be monitored non-stop. The pressure is unrelenting. And if I am going to leave here this summer... and I assure you, Headmaster, I am going to leave... I have to know that my - LIVING - charges are being taken care of properly. Albus, Potter can't do it. He's a good student. He's a good fifth year student. But he is not capable of managing a Herbology department single-handedly - especially if he is going to be assaulted by flying curse-casters every time he steps outside. I need someone who can actually respond to the needs of the living subjects here in this department. I need someone who not only has the intelligence and the power, but who has the understanding - the touch. I need Neville Longbottom, Headmaster, and no one else will do."

Dumbledore looked mournful. "Pomona, I would love to indulge your desires. But it is completely out of the question. I cannot have two students on campus during the summer."

"Fine." Professor Sprout said with finality. "Then I quit. I am scheduled to leave in two weeks, anyway. That makes a perfect two-week notice. There is no term of study that I am disrupting, no class schedule that needs to be altered. I will simply be gone, as previously arranged, two weeks from today. And instead of returning, I will not."

"Pomona, please," Dumbledore implored.

"Pfft." Professor Sprout puffed dismissively. "... 'please'..." she mocked. "What have my pleas gained, except lame excuses? Don't worry, Headmaster, I'm sure that whoever you choose to take my place will have the opportunity of beginning from scratch. I doubt that any of these plants will survive Harry Potter's attempts to provide care for them."

Dumbledore heaved one of his most long-suffering sighs. "Perhaps we can find some way to make an exception for this particularly... exceptional... season."

"Don't you dare, Albus," Professor Sprout growled threateningly. If you have spent all of these days telling me how 'impossible' it was for me to have competent help, just to cave in at the first sign of inconvenience for yourself, I will be extremely vexed."

"Oh, Pomona, it is not that at all," Dumbledore said in a soft and soothing tone. "I would loathe to feel as though I had put you out of the castle. Whatever will you do?"

Professor Sprout's eyes went wide. "Are you insane? Or are you really as ignorant of the world around you as you pretend to be? With the experience I have at growing things for Snape and Poppy, all I need do is make public that I am available, and I will have a dozen job offers within a day - the least of which will offer me much more money than I am being paid here. I think it might be nice to have a house, Albus. With a garden... just for fun... and just for myself. Weekends off, without students crowding around me, needing help; regular holidays..."

"You'll not find more regular holidays than a school observes, Pomona," Dumbledore lectured, with a cautioning finger raised.

"When the bloody Hell have I ever taken a holiday off, Albus?" Professor Sprout shouted back. "The rest of the staff send me cards showing their exotic vacation sites, while I stay here tending to living things that cannot be ignored."

"I have not taken a holiday off in years, myself," the Headmaster said, his eyes once again twinkling.

"That's because you are a conniving old man who can't stand to spend a minute away from your schemes. There's something wrong with that, Albus. Something very disturbing about it."

"And what of the fight against Voldemort?" Dumbledore asked simply, but with his shoulders back and head held high.

"The particulars of that situation have changed as well, haven't they?" Sprout said sadly. "You were very important to us in the last war, Albus.Very brave, very powerful, and honestly, very inspiring. You changed during that conflict... as to a certain extent, most of us did... But you changed even more once it seemed to be over. You felt it was your war. That the people who had taken a stand against Voldemort were on a side that you owned exclusively. That you were the leader of the good, the right and the free. And you started to feel that gave you the right to manage things... and people... however you wanted. You were important to us. But you weren't the only hero by a long shot. And you started to act as though you were. In order to accept you as the Champion of the Light Side, one has to believe in you, personally. I find that now, years after I was first inspired by your dedication, that I - for one - no longer believe that you are the perfect man for the job. There is a limit to how many techniques and methods... and attitudes... one can take from an enemy, before becoming no different from that enemy. I believe you have passed that limit, Albus. I am, actually, rather relieved to be going from here."

Dumbledore was, for the first time in Pomona Sprout's memory, absolutely speechless. He stared at her in shock, apparently uncertain of what to do.

Oh," she added quietly, almost as an afterthought. "I do have one recommendation for Herbology professor, once I am gone. Take it seriously, Albus, because it is the most inspired recommendation you will likely ever receive." She leaned close to him and nearly whispered. "Hire Neville Longbottom. He can actually do the job." Then she straightened up, turned and marched toward her office, where she began packing her belongings into a travelling trunk.

--- --- ---

As the two adults on either side hustled him though the entrance to Hogwarts castle, Harry fully expected to be taken to the hospital wing. He attempted to turn in that direction, but Remus steered him insistently toward the staircase leading to the dungeons. Knowing that he wasn't hurt, he didn't particularly care about not going to be examined for injuries. But being bitterly disappointed over not having done any damage to his attackers, he felt he would rather go anywhere else than down to Snape's office, where, as was usually the case, he would probably feel even worse.

Remus led him into the potions laboratory and made sure he sat in a chair dragged from the desks in the lecture portion of the huge room. He met Harry's eyes and inspected them carefully, as though checking for concussion. Harry was more interested in what Snape was doing. He was just on the edge of Harry's vision, and it seemed as though he were casting a silencing charm.

"How many times were you hit?" Remus asked worriedly. "And was it just magic, or were they using physical attacks as well?"

Harry tried to remember what had actually happened. He could remember the feel of it, the rhythm of the combat, but whether he had been hit or not, he really couldn't recall. He hemmed and hawed a bit and Remus nodded with great concern and said "I see..." very ominously.

Then Snape took Remus' place, and Lupin went into the empty space of the laboratory, almost directly behind Harry. Harry could hear Remus' voice murmuring some sort of spell. He turned to look, but Snape immediately recaptured his attention with an imperative, "Mister Potter."

Harry turned back toward the potions professor, and heard Remus say, barely above a whisper, "He's busy." Snape nodded once, and turned his attention back to the boy seated in front of him.

"Repellimus, Mister Potter?" Snape sneered.

Harry thought as fast as he could, but had no idea what that word was supposed to mean. It sounded like an accusation, and Harry wondered if Snape was accusing him of summoning the attackers to Hogwarts himself. "I'm sorry, Sir?"

"Ree - PELL - ih - muss," Snape repeated, as though reading the pronunciation guide from a dictionary entry.

Harry shook his head. He didn't like Snape's threatening tone in the least. Besides, he was much more interested in what kind of spell Remus was casting back in the laboratory. He wanted to look, or even ask, but Snape held him fast under a direct, accusatory glare. "I don't know what you mean, Sir."

"Repellimus is not a spell, Mister Potter. It is, in fact - unless you are speaking a very corrupted local dialect - not even a proper Latin word. You should not be able to do magic by using it."

Harry was concerned, a little afraid, and as always, intimidated by Snape. But he was running out of patience with this treatment. "I won't," he said with a slight shrug.

"You did," Snape countered. "Just now, when you were being attacked. You turned your wand crosswise to an approaching curse and said 'Repellimus.' The curse rebounded from your wand and struck its original caster. I want to know how you accomplished that feat."

"I wasn't aware I had," Harry said, more uncertain than ever. "I was busy fighting."

"You can be as snotty as you wish, Mister Potter..." Snape began, but Harry spoke up quickly in his own defense.

"I'm not, Sir, really," he pleaded. "It was four against one. They surrounded me, and they had brooms. I hadn't the time to plan anything, I had to react to each attack quickly. I don't think they wanted to use magic at all. They rushed me at first, like they wanted to beat me up..." Harry trailed off, shuddering. Before his eyes flashed scenes of Dudley and his friends, punching him, knocking him to the ground and kicking him. Harry wished now that he had been able to use magic to defend himself while those attacks were happening. Instead - ignorant as he was of any power that could be used in a fight other than size and viciousness - the longer any one of those beatings had gone on, the smaller and less powerful Harry had felt. And then he would go back into the Dursleys' house with his clothes torn and dirty, sometimes with a boot-print showing, and his aunt and uncle would berate him for getting into fights, and show off their son as the good example of a child who knew better than to get into trouble. One of the worst beatings Harry had ever suffered had come at the huge, beefy hands of his Uncle Vernon, after Harry had told the man that it was his son and a gang of his friends who had been the attackers, and that Harry had tried to run from them, only to be beaten the more savagely for his 'cowardice.' He could see Vernon's knuckles still, flying at his face, drawing back, coming in again. Harry had stayed in bed for two days after that particular Friday night. On Monday, however, his aunt had forced him out of bed and off to school, where Dudley had pounded him during each of two recesses and at lunch. Where had his magic been, then? Why had he been unable to defend himself, then? Why was he so weak at his muggle home, so vulnerable, so...

"...Potter!"

Harry's attention returned to the present, as he realized that Snape had called his name quite forcefully - and apparently not for the first time. The potions professor's nose was less than an inch from Harry's, and seeing that intimidating visage looming so close gave Harry a violent start.

"Feigning insanity will do you no good, Potter," Snape scolded, standing straight once again, and thereby - mercifully - removing his glaring face from the position in which it had dominated Harry's entire field of vision.

"I'm sorry, Sir," Harry said dispiritedly. "I was just recalling all the beatings I've had." Which drew a quizzical look from Snape and a scowl of concern from Lupin. Harry turned in his chair suddenly to face Remus. "Why are you casting silencing charms in here? Sn... Professor Snape's classroom is the most secure area in Hogwarts."

"Second most..." Remus corrected absently, watching something on the ceiling that Harry could not see. Apparently satisfied, he looked back at the boy and smiled slightly. "These charms are not heavy-duty workings, Harry," he reassured the cub. "They're temporary, quick to cast and equally easy to dispel. We... your potions professor and I... simply want a little privacy for a moment from... You Know Who."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You think that Voldemort would spy on us right here in Hogwarts?"

"No, Harry," Remus chuckled. He pointed upward and moved his hand a bit to emphasize the distance he was indicating.

Harry was absolutely astounded. Did these men - even wizards as powerful and skilled as they were - think they could cast a silencing spell against God? Then he remembered the current password for Dumbledore's office. 'Divinity.' They were trying to keep Dumbledore from hearing what they had to say! Just like Remus had taken Harry to London so that Dumbledore would not be able to listen in on their conversation. And that meant... Snape shared at least some of Remus' attitude toward Dumbledore. Harry wished that he could have had some more time to think about that, and what that implied. Instead, Snape and Remus both faced him, quite seriously, and began to talk, quite quickly.

"For the past five years, many people have spoken in very grandiloquent terms about the 'vast resources of power' that you possess," Snape said skeptically.

"And today, you showed that you may well be able to draw on a reservoir of power that most wizards only wish they had," Remus added sincerely.

"Over the same five years, I have noted that your many... admittedly impressive... successes have come - not from a limitless reservoir of magical energy - but from rash action, disregard for the rules, support from your good friends, and plain dumb luck."

"But the spells you cast today were a radical departure from the way you have been taught to use magic. For example, you cast a spell with your free hand while you used your wand to cast a different one.

"And that implies that you are drawing on a source of magic which may be unfamiliar to you - and which, if you do possess such an advantage, you must learn to use with discipline and precision."

"You might be able to do things that would astound your own teachers."

"Or you may make a mistake, and blow yourself to pieces."

"So, Harry," Remus said, looking the boy straight in the eye. "I want to know if you will be willing to undergo some testing."

Harry was very excited to hear the wonderful, complimentary things the two men were saying about him. But he really didn't understand what the big deal was about doing some magical tests. "We get tested all the time here in school," he said.

Snape snorted in derision. "Under the current structure of Hogwarts' curriculum, the puny quizzes you are faced with are primarily designed to separate the truly hopeless from the merely mediocre."

Remus looked rather apologetic. "You remember I was telling you that school used to include a little more intensive study?"

"Intensive study was the least of the differences," Snape declared haughtily. "Mister Potter, what do you know about magic theory?"

Harry was cautious. This was clearly a trick question. Slowly, watching for his teacher's reaction, he said, "Magic isn't a theory... magic works. It's real. Or at least a proven theory. I mean, if there's a theory of magic, it must be a... principle? law? It must be proven by now."

Harry's heart sank. If Snape had been nasty, or angry, or insufferably superior, his reaction would have been so much easier to discount and forget about. But Snape seemed... sad. Disappointed. Almost hurt by Harry's answer. "You have been a student at this school for five long years," the potions professor mused. "And yet, you do not know what I am talking about when I mention 'Magic Theory.' Tell me, Mister Potter, have you ever wondered how the first wizard who successfully opened a locked doorway happened upon 'Alohamora?' Did that not seem rather odd to you? Did you even bother to try to picture an ancient wizard, standing in front of a sealed portal and trying out words until he hit upon one which worked? Did you ever consider how unlikely it was that such a random search would turn up any fruitful result when the correct wand motion must be performed and the correct magical feeling must also be engaged to make the spell successful? No? I thought as much. Because if you had considered it - truly tried to figure out how it might have been done - you would have been presented with a very difficult dilemma. There are more known spells than an entire staff could possibly teach a student body in seven years. How could all those spells have been discovered? Their magical words, the particulars of their accompanying wand motions, the drawing forth of the correct magical energy? How could any of them, let alone thousands - many with very precise and particular applications - have been developed? That is but one of the mysteries Magic Theory attempts to address. And yet, not one of your classmates could have a discussion - on even the most superficial level - with me regarding Magic Theory. Some of your classmates do try to rise above the abyssimally low level that Hogwarts currently expects of its students. Your friend Hermione Granger, despite being an insufferable know-it-all, is one. And yet, for all her knowledge of Hogwarts' history, and the particulars of many different kinds of magical practice, she doesn't show the slightest sign of having a clue as to how magic theory applies to the spells she can utilize so well. And that will forever limit her progress. Until she - or any of you - begin to understand that there is a definite framework, a solid basis upon which all magic is based..." Snape suddenly turned to Lupin, who was giving him a hand signal. Remus dispelled his silencing charms, and relaxed in a chair near Harry.

"So, is it 'OK,' or 'No Way?' He asked. He could have been speaking about anything from Quiddich technique to music preference.

Harry nodded. "O.K.," he tried to say casually, but his breath caught in his throat, and he coughed. Remus laughed and reached over to pat him on the back while Snape rolled his eyes at the display.

All in all, it was a perfect time for Albus Dumbledore to show up at the door to the Potions laboratory. All three of the people the Headmaster found in the potions lab appeared in very characteristic poses; Harry choking on his own spit, Remus looking concerned, Snape showing his impatience with both of the other two.

"Ah... Harry," Dumbledore mumbled, his eyes flitting from face to face as though he could not quite remember which one Harry was. "I understand you had a bit of a... fracas... out behind the old greenhouses, eh?"

Harry's eyes were filled once again with the image of Vernon's knuckles. Coming in fast, pulling back, rushing toward him again. "I'm sorry, Sir," he said miserably, unable to focus on his surroundings for the persistent memory. Knuckles in, out again, back in.

"Nothing for you to feel sorry for," Dumbledore said airily, with an expansive hand gesture, even as his sharp eyes roamed about the room suspiciously.

"I was fighting," Harry said. His voice was dull. "The worst beating I ever got was for fighting."

"Well, my dear boy..." Dumbledore said and appeared to lose his train of thought. With a slight jolt, as though he had just recalled it, he continued. "Whereas spontaneous brawling is never condoned in a civilized institution such as ours.... ah..... defending one's self from unprovoked attack is ... ummm... always acceptable."

"Defending myself was the worst thing I could do in my.... in my muggle home," Harry said bitterly, his memories so raw and painful that he didn't even want to refer to his aunt or his uncle at all, even to identify the house in which he was raised.

Dumbledore smiled conspiratorily. "I think I know what you mean," he said with a wink.

Harry looked the old man in the eye. "I don't believe you do," he challenged. "And I think it's better for everyone concerned if I continue to believe in exactly that way. As you told me the day before this past term ended - 'Your fat, stupid cousin Dudley can beat you up any time he wishes.' If I thought you had any idea of what that is like to live through - especially with Dudley's father punching me out every time I tried to stand up for myself - I would be..."

Dumbledore's voice was gentle with concern. "What would you be, Harry?"

"I would hate you!" the boy snarled.

"I see..." Dumbledore said with a resigned sigh. "Well, I hope you do not think so badly of me, Harry. After all, one of the reasons you are here this summer is to remove you from..."

Dumbledore never got a chance to finish his rambling explanation. Harry's words cut through the wooly recitation like a shear. "No, it's not." Dumbledore attempted to stave off further comment with a stern look, but Harry wasn't going to let himself be silenced. "The only reason I am here during the summer is that I threatened you. I used the only threat I had - that I would put myself in danger. As you admitted, that would put you at risk of losing your chosen weapon against Voldemort. It may have been a weak strategy, but it was all I had. And it worked. So I'm here. But you got back at me for it. You managed to turn Neville and Ron and Hermione and Professor Sprout against me. They're all either angry with me or ignoring me, and I've been promised that next term it will all be worse."

"As it will," Dumbledore agreed. "Professor Sprout as already resigned over your having been assigned to help her, Harry. The only reason she is here now is that she gave two weeks' notice before her departure."

"That's horrible," Harry cried, nearly in tears. Ever since he came to Hogwarts, it had always been someone else who had suffered whenever he had been the target of maliciousness. Ginny, Cedric... and now Professor Sprout.

"But, it is a perfect object lesson in what happens when one bows to threats. One frequently loses a different asset from the one that was protected by caving in to the threatener."

"Oh, bullshit, Albus," Remus said with disgust. "No teacher with as many years of experience and with so much personal involvement invested in her job quits because she doesn't like the summer-break garden boy. If Pomona has actually resigned, there is damn well sure to be a lot more to it than that! And it's a low tactic to try to pin it on Harry."

"Ah. Disbelief. In that case, Mister Lupin, I invite you to interview Profess... that is... Madame Sprout at your earliest convenience. Pomona will certainly be able to explain her reasons for leaving Hogwarts much more clearly than could I. In the meantime, could you take Mister Potter to visit Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing? He seems to have suffered some blows to the head. I would like a professional opinion regarding his fitness." Remus stood with a scowl, and lent Harry a hand in rising from his own chair. They walked slowly out of the Potions laboratory as Dumbledore watched with a benign smile and Snape stood looking on thoughtfully. "Thank you," Dumbledore called sweetly as Remus crossed the threshold. "And don't worry about your hospital visit, Harry. I am sure that you will be fine."

Dumbledore allowed some time for the steps of the pair to fade down the dungeon corridor, then waited a little longer before turning to Snape and expressing his concern. "Severus... Professor Sprout has in fact resigned. And I have no viable candidate in mind as her replacement. If you are aware of an Herbologist who might be interested, I would appreciate your mentioning this person to me. In light of this... sudden absence of a certain teacher... I feel that we must be particularly on guard against Harry Potter running away. It would not do to have the Boy Who Lived outside of Hogwarts' warding, and yet unable to take advantage of his relatives' blood magic protection."

"Oh, there will be no difficulty in that respect," Snape enthused in a sarcastic parody of confidence. "Especially since, mere moments ago, before my very eyes, you made absolutely certain the boy knew he was a pariah, whose mere presence makes his friends and even his teachers flee. Brilliant handling of the situation, Headmaster."

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. "I am glad, Severus, that as you have grown more mature, you have developed a sense of humor. But you must appreciate the necessity of keeping Mister Potter from fleeing the school grounds."

"I don't appreciate being made the boy's babysitter. As I told you, I have much work to do, and the boy has already stolen time from me on every single day he has been present after the regular term. I also don't appreciate my job being made more problematic for me by your own taunting of the boy. Especially when you then tell me that I must work even harder now to keep him from trying to escape that very treatment. What were you thinking?"

"As usual, I was thinking about the central, defining tragedy of our time. A generation ago, it was the rise of Lord Voldemort. Now, it is his return. So far as we know, Old Tom Riddle has only been afraid of two people in his entire life. One of those people... is me. The other is the Boy Who Lived. While Voldemort was incorporeal, and his organization in shambles, Harry Potter had to be kept contained. Allowing his full magical potential to blossom too early, or to reach its full potential before the boy was schooled, would have been quite dangerous - for everyone in the entire world. Potter is a powerful weapon. And like any powerful weapon, he requires preparation before use; the removal of safety devices that have kept him from... ummm... going off... before he could be properly aimed and fired. His muggle relatives kept his potential quite well contained during his entire childhood. And they kept it from developing too quickly during his first five years of magical instruction. But now, when Old Tom is returning, it is time to take the safety off, time to allow the... ahhh... chain reaction to build. When I set Harry Potter on Lord Voldemort, I intend for the so-called Dark Lord to have no idea what has happened to him until he is dead. And not merely dead, but so utterly destroyed that he can never, ever, return to this plane of existence again."

"And the boy?" Severus drawled.

"I don't think you will be overly upset, Severus," Dumbledore said blandly, "when James Potter's son gives his life to rid the world of the evil of Tom Malvolo Riddle."

"Perhaps not. But I do believe that anyone fighting for Good and for Freedom should be allowed the chance to choose to do so."

"Heroes never know what they are getting into," Dumbledore smiled nostalgically. "They do what they must, and usually never look like heroes when they are actually doing it. It is in the remembering, and the honoring, that heroes become the larger-than-life figures up to whom people… ah… look. Harry Potter will have his opportunity for heroism. He will have, also, his opportunity for revenge against the villain who killed his parents, and made his life so difficult. He will be excited to have the opportunity, and would feel cheated if he were denied it."

Snape was frankly astounded by his own reaction. He would have expected to greet the news of Harry's impending death just as Dumbledore predicted: if James Potter's son were to be banished from the world of the living, then so much the better for everyone else. But after this afternoon's display of magical defense, Snape was more cautious. If his guess was correct, Potter's was not the kind of power one simply threw away, no matter what might be gained in return. Dumbledore had apparently committed himself to a course that included that very waste. Severus thought a bit and decided that he did not like the Headmaster's plan. For one thing, it destroyed a tremendously powerful young wizard. For another, it robbed Snape of the duel he truly wished to witness: that between Voldemort and Dumbledore himself.

As the potions professor considered this, the Headmaster walked toward the door of the classroom. He turned around just before he exited. "Ahhh... Severus. I am... not sure that... the Magic Eye is such a good idea. It seemed to create some interference with surveillance systems of my own, upon which I depend to keep this castle and everyone within it safe and secure. While the three of you were here, with the Eye flying around Harry, I wasn't able to understand a word any of you said. Can you imagine that?"

Showing his impatience clearly, Snape complained, "If the Magic Eye must go, then Lupin will have to follow the boy around all day long. I thought that was exactly what you did not want. Lupin the lenient will find some excuse to take Potter into Hogsmeade for a Three Broomsticks visit, or to stock up on Honeydukes' sweets. They may wind up on Diagon Alley, drooling over brooms in Quality Quiddich while claiming to shop for school supplies."

"Well, then, Severus," the Headmaster wheezed, "you must put your foot down. Any time Mister Lupin steps off of Hogwarts' grounds, he is to inform you. So that when Potter and his - admittedly lenient - escort go off-campus, you will be able to follow them, to ensure the safety of them both." Snape sputtered with fury, but it was to no avail. The Headmaster raised a warning finger and in his most serious tone, said, "That is a direct order, Professor Snape." The two men faced each other for a long moment, Snape's waves of anger breaking fruitlessly against the Headmaster's determination. Dumbledore stayed long enough to feel that he had made his point, then the old man turned and left. Severus stood staring at the place he had been for a long time, lost in thought.

--- --- ---

Harry worried about many things on his way to the hospital wing, the least of which was his possible injuries and the treatment Madame Pomfrey might prescribe for whatever hurts he might have had. Most of all, he worried that he would never be able to have a straightforward conversation again. Walking next to Lupin, he had so much he wanted to say to the man, and to ask of him - and he was unable to utter a single word of it, for fear that his conversation would be overheard by unfriendly ears. When he had faced problems such as this in the past, the people he had wanted to communicate with were his friends of many years. Between Ron's attitude and Hermione's intelligence, he could get quite a lot of substantive communication into a very few words and gestures. What was more, he really hadn't ever felt so closely monitored at any time in his entire life as he felt just then. If Remus felt he had to cast silence in Snape's dungeon in order to speak freely, the walls really must have ears! What could he do? Casually, but with a hopeful look at the man walking next to him, Harry said. "You know, the Tests..." he paused for a beat to try to make the word more significant "I took last year really did seem difficult to me."

Remus smiled and nodded. A quick wink let Harry know that the man had caught on to what the boy was trying to do. "Oh, I'll bet you would be... Willing To Take Them, Anytime..." Remus, too, paused to allow his previous phrase to stand out. "... the staff wanted to offer them to you. I know you're confident, and I'll bet you... Have Learned More Than You Think... these past few years."

It was all Harry could do to hold himself back from jumping and cheering. Remus understood! And he was talking back. With a tremendous feeling of relief, Harry said, "It would be easy in summer, cause we could use... Any Place Around... to hold exams."

Remus shook his head slowly. "I don't know, Harry. After today's attack... It Wouldn't Be Safe... to use anywhere here. I think... Snape Might Be Able To Find A Place... you know how he loves to vex you, and a re-examination would be just the kind of thing he would delight in."

They reached Madame Pomfrey's office, where she was making out requisition forms for the many medicines that she felt the school would need for next term. She looked up in surprise. She quickly checked each of her visitors over, and then, in her habitually kindly and patient tone, greeted them. "Mister Lupin.. Mister Potter. Which of you am I to be treating today? Or is it both?"

Harry grinned. He liked Madame Pomfrey, and had to remind himself to not address her by her nickname, "Poppy," which the teachers used. It wouldn't be proper for him to be so familiar with a staff member, but Madame Pomfrey was so friendly, so understanding, and so encouraging, that it was hard not to consider her a personal friend instead of the school mediwitch.

"Harry was attacked out behind the greenhouses," Remus said matter-of-factly. "He sent the hooligans running - I saw the last of it, he was really rather remarkable - but we all thought... Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Snape and myself, that is... that you should have a careful look at our young warrior."

"Attacked?" Poppy said with a disapproving scowl. "Was this some holdover from last term, Mister Potter?" She dropped her requisition form, left her desk, and led Harry to one of the examining tables.

"No, ma'm," Harry said apologetically. "It was... complicated."

"I see," Madame Pomfrey said, a stern warning in her voice. "House competition, perhaps? Something to do with pride? Or a girl?" She looked into Harry's eyes, then put her hands gently but firmly onto his head, and turned it so she could look into his ears.

"No, ma'm," Harry repeated. "They were competing for a reward from Lord Voldemort."

The mediwitch was still holding Harry's head, and when he mentioned the Dark Lord, she jumped so severely, she nearly did more damage to Harry than his entire fight had done. "What?" she demanded, outraged.

"I know it's hard to believe, ma'm. In fact, no one has believed me so far. But if it's not true, I don't see any other reason why they would have done it. According to what they said, there's a contest. Sponsored by... You-Know-Who. Kill me, and win the prize. I don't even know how much is being offered. But it was enough to get four of them to come here to try to collect."

"What did they do to you?" Poppy said, obviously enraged, yet still concentrating on trying to find whether Harry had suffered any injuries.

"Not much, really," Harry mused, trying to visualize the brawl as it had happened. "They tried to rush me, but I pushed them back with magic. Then they mounted their brooms and took turns strafing me while the others stayed out of range. Then they ran away."

"They flew away, you mean," Pomfrey corrected.

"No," Harry said sheepishly. "I set their brooms afire. All the broomsticks burned. Remus saw that. He and Sn... Professor Snape were running out to stop the fight. The four guys ran away."

"Well!" the mediwitch exclaimed, studying Harry intently. "You appear to have been a very fortunate young man, Mister Potter. I will have to cast some curse detection spells, to see if any malignant magic was able to affect you at all. Please sit very still while I do this."

Harry nodded his understanding of the instructions and sat unmoving. Madame Pomfrey cast a spell that sent a ring of green light sweeping over Harry very slowly. As it progressed, Remus murmured an aside to Poppy. "You may want to get out to the greenhouses sometime soon. Dumbledore says Pomona gave her two-weeks' notice."

"She's quitting?" Poppy gasped, somewhat more loudly than Remus had spoken.

"Yeah," Harry said, dejectedly. "She quit because of me."

Madame Pomfrey turned a stern eye upon the boy sitting on her examining table. "I don't know who you think you are, young man, but Professor Sprout is a strong, independent woman who does not quit because of a single student."

"Ask Dumbledore," Harry mumbled sullenly. "He told me. Whether it was the attack or just because she was forced to take me as summer help, she quit, and it's my fault, and I feel horrible about it."

"Just because he has a trading card packed in boxes of chocolate frogs, you needn't believe everything Albus Dumbledore says," Madame Pomfrey said crisply. "Scan is finished - you haven't been cursed. Good for you. And Harry," she added as the boy climbed down from the table's edge. "Don't feel badly about Professor Sprout. I'm going to go have a word with her right now. I'll tell her I recommended that you rest for the remainder of the day. And I'll try to get to the bottom of this resignation business. I remind you - adults do things for many reasons, and if Professor Sprout said something to the Headmaster about you, I'm sure her comments were meant to illuminate some disagreement she had with Professor Dumbledore - not to blame you for driving her away from the school. And I will be willing to bet that there are many more factors contributing to her decision than you could possibly be responsible for."

Harry nodded, though he was not at all convinced by the mediwitch's reassurances. He turned to leave, and Madame Pomfrey called to him one more time. She wore a mischievous grin. "Harry. One against four. Good job on sending the beggars running. And from what I can see, they didn't lay a glove on you. Keep safe."

"Yes'm," he said uncertainly as he backed out of the door. Remus gripped his shoulder and turned him toward Gryffindor Tower.

"You heard the doctor," he said heartily. "Rest for the remainder of the day. What will you do with all that free time?"

Actually, free time was the last thing Harry wanted right then. He would have preferred to go back to the greenhouses, or go for magical testing with Remus and Snape... anything except lay about in his room and think of Professor Sprout quitting, or Dumbledore spying on the entire castle, or Voldemort holding a 'Kill Harry Potter' contest. Still, he imagined that the adults needed some time to talk. Poppy with Professor Sprout, Snape with Remus. He went to his room and tried to relax, but he was far too tense. He couldn't settle down enough to read anything. Every time he would look at a page, images would impose themselves over the text; images of Slytherins on brooms, swooping down to cast curses on him; images of one of his favorite teachers raging at the Headmaster, saying that she was sick of all of this Harry Potter nonsense, and that she was quitting her job because of it. He considered taking his broom out and riding over the campus, but since he was here by doctor's orders, supposedly in need of rest, he knew it would be foolish to even attempt to sneak out for a ride.

So he lay there, imagining Voldemort announcing the contest standings: "Gregory Goyle and his Quartet of Quavering Quibblers: Zero Points for their truly pathetic showing against the Boy Who Lived. Up next, Draco Malfoy, after which, if Potter should somehow survive, we will see the murderous improvisations of Vincent Crabbe!"

He couldn't stand that after only a few minutes. He had to do something. He tried to write a letter to Hermione, but couldn't concentrate. Every time he managed to forget about Voldemort, he imagined Hermione and Ron spending weeks together at the Burrow and was unable to write anything that didn't feel immature, intrusive, or improperly curious. Writing to Ron posed the same difficulty, though from a different perspective. In neither case did he even want to ask how their relationship was progressing. Especially if he had misunderstood what he had seen between them at the end of term, or if the two of them had suffered some sort of falling-out - which seemed very likely, given their history of repeated arguments. But that was the single most important question he had for either of his friends. Almost anything else they would be involved with would be affected by whether or not they were spending time together and how they were getting on. So he couldn't think of anything to ask that didn't sound stupid as soon as he tried to write it down. And he really had nothing good to say about how he was doing. Putting today's happenings in a letter felt very odd, almost as though he were bragging - or whining - or trying to draw attention back to himself. 'Hey, look - I got attacked again! And my boss quit her job because of me!' Even if his friends took no offense at the grandstanding tone such a letter would naturally have, they would simply be worried for him, and they would be able to do nothing, so by mentioning it, he would simply be making his friends feel bad. Worst of all, he could find no way to mention anything about Remus' (and, apparently, Snape's ... and from the sound of it, even Madame Pomfrey's) misgivings about Dumbledore. He was afraid that his mail might be intercepted. Or worse, that he would be spied on while he was writing it. What if Dumbledore could see through the Magic Eye as easily as Remus could? He shuddered as a creepy feeling of being surrounded by unseen enemies settled over him, crushing out whatever remnant of a good mood he might still have been holding on to. He couldn't read, couldn't write, couldn't get out and fly, and simply lying around let him imagine the schemes Malfoy and Crabbe were plotting against him at that very moment. So he fidgeted, paced, looked out the window, and fidgeted some more. Feeling worried, nervous, and guilty, Harry somehow fell asleep and dreamed of Voldemort's 'Kill Harry' contest all night long.

--- --- ---

One advantage of his early night was that Harry arose in plenty of time to make it to work the next morning. He was there before seven o'clock, and determined to do his best. One disadvantage to a night filled with repeated nightmares was that he looked and felt terrible. Still, he was determined to put his best foot forward. "Good Morning, Professor," he called as he walked into the largest of the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout was already at work.

The Herbology professor was pleased that her helper had shown up early. Then she looked the boy over and thought that Poppy must have been mistaken. This lad looked as though he still needed medical attention. That wasn't her decision to make, though. So she called out, "Good Morning, Mister Potter. We'll be separating some of these plants into individual pots today. I've started, so you can see what the result looks like. Come here and watch me, then I'll give you some to do yourself."

Harry watched, caught on quickly, and started working on his own set of plants. He and the Professor worked together silently for a while, but soon the tension was too much for the boy. He had to ask. "Professor? Did you really quit your job here at Hogwarts?"

"Really quit? As opposed to what?" Professor Sprout replied icily. "Phantom quitting, resignation through ghostly manifestation? Hallucinatory notice-giving? No, Harry, I will not be returning to teach Herbology at Hogwarts next term."

"I'm sorry." Harry's voice was very small.

"As will most students be, though they likely won't realize it right away."

Harry could see that his teacher had not understood. He didn't want her to think he didn't care about the trouble he had caused her. "No, I mean... I apologize. Professor Dumbledore told me that you had quit because of me."

Professor Sprout threw her trowel down into a mound of potting soil, where it stuck like a balanced knife hitting a target. "He told you what?" She demanded, hands on hips.

In that pose, with her face stormy with anger, Professor Sprout was as intimidating as Professor Snape had ever been. Harry stammered, trying to force an answer out and prevent that anger from exploding onto him. "He said... you quit because I was horrid, and then I drew the attackers after me, and we spilled magic all over your soil, and..." He stopped trying to explain. Professor Sprout was obviously furious.

"That... Bastard!" She spat. Harry was shocked into complete stillness. He had never heard any staff member at Hogwarts use such foul language. Not even Filch, for all his meanness and threats, had ever actually used bad words in Harry's hearing. He stood stock-still and stared. "Before I leave, I will be certain to punch his nose. How dare he!" The Herbology professor was fuming. "You listen to me, Harry Potter. You could not make me quit this job. If you did your absolute worst to sabotage everything I have worked for, I would make you suffer for it, but I would not quit because of you. And I did not quit because of you. And I am particularly annoyed at Alb... at Professor Dumbledore because, in point of fact, I quit because of him. It was his decisions that I disagreed with. His policies that gave me trouble. His way of doing things that I could no longer abide. Quit because of you? Ridiculous. Divide your plants, Mister Potter. We have a lot to accomplish today."

Harry felt better than he had since before the attack on him the previous day. And as he threw himself into the repetitive work, he found himself thinking more and more of what he was discovering about the adults who knew Hogwarts best. Remus, then Snape, then Poppy, and now Professor Sprout had all expressed feelings about Headmaster Dumbledore that ranged from misgivings to outright contempt. Harry began to realize that his child's-eye view of the school was not necessarily accurate. And his impression that Dumbledore was the unquestioned leader of all good wizards and witches was particularly flawed.

Harry worked hard all day, and though the work was fairly simple, he felt good that he had made some progress toward being a better Herbologist. He walked out of the greenhouse, looking back to call good night to Professor Sprout, and walked straight into Remus Lupin.

"Watch yourself, there, Harry," the werewolf cautioned him, holding his shoulders to keep them both from falling. Remus laughed and said, "When I say 'watch yourself,' I really mean it." He plucked the hovering Magic Eye out of the air and held it against Harry's skin. "Say 'no,' please," he instructed the boy.

"Uhhh... no," Harry said, confused.

Remus pocketed the device. "Magic Eye has to go - Dumbledore's orders. Don't worry, we'll find something to use it for. Did you work hard today?" Harry nodded as the two of them began to walk toward the castle. "Get your hands dirty?" Remus asked, glancing down to confirm that, indeed, Harry's hands were covered in dirt. "Well, then, why don't you go wash up and we'll get a drink and something to eat at the Three Broomsticks?"

Harry was baffled. One day, he was attacked, the next day he was invited out to the village? It hardly made any sense. "Umm... Can we?"

So long as you are accompanied by your loyal 'Uncle' Remus... and our good friend and protector, Professor Snape," Remus smiled.

"Snape...?" Harry began, then a look of comprehension flooded over his face. "Oh. Right. Sure. Let me get washed and changed and I'll be right down."

Harry washed quickly and changed into muggle clothes, leaving his school robes behind. If what he thought was in store really was, then he would need the most comfortable, least confining clothing he owned. He ran down the stairs toward the castle's front entrance, with the voice of the Fat Lady calling warnings from behind him: 'Careful you don't slip... hit each step squarely, not on the edge... beware of the staircase shifting in front of you... oh, why must you children run so?' During regular term, the stairs were usually so crowded that none of the students could run. The Fat Lady really seemed worried. Harry decided that on his way back, he would walk. But right now, he couldn't wait to see what Remus and Snape had in mind for him.

As he reached the ground floor, he saw his adult escorts waiting, Remus wearing a huge, carefree grin, Snape impatiently tapping his fingers on his arm. Remus spied Harry first, but it was Snape who spoke up. "If we are going to waste valuable time on carousing in a village beerhall, we should get started now, and be back all the sooner," he sneered, glaring at Harry.

"Yes, Sir," Harry agreed immediately, and all three companions walked out of the castle. As they crossed the wide lawns in front of the entrance, Remus talked of butterbeer and some of the Three Broomsticks' house specialties. Bubble And Squeak was a favorite in the village, especially because it was served on plates that remained magically hot, so the bubbling and squeaking that was usually only seen and heard by the cook could be appreciated by the diner, as well. And Bangers And Mash was different than at any other eatery in England - mostly because the sausages from which the dish got its name actually lived up to their colorful moniker and literally exploded during the meal. The dish was served under a special blast shield to prevent injuries, but the loud banging could be heard throughout the establishment whenever an order of Bangers And Mash was being enjoyed at any of the tables. Harry started to wonder whether they actually were going to simply go into Hogsmeade that evening. He didn't want to put a damper on Remus' enthusiastic descriptions, but he was really rather disappointed that there hadn't been something more exceptional planned. Then, as the three turned a corner on the path leading away from the school, Snape turned suddenly and wrapped an arm around each of his companions. "Here," he said sharply, and immediately apparated.

As soon as the loud 'crack' of their apparation sounded in his ears, Harry felt Snape pull away from him, breaking contact the very instant it was first possible. Harry looked around him, and wondered out loud "Where is this? The Forbidden Forest?"

Snape's impatient correction came immediately. "You should know the Forbidden Forest well enough to realize that this could not possibly be anywhere within its borders. In fact, while this area has not been quite so meticulously tended on a regular basis as was the case several hundred years ago, these are the manicured grounds of one of the most extensive estates in all of Wizarding England. Pardon me." He reached out to grab a shrub. Harry thought the potions professor might be preparing to pull the bush out of the ground, but the boy was astounded when a huge section of earth opened up instead. "In. And down," Snape ordered, and Remus obeyed instantly, disappearing quickly below the surface. Harry followed, and Snape brought up the rear, making sure the trap door was closed behind them. "It's a long way. Move swiftly or we'll be here all night. Lumos."

Harry decided not to create his own light, since the illumination from Snape's wand was brighter than a torch, and lit their way adequately. Remus kept a fast pace, though he never quite broke into a run, and Harry had to struggle to keep up. He gained an appreciation of the physical condition of his potions professor during that walk. Snape never seemed to be hurrying or straining, but he never fell back, even though Harry had to trot several times to keep up with Remus' walk. When they reached the dead end of the corridor, Remus merely waited to one side as Snape moved to the end wall and listened carefully.

"It should be empty," Snape said quietly. "I would hope that even the house elves have left. There may still be guard magic or traps in place. I will enter first and check. He touched the wall in several spots in quick succession and the wall swung open to reveal a well-stocked library beyond. "Wait here, and do not cross that threshold until I have investigated what lies beyond."

Harry waited impatiently, looking through the open wall into the luxurious room beyond. It was beautiful and astounding. It seemed to have hundreds of books, and there were scrolls and flat parchments scattered throughout the collection as well. The room itself had a grand elegance of the like that Harry had never seen outside of Hogwarts itself. But whereas Hogwarts had been designed as a castle - a huge structure made to house a community that would have included everyone from aristocracy to peasants - and had been turned into a school - a huge institution made to serve hundreds of students and staff - this room had a more intimate feel, as though it had been made for a single family, and had been utilized primarily by a single individual. As Snape lit the lamps, there was something comfortingly personal about the cool illumination, and the bookmarks in several volumes seemed to speak of one person's repeated visits to these same shelves, without the interference of a crowd of others disturbing the order in which the owner had left them. When Snape returned several minutes later, and motioned Remus and Harry to enter the room itself, it seemed even more impressive. "Wow," was all Harry could say for a long while. He followed Snape out of the library and into a huge room that he at first imagined to be a great banquet hall or ballroom. Then the details of the room snapped into focus for him, and he realized that what they were taking so long to walk all the way across was really only an entryway, with a tiny hall leading to an outer door at one side, a huge double-doorway opposite that, the library door though which they had come, and across the room, another similar door. An unsupported stairway climbed from the center of the floor until it branched into twin stairs leading to a suspended walkway at second-floor height. That walkway disappeared into arches at either side of the room. The ceiling was at least one more story taller than that, implying a tremendous size to this home. And he had thought this was an intimately personal place! The staff alone must be huge. Harry couldn't imagine how many people must live here. "Whose house is this?" he wondered out loud.

"I had thought you would have guessed that by now," Snape's silky tone implied a cruel joke. Harry shrugged. Expansively, Snape explained. "This is Malfoy Manor, currently property of Lucius Malfoy, and soon, almost certainly, to be confiscated by the State when Lucius is convicted of Treason and Murder, both with special circumstances that will allow the most severe punishments extant under law."

"Malfoy!" Harry said, immediately looking around, as though expecting to be attacked. "But... Voldemort offered to reward Draco for killing me!"

"Are you still on about that?" Snape scoffed. "I said Draco was out of the country, and here's the proof. And, I suppose you will be glad to note that he does not plan to return for next term's instruction at Hogwarts."

Harry would have felt better if he had not believed that the reason for Draco's absence would be that Malfoy would flee the country to avoid being arrested for the murder of Harry Potter. He decided to change the subject. "How can the State confiscate property? If they convict Lucius, doesn't the house go to his family?"

Snape laughed bitterly. "One of the advantages that is so often touted regarding Wizard Law in Britain is that our laws are stable, consistent, and reliable - especially when contrasted with Muggle Law. The truth behind the claim is that wizards live so much longer than muggles that wizard lawmakers tend to stay in their positions for many times longer than their muggle counterparts. The result is 'stable,' in one view. And 'rigid, inflexible, and unadaptable,' in the opposing opinion. Our laws regarding Treason have not changed significantly in nearly six hundred years. A man convicted of treason loses all his real property - that includes his houses, lands and the livestock and/or crops upon them. He forfeits all of his aristocratic honors, including the right to use his own Family Heraldry, as well as his entire personal fortune. The State - in this case, the Ministry of Magic - receives title to all of that. They can either keep or sell the real property. The personal fortune is placed into the Treasury. The debate now raging among the legal experts at the Ministry is whether personal property... such as the volumes in the library or the paintings on these walls... is also subject to confiscation. The prevailing opinion, it should come as no surprise, is that it is subject to confiscation. Therefore, anyone - including Narcissa or Draco Malfoy - who takes anything from this house... even so much as a book or a candlestick... is guilty of robbery. And since that robbery would involve State property, confiscated from a traitor, there has been the suggestion that such thieving would be prosecuted as Treason, itself. Convenient, isn't it?"

Harry had never thought he would feel any sympathy for any Malfoy, but he also had no respect at all for Cornelius Fudge. The thought of Fudge's Ministry prosecuting Narcissa Malfoy for taking her own book away from the home she was about to lose seemed very unfair. "But why did we come here?" Harry asked, still looking around worriedly.

"Let me count the ways," Snape replied with a superior smirk. "It's huge, it's deserted, it's far from Hogwarts, it has numerous shielding and silencing charms already in place. And most of all, it contains a room, originally built over three generations ago, and only recently updated by Lucius himself. The room is an automated practice facility, designed to hone one's magical combat skills."

"Automated?" Harry scowled. "I can't imagine Lucius Malfoy working with machinery."

"And very few of the workings in the room are actually mechanical," Snape confirmed. "Magic drives it, and while it should have enough power stored within its components to give you a good workout, Mister Lupin and I can provide enough additional energy to really make it challenging."

Harry was eager to give the magical workout room a go, but the trip through the house seemed to take forever. They never walked through anything as mundane as a kitchen, and after they had passed through the third great room in a row, Harry had begun to wonder where the bathrooms might be. But finally, after they had travelled through a long, dark hallway, into a concealed doorway built seamlessly into the paneling, down a twisting flight of stairs and past a few tiny rooms with heavy doors that looked suspiciously like dungeon cells, Snape cast an anti-glamour charm on an apparently blank wall, and a very modern-looking doorway was revealed. The potions professor tried the plate that was inset into the door's surface in the place where a knob usually protruded from most doors. He seemed very relieved when it yielded to simple pressure and the door swung wide. Snape then stepped very confidently into the room and pointed toward one wall. Mister Lupin and I will be in the control centre, there," he announced. "The exercises are designed to be activated there, and although a single person working alone can select a program of activities and then enter the room from the control centre, it works even better when the subject begins his workout in the middle of the room while the program is activated for him. There are surprise attacks, strength attacks, speed attacks, and so on."

"Wait," Harry called after the potions professor as Snape disappeared into a small door set in one wall. "What do I..."

"No questions!" Snape commanded. "This is a combat simulation. Your enemies will not tell you their plans, and you should not expect your practices to be predictable, either."

Remus closed the main entrance behind him and then he, too disappeared into the control centre. The small door closed and Harry was alone. "Ahhh... Remus?" the boy called.

"Yes, Harry," Lupin's disembodied voice seemed to come from every direction at once.

"Can you see me?"

"Yes, I can."

"How?"

"There's a mirror in here. It looks a little like a television screen right now, because I can see you in it. Smile for the camera!"

"There's no camera," Harry said with a scowl, checking all around the room to make sure.

"That's the advantage of magic!" Remus sounded very cheerful. Harry, on the other hand was feeling less confident by the second. He had thought that 'magical testing' would be something like Madame Pomfrey's scanning spell, or would involve some kind of meter at which he would cast spells as strongly as he could. This seemed more like a trap the longer he stood here. If Remus had not been in the control Centre with Snape, Harry thought he would have fled before the testing began.

"Stop worrying, Potter," Snape's sarcastic voice boomed from all around the workout room. "It's set to the lowest possible difficulty level. Get ready! Beginning test... now."

For a long moment, nothing happened. Harry wondered whether the first test to overcome would be invisible poison gas or something equally difficult to detect. Then he heard the unmistakable 'crack' of apparation. He spun around to see Cornelius Fudge. For an instant, he felt awful. Fudge had tracked them down, and now Harry would be put on trial for Treason for trying to use the traitor Malfoy's house for his own purposes. Then he saw that - whatever was standing before him - it certainly was not the Minister of Magic. The creature was clearly artificial. Harry almost laughed at the clownish exaggeration of Fudge's characteristic features. Then he saw that the simulacrum was holding a knife.

The artificial Fudge advanced with menacing determination. His arms were wide, the knife ready to strike. In an eerie mockery of Fudge's own voice, the thing said, "If I can't beat you with the law, I'll gut you like a fish, Malfoy."

Harry knew the threat was supposed to lend realism to the simulated attack, but to Harry, the thought of Fudge in a knife fight was hilarious. Especially when the Fudge copy had mistaken Harry for Malfoy. This, at any rate, would be easy. "Petrificus Totalis!" Harry shouted, and the knife-wielding Fudge-thing fell over, motionless.

"Not tough enough, Potter," Snape's cold criticism sounded throughout the room.

"What do you want me to do, kill him?" Harry responded, annoyed.

"He would have killed you. This is combat training, boy. And your enemy said he was going to gut you like a fish. Show him what guts are, Potter!"

"All right," Harry said uncertainly, looking for the next attack.

"He's still lying there," Snape prompted sourly.

"What?" Harry protested. "He's petrified!"

"What better time to learn the killing curse, Mister Potter?"

"But... that's unforgivable!"

"So is Voldemort and everything he has done to ruin your life!" Snape's voice boomed at ear-splitting volume. "There's your enemy. He is - temporarily - helpless. Think of last term, Potter. Think of the scars on your right hand! Think of Fudge trying to destroy any chance you might have had for a future. Kill him!"

"Avada Kadavra!" Harry shouted, pointing his wand. A weak green glow shone from the end of Harry's wand for a moment, then died away. The Fudge-thing lay on the floor, immobile, but alive.

"You'll have to do better than that if you expect to survive," Snape sneered. "Next phase beginning."

This time, the 'crack' of apparation was followed by the appearance of... Severus Snape. Harry goggled at the simulacrum in shock. It turned toward him, its greasy hair gleaming in the room's light. "You were always so loyal, Lucius," it purred. "How delicious that you will be killed by a traitor!"

The fake Snape drew its wand, and Harry immediately shouted, "Expelliarmus!" and the Snape copy's wand went flying. Harry cast a leg-lock charm to hold the artificial Severus in place, then once again attempted an unforgivable spell. "Avada Kadavra!" Harry thought he saw a flash of green, but the simulacrum was unaffected. He cast a stunning spell instead. The faux Snape fell over and lay motionless.

Harry waited for the inevitable criticism, but there was only silence. He waited a bit longer, watching for a new challenge to appear, but no new enemies appeared. Then he heard what sounded like a brawl. The noise of punching, and of furniture being upset, came from all around the room, just as Remus' and Snape's voices had. Then he heard Snape scream. The scream was cut off suddenly, as though something awful had happened to the potions professor. Remus' voice echoed throughout the workout room. "Good God, Harry, run. He's here! He's..." and then there was nothing.

"Remus!" Harry shouted. "Professor Snape?" He turned toward the doorway to the control centre just in time to see the door come flying off its hinges, blown back into the workout room by an explosive spell. Walking through the remains of the door was Voldemort.

Harry blinked. He squinted. He wasted precious time trying to determine if this thing was another simulacrum. It was not. It couldn't be. Voldemort stood there, grinning in obscene triumph, blood dripping down his robes. There was no sound from Snape or Remus. There could be no doubt about whose blood was running down that cloth. Voldemort's weirdly baby-pink skin gleamed in reflected light. His nearly lipless mouth revealed oddly fish-like pointed teeth. His eyes glittered with madness. "And now, you die," he said gleefully, raising his wand.

Harry pointed his own wand directly at the centre of Voldemort's chest. He had no time to think of a spell, he had just demonstrated to himself that he could not cast the killing curse. All he could do was put a lifetime of emotion into the energy that poured through his wand. "Damn You!" he bellowed.

The pure white beam caught Voldemort directly in the chest, but his entire body immediately lit up like a filament in a light bulb. He quivered for an instant, then exploded into a liquid mist so fine it did not even form drops, spreading like a fog outward from where his body had been. Harry's spell was not yet done with him, though. The mist steamed, becoming vapor, then the vapor superheated, becoming plasma. There was a blinding flash of light and then sudden darkness, as all the heat from Voldemort's destruction - which otherwise would have made the workout room hotter than an oven - imploded on the point at the exact center of where Voldemort's body had been. There was a whistling, screaming riot of chaotic energy as remnants of the spell flew in tight orbits at mind-boggling speed, destroying any vestige of spirit that might have survived the body's total eradication. As the dazzling effect of the light-flash faded, and Harry regained his sight, he could see that the excess energy of his spell had smashed out the wall behind the place Voldemort had stood, and had carved a long tunnel deep into the rock behind. Distantly, Harry could hear alarms sounding, as security spells throughout the huge house all went off simultaneously. He knew he had to leave, but he could not force himself to move. Remus was dead. Voldemort had killed someone else Harry had loved. Harry felt that his victory was a very hollow one for that.

A sudden motion caught his eye. He raised his wand, ready to cast another spell, when - unbelievably - Remus came running out of the control centre. "Stop! Harry, wait! Don't do it!" Harry blinked, he squinted. He tried his best to determine if this could possibly be another trick. But it wasn't. Remus was alive! "It was a boggart, Harry. A boggart!" Harry's heart fell, once again. He hadn't killed Voldemort after all. He was a failure.

Snape stepped through the ruined workout room door. "We must leave," he insisted. "The alarms that are currently sounding will alert Ministry officials that something untoward is happening in this house. If we do not wish to waste our time dealing with a myriad of useless questions put to us by useless buffoons in the employ of the Ministry of Magic, we must make haste. Now!"

They hurried. On the way, Snape was able to explain that - in a manner similar to Hogwarts - apparation into and out of Malfoy Manor was strictly controlled by wards and complex charms. Lucius could come and go almost freely, Snape believed, but even Narcissa had to leave the house to apparate, and usually made sure she was off the grounds altogether before doing so. As the three companions sealed the library exit to the underground corridor behind themselves, they could hear pounding on the front door, which they were sure would soon be followed by forced entry. They had probably lost their testing facility. It would probably not be safe to return to Malfoy Manor again. But Harry felt that, with the spell he had cast when he believed that he was facing Voldemort, he had passed the magical ability test with flying colors.