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"SHOWTIME!"

Chapter Seven

The First Night

The airship Excelsior, fourth day of Hogwarts classes.

Snape walked through the steam and goblin riddled inside of the ship, with the nine following him while still gazing about the inside of the ship. Each new thing brought small gasps of delight from the crew, with the exception of Malfoy (who though himself too good to be fascinated by the ship... or at the very least, too good to show it) and Seamus (who merely smiled, like a child who's found their place after long, long days of searching, a little heartbroken child who's found home). With their delighted faces behind him, Snape looked even more dour than usual to the goblins. Speaking in their own tongue, they'd had time to call the strangely sour Slytherin Head many names over the past few days, when Snape had first been introduced to the crew and was given the rank of "tutor" to the nine who would be coming on board. The Excelsior's crew had not really felt much of anything for Snape (their attention being turned to the much more vast ranks of their own kind, and the squabbles thereof), but his extremely sour, " You are an idiot and I know it" look was the source of many goblin jokes, some of them of a peculiarly nasty strain, one unique to goblins, almost like a bacteria whose sole inhabitable host was the goblins and their humor. Famously filthy creatures when it came to their sense of humor, Goblins were renowned among Wizards as the "inventors of the metaphorical gutter", as Dumbledore himself had said, once, in a press conference with some of the Daily Prophet's reporters, when they'd asked him what his opinion on the goblin race was. A big fan of their storytelling, Dumbledore honestly liked them- but he wasn't too far off the point when he made his jest. Goblins were pretty dirty creatures, in that respect at least.

As the group of nine walked through the halls, the goblins saying their invisible (to the party) jokes all around them, they eventually came to a door. Snape rapped on it once, just as he had with the first door they'd went through. It opened just as smoothly and just as silently- and a strange turning sound, before just a background noise, became a huge and tangible thing. Seamus, his mind suddenly lighting up with some creative fire, some burning appolonian heat, pushed his way to the front of the group, as they all walked in, single file, into the room whose name had been spoken in Seamus' hearing only a few times, the name he had loved at first sound: the cogworks.

Above them, huge, vast, incomprehensible, big beyond big and seeming to float in midair like heavy weights suspended in space, great cogs turned, in a million shapes and sizes, of a thousand colors and metals, all of them working together, all of them twisting and turning to the sound of hiss and sigh, the sound of the arrythmic heartbeat of the steamworks nearby. As a few small pipes carried the tremendous heat of the steamworks into this room, the cogs turned, pushed and pulled by the power of steam and metal, swaying slightly on the great metal supports that held them up, only their incredible size giving lie to the fact that they were not completely, totally still on their raised platforms, so high above the party. As Seamus' eyes (which at first seemed to cloud over and just see them, see them once and for all as the final be-all end-all of his life, and tremble slightly as it beheld this vision of greatness and beauty) adjusted to the sight of the ground below him, he noticed they were on a walkway much like the one that had traversed the steamworks. As the steamworks had been manned by goblins on ladders, so was the cogworks- but the ladders were now attached the great pedestals that held up the cogs, some crisscrossing horizontally the great distances between pedestals, and on all of these goblins moved in pre-arranged shifts. Unlike the steamworks, though, no one hear was eating danishes or drinking coffee. The cogs, so much more powerful than the steamworks that powered them, were not a place to fool around with. One gear here weighed more than all the goblins in the same place put together, and a single mishap or slip could kill everyone involved. Some goblins walked the ladders without hands- others without feet. Most had a full complement of fingers and toes on the appendages that did remain, however, because the gears here were so big that they never took anything less than the full thing. The goblins here looked calmer than the goblins in the steamworks, and acted considerably more cautious. Seamus, in full and exquisite rapture, merely stared about the room like an idiot until Ernie tapped him on the shoulder. When forcibly woken from his reverie, Seamus snapped back to attention and said, " What?" His voice was gruff and grouchy.

Realizing from Seamus' voice (and the way he'd been acting) Ernie decided to take the nice guy approach. Ernie pointed ahead of them on the walkway. " The cogworks is a very beautiful sight, Seamus, but the group's losing us. Come on, man."

Seamus nodded and began following the group. Ernie shook his head and followed him. Truth be told, Ernie didn't think the cogworks were anything special; but he didn't want to hear Snape or Lupin complaining about how one of them was irresponsible and couldn't even follow them. Lupin probably wouldn't complain too much, but Snape was quite the royal pain in the ass, and Ernie would be more than happy to not listen to one of the grouchy Potions teacher's lengthy sermons. Sighing and following the considerably smaller mass of Seamus with his own bulky body, Ernie caught up to the group just as they were leaving the cogworks to enter a large, strangely round room in the middle of the blackness and vastness that spun on and on around them. It was supported by the single biggest pedestal in the room. Ernie, shaking his head at the weird sight of this brown ball in the middle of nowhere (that was the feeling he got from the cogworks, he decided; that feeling of nowhere, of being in the middle of vastness, and what with all the dark spaces in between the lighted pedestals and cogs, the place felt like it was even more ridiculously large than it probably was) walked in the door Snape had opened a few moments ago, the walkway terminating at its beginning. Unlike the rest of the room, which was brown (with the exception of a few small, gentle dull orange lights that came from no discernable source and illuminated the great cog-wheels as they turned, along with the pedestals they sat on), the floor inside the door was green. Stepping onto it, Ernie felt a measure of strangeness when he realized that what he was standing on was essentially a mat, much like the ones used in martial arts dojos all around the world where falling and getting tossed around were everyday occurences. Wondering at this, Ernie walked across the spongy material to where the group stood, a little farther down in what was clearly a small hallway. Past it, Ernie could just see what looked like a very large, open room. Next to him, on both sides, were wooden doors. A quick count revealed to Ernie that there were about nine of them, maybe a few more.

Hermione, who'd already counted the doors, seen the large space past them, and figured out what they all meant within seconds of walking in, ignored Ernie's slightly mumbled " So this is where we sleep, eh?" which hadn't been directed at her but rather towards himself. Ron, who had no idea what was going on and only thought the thing under his feet was really spongy, looked around, startled, and said, " Really, mate?"

Ernie nodded. " Aye. This is where we'll be sleepin'. See the doors? That'll be our rooms, I suppose."

Ron nodded his head. " Well. Bloody hell! I suppose so."

Ernie smirked. " Thanks."

" If you are done ruminating," Snape said disapprovingly, cutting their conversation in two, " allow me to explain to the rest of the group what this place is. For the next several days," Snape said, clearing his throat slightly as if to get rid of any moisture that could possibly ruin his desert-dry voice, " this is where we will stay. As Mr. MacMillan and Mr. Weasley have so kindly pointed out, this," Snape indicated the rooms about them with his hand, " is where you will be staying. I and Mr. Lupin," Snape pointed at his cohort, who stood by peacefully smiling, " will be down there, on the other end of the training room." Snape pointed behind him, stretching his arm out and slightly turning, eyes never leaving the group as his finger stretched out. " I have orders to train all of you in the fighting arts. Though at school we were forbidden from wielding any weapon other than wands save in the Weapon Arts class, here we are allowed to wield whatever weapon we prefer. Since I personally prefer a sword, and because swords are the most complicated weapons to master, I will be handling sword training almost exclusively. That means that Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy will be practicing under me."

Draco's eyebrows lowered in a sign of displeasure, and Ron emitted one of his famous "Bloody hell!" oaths under his breath.

" I will also be training Ms. Chang in archery, which Lupin has a marked... distaste for." Snape showed one of his tight, grim smiles, and Harry guessed that Snape had let loose with the understatement of the year; Lupin must have been absolutely horrific at archery for Snape to make a statement like that. Not one to bash fellow teachers (or ex-teachers), even ones he didn't like, for small reasons, Snape often used understatement and calm, emotionless delivery to send his arrows home. Harry found the results rather unfunny. He guessed that if that sort of thing was your cup of tea, it was fine; but his own sense of humor tended more towards the happier, gentler things. He liked Chocolate Frogs, for one thing. To him, a hopping chocolate frog was funny in its own right.

" You could say that," Lupin said cheerfully, not put off in the least, " and with the exceptions of swordsmanship and archery, which are Mr. Snape's exclusive domains, I'll be handling all other weapon training. I understand that you, Harry, don't wield any weapon...?" Lupin trailed off, seeking an answer.

Harry shook his head. " No," he answered. " Just my fists and my feet. That's all."

Lupin nodded, smiling all the way, secretly pleased with this. " If you must know," he said, " my style's almost the same as yours." From a back pocket of his brown trenchcoat Lupin pulled out what at first looked like a jungle of steel teeth, but then solidified in Harry's vision as a pair of great battle-claws, apparently worn on the hands like gloves and used to slash enemies. " It probably has something to do with my being a werewolf," Lupin said, smiling, " but I just love to slash people up. I could probably get a spare set for you..."

Harry shook his head. " No thanks. I just want to use my hands." Doubt struck him, suddenly. Could his hands punch through armor? Claws might come in handy on a foe like that...

Ron, as if in echo of Harry's unspoken worry, looked at him and said, " But Harry, what about armor? You can't punch through steel, you know!"

Hermione piped up, voice immediately slipping into what Ron had privately named her "Miss Instructor" voice, and said, " Actually, he can. A Wizard trained in the martial arts can force their hand to become stronger than any material that could possibly be in front of them, through sheer force of will. It's been recorded, several times, that dragons who the greatest swords could not cut found themselves helpless against a single determined individual wielding their own fist. The same goes for the feet and their bodies. Although," she added, sounding slightly worried, " you could do with a little armor, Harry..."

Lupin nodded his head. " I'll provide armor for all of you later," he said, " when we begin training tomorrow. However, I need to know what weapons all of you wield. We heard from Dumbledore, and we've been watching you for the past half-hour or so, but I'd still like to hear it from your own lips. Who's first?"

A minute or two of silence passed, then Ernie spoke up and said, " Axe. I learned basic fighting techniques from my family- we've always lived by them, being lumberjacks up until the past few generations- and so I'm a pretty decent fighter."

Lupin nodded his head and said, " Oh, thanks for reminding me. Tell me your experience with the weapon, if you have any, so I know where to start training you. Next?"

Neville would have spoken up, but the embarassment he felt at not having any experience at all with his weapon of choice kept him from saying anything. He waited for someone to speak, anybody, when Seamus finally did.

" Spear. No previous experience."

" Good. Next?"

The answers began to come faster now, as the group felt more at ease announcing their almost universal lack of knowledge of combat with their weapons. " Staff. Some light practice with it, in a completely unrelated area of study... so no real practical experience." This was Hermione. She'd actually been thinking of stick fights she'd had with her cousins, back home during the summer, but then decided that that really didn't count, and so tagged on the line about "no real practical experience." One of Hermione's problems was a severe tendency to overstate things, or to at least explain them in the most complicated manner possible.

" Whip." This was Parvati. " Umm... no experience?" This last was almost a question, as if she expected to get asked about it. She seemed almost embarassed by it (understandable, given her mishap in the Godric's Hope armory). When Lupin just nodded his head, she was visibly relieved.

" Hammer." Neville finally broke in, Parvati's nervousness not making him feel as ashamed as he was. " No experience."

" Next?"

" Fists," Harry said, though he really didn't need to. " One fight only." He grinned as he said this and steadfastly ignored Draco's sudden glare at him.

" Sword." Ron said. " No experience at all, Lupin."

Lupin chuckled and said, " Tell Snape, not me. He's running that particular show."

" Oh." Ron seemed very disheartened at this news.

" Bow and arrow," Cho Chang spoke up. " No experience."

" Rapier," Malfoy said. " I've been trained by my family. We've wielded this weapon for generations. My style is the Arte de Rapiere el Malfoye, an ancient line of tradition passed down for generations in my family. I've trained with it for years." This impressive sounding statement did not have the effect he was hoping for; Lupin merely nodded and said, again, " Next?" Even worse, behind him, Malfoy heard Ron say, " Didn't help you a damn bit, though, did it?" and Harry snicker. Rage flooded through him, and he almost visibly trembled with it- though no one noticed, save Hermione, who dismissed it as the logical next step after Harry and Ron's little dialogue.

Seeing that everyone had spoken up, Lupin turned and said, " Alright, Snape, let's get them to bed. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, and they need all the strength they can get." Turning and yawning, Lupin said, " See ya all tomorrow." As he walked off, scratching his head, Snape looked at them and said, " You may choose your own rooms. I do not want a fight breaking out over where you will sleep here - it would most displease me for you to act like five-year-olds when you are all grown-ups now... or so I am assuming, from the trust Dumbledore has placed in each of you." This cold pronouncement out, Snape turned and walked off as well. The group turned to Harry, who shrugged and said, " I'm taking this one here. You guys sleep where you want- I suspect that we all really will need it, come tomorrow."

As they moved to their bunks, Snape's statement a reminder to be on their "best behaviour", the nine said nothing to each other, merely went to bed, minds whirling with a million different thoughts.

Seamus, entering his room, thought that now, at last, he was free. He went to bed with his spear on the wall next to him, laying down and simply feeling the great force of the ship as it flew through the air. The rhythmic pulse rocked him to sleep soon afterwards, like a babe in its mother's arms. He was tired- but happy. So happy.

To be free. To be, finally, on his own, striking out where no one could cause him to do anything contrary to his own wishes. Free to live- and die- as he so choosed.

Hermione, who occupied the next half-hour of her life by staring at an endlessly fascinatiing whirling machine she could just barely glimpse above her, past the ceiling of her room (the entire room was made of grey metal, the floor and walls solid, the ceiling made like a checkerboard with square chunks missing at regular intervals- it was through one of these that Hermione glimpsed the "whirlybird", as she called it) then fell asleep, small bag beside her. She briefly wondered what they were going to do about clothing, but guessed that Dumbledore had taken care of it. Dumbledore almost always thought of everything. Staring at the whirling machine and trying to guess what it could possibly be for (its purpose was pretty simple- it was the Goblin equivalent of an air conditioner), she finally felt herself getting drowsy. Before she slept, she briefly wondered how slow they were going if they would reach Scotland in "a few days"... normally, it shouldn't take even a few minutes.... but dismissed it as Lupin's attempt to allow them a few days to train before finding the first Spirit. Grateful for the time to practice, Hermione finally did manage to sleep.

Ron, for his part, pretty much passed out as soon as he hit his pillow. Not one to waste time, he slept almost immediately upon entering his room. He spared only enough time to think one disgruntled thought about being under bloody Snape's command, then slept. Of the characters, Ron was the one who thought the least about being "free"; he had thought before his release that he was pretty much the same person whether he was free or not, and the freedom had not changed that one bit. Free or not, he would still strive to be a good man and a loyal friend. Nothing had changed, really, save his place of living.

Neville put in long hours of work, lifting his hammer and putting it down, cursing the weakness in his muscles before he finally became too tired to go on and fell asleep. He fell asleep cursing himself, hammer laid far away from his bed, near the door.

Ernie thought long and hard about his decision to be free, then decided that it had been the right thing to do. The idea of freedom had not penetrated the others yet (with the exception of Seamus) but it had gottne very far in Ernie's head, and he mulled it over as he lay on his bed, thinking.

So I'm free now, huh.... and on a quest to save the world, no less. I guess it's a great and noble thing... I guess its a great and noble opportunity, but for some reason it hasn't really sunk in yet. Or... it's just not having the effect I'd hoped it would. I'd hoped to have these feelings of greatness, of joy, of wonder, but... instead, everything seems to be kind of... quiet.

But maybe that's right, too, he thought, his mind taking the wandering and almost completely random paths it always did when he thought like this. Maybe the secret of great quests isn't feelings of nobility, of power. Maybe the secret of being good and doing good things isn't to expect to feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks all the time- oh, those things exist, and without them, good would be kind of dull-.... but what any being would kill for, and what we now have, what I'm experiencing right now, is a feeling of goodness, of deep, deep calm. A feeling that something is going right, no matter where it is. Something is turning out all right.

He looked up into the sky and smiled. Yeah... though I have no idea what it is, something is turning out all right. Axe on the wall by his bedside, he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Parvati entered her room and spent something close to an hour simply staring out the window, daydreaming madly. Then, excited and happy, she picked up her chain whip, fondling it for a little bit, admiring the weapon's sheer beauty. Then she put it down, turned into the covers, and promptly fell asleep. Her light snores betrayed a face shining with simple happiness.

She had no nightmares that night, something she thought of as nothing that day and would soon come to think of as the most precious of all things.

Cho Chang almost slept that night without tears. Then the thought of what Cedric might have thought of all this caused her to burst into tears again. Finally falling asleep, her face was an unhappy place, turned into an almost childlike frown- and a very disorganized, dislocated pout. Many people would have looked at her with sadness, but Draco would not. Better able to read people than anyone else, and a man who could almost always sense a kindred soul (or a subservient one), Draco would have looked at her and immediately recognized her as something else.

He would have seen her as going slightly insane. And the madness had nothing to do with grief, but rather her own attachment to that grief- which should have ended ages ago.

Draco, for his part, spent the better part of an hour fuming in his room and going over basic weapons practice, intending to use the Arte de Rapiere el Malfoye to such a staggering extent that even Harry would be forced to acknowledge him master. That and that alone would restore his wounded Highland borne pride. Afterwards, he fell into a weary, fitful sleep, where his father called out to him, as he so often did in Malfoy's shattered dreams, and in the dark wonderland that was Malfoy's nightmares, he felt the disease come up to claim him.

Malfoy did not know it, but he had been always going slightly insane his entire life, raised by the nobility as he was, and in the stress of his teen years this insanity was increasing by leaps and bounds. Malfoy's mind was like a diseased land, a sick and festering world plagued by the corpses of his own dreams, his secret lusts and desires (one, a particularly shameful one that had driven him mad near the end of last year, involved Ginny Weasley- yes, Ginny Weasley, the bastard red-haired friend of Harry's sister, the fair-bodied nymph who haunted his dreams- and had driven him near mad, to the point where he'd actually contemplated rape more than once, when feeling particularly out of his mind) , the sickness that ran in his veins like blood. Sometimes, in fits of madness and rage, he cut himself with his sword, watching the blood swirl away in the bathrooms (he always did it in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, for the simple reason that no one ever came in there- and Myrtle, sensing as all ghosts can the souls of those near them, stayed away because of the sheer insanity she felt coming from him, as if he was bleeding and didn't know it, bleeding madness out into the very air itself), and feeling, as he always did, that he was draining the lands of sin and darkness in his mind- letting his rage flow out with his blood. Fixing it with a healing spell (which he'd become quite adept at over the years, patching his arms up when necessary), Malfoy would leave, taking his anger with him, and putting back the sharp chunk of rock he used to break his skin in the small space he'd reserved for it, should he ever need it again. Here, however, there was no rock, and certainly no room to place that rock in, so all his rage was building up.

Building... and building.

Harry, in his room, found himself pondering the events of the day. He was a man used to sudden and shocking changes in his life (if a man can get used to such a thing) but even to him, such a change in a day was a wee bit much to handle. He liked being a free man ("it comes with great perks, like an airship and a free round-the-world-trip," his sarcastic mind replied) and he even more enjoyed seeing Lupin again- and in a moment or two, he was going to slip off to talk to him- but something was bothering him. Why had Dumbledore acted so strange then? Why had he acted almost... fearful, of Harry and his decision not to wield a sword? What was wrong with him? Harry shook his head and thought. The feeling he'd had on the train with Hermione had come back. That feeling - that weird, half-heard half-felt feeling that what someone was saying was a lie. That masks were being held up, masks paraded before him, like some changeling whose face would not be revealed. At least...

Not yet...

Completely without realizing it, Harry rubbed his scar. He soon left to go find Lupin. He spent the entire night chatting with him, about old times, about Sirius, about James, about his mother....

It was a big step towards healing for him.

-

The airship Excelsior, first day of the journey, 12:00 p.m.

Harry awoke the next day to a nice, comforted feeling. He got up, stretched, and shook his head. Looking out his window, he saw a long field of clouds and birds, but no sun. Deciding that the sun must be over the level of his window, he got up and stretched, popping his knuckles over his head by interlacing them and pushing up, palms out. The resultant loud "crack" was loud and satisfying, so he stopped stretching and yawned once, heading towards the door. He stopped as he realized he was still in his bedclothes- or, more accurately, the clothes he'd been wearing yesterday when picked at the Gathering. Wondering what he was going to do about clothing (or if he should do anything at all), he looked about himself, and saw a drawer he knew had not been there last night. Opening its top, he found a nice, shiny new outfit for him. A set of robes, it seemed almost fancy, and very flashy to boot (the collar was red, the robes an almost shiny black, with gold trimmings and small ornamental red runes embroidering the ends of the sleeves on the outfit). Deciding that this was probably not his training clothes, Harry shut the drawer and looked in the next one.

In this one were several shirts, pants, and socks that were his size (he didn't bother trying them on; he took one look and knew they'd fit him) that were of obvious Muggle design; one even had "Nike" on it, which for some reason caused him to smile. The idea of wandering around, saving the world, and getting the babes, all while dressed up in Nike gear, seemed funny to him. Pushing the drawer back in, he checked the third one down, which was low enough to the ground that Harry had to bend to open it.

Inside was a pair of training clothing, that sort which is recognized world over no matter who is viewing it or what their culture is. There just seems to be an aura around training clothes; they look old and used, but durable and strong even in spite of that. Training clothing represents everything youth is: young, inexperienced, already battered and worn, but with the strength to go just one more round with the world. Harry, picking up the clothing and putting it on, put his own robes on his bed, in semi-neat folds (if anyone complained about his housekeeping, Harry would tell them that he had better things to do than make all his corners straight). As he walked outside, wearing a white, scuffed t-shirt that clung to his body and a pair of white pants that did the same (with the exception of the groin, which Harry was thankful for- it would be both embarassing and kind of "grody", as Dudley would have put it, to have one's pants exemplify one's parts), Harry bumped right into Seamus.

" Oh. Sorry, Seamus. Ready and awake?"

Seamus nodded. " Yeah. You?"

" Fine." Harry looked at Seamus and saw he was sporting the same outfit, though he was also packing a spear. " I see youv'e found your clothes already."

Seamus shrugged. " Just looked through the drawers- it's not rocket science, after all."

Harry, slightly off-put by this remark, said, " Yeah..."

Ron, walking out the door, looked at Harry and said, " Bloody hell, Harry! Where's my clothes? You've got yourself a new outfit and I'm still walking around in my bedclothes!"

Seamus merely looked at him, and Harry replied, " The drawer near your bed. Third one down. It'll have training clothes in it."

Ron opened his mouth and said, " Oh!" in a heavily stretched voice, as if just realizing something totally obvious (which he just had, Harry's mind thought) and went back inside. Soon, the rest of the nine were out, and everyone was ready. (No one noticed Neville was not present). Turning about, they headed en masse to the training room.

Inside, Lupin and Snape, also in white training uniforms, awaited them. Snape's dire look of sheer grimness made Ron's throat tighten, worrying over his future training with him. Cho, who for once was not busy thinking of Cedric, also found his look spooky with implication. Draco, who saw past the look to see that, though not entirely faked, it had been mulitplied by a great deal, merely took it all in stride, intending to prove his mastery of the rapier once and for all, and scare the hell out of Harry Potter with it. He might even kill him here and now. A fitting end, for the bastard boy.

Lupin, on the other hand, wore a smile, and the battle-claws he'd shown them yesterday. He was sitting on the floor, Indian style, unlike Snape, who was busy standing. On the floor in front of Lupin's crossed legs was a pile of assorted weapons ranging from a longbow to an executioner's axe- there was even a chain whip in there, piled on top of a broadsword with a spear laid over it. It had been neatly coiled, so as not to cause mess, but Harry saw little point in it as the entire pile was obviously very disorganized. As the eight approached them, a voice could be heard, huffing and puffing.

" Wait.... for me!..." Neville cried, running into the battle room while dragging his hammer with him. Stopping to catch his breath (and unceremoniously dumping his hammer headfirst to the ground), Neville cried out, " Why didn't you wake me! I don't want to be late to training!"

Lupin, from where he sat, looked up and said, " Neville? You can't train in those clothes."

Neville looked up and said, " Huh?"

" You can't train in those clothes," Lupin said, taking into account Neville's school robes, which he'd worn yesterday and not switched from. " You have to use training clothes."

" Training clothes?" Neville said, feeling both out of breath and extremely stupid. Draco's leering sneer, expected and far the worse for that, came at him, and Neville swallowed and choked as he spit out his next words. " Wh... Where are they?"

" Your room," Lupin said cheerfully. " The chest in the room. Third drawer down. Come back when you're done."

Feeling as if he'd made an ass of himself and that everyone was laughing at him, Neville skulked away, at first dragging his hammer with him and then realizing that he looked stupid while carrying it. He tried to lean it against the wall, but it fell, and it took him a few minutes to get it set up right. Afterward, feeling even more stupid and incoherent, he left to get his clothes on. He came back in a few minutes, grabbing his hammer and just dragging it along with him.

" So," Lupin said, " here we are. Now," he said, " your journey really begins."

He smiled, showing his naturally sharper teeth. " It's training time!"

- R & R please!