In this rehearsal, they'd decided to focus on getting Harry up to speed with how musicians used magic to create effects, like the way what each of them had played last week had offered images or scents or feelings to the listeners mind. Unfortunately, each of the professors seemed to have a different metaphor to explain how it worked. Currently, Snape was the one talking, but what he had to say didn't make much sense to Harry.

"So is it like multitasking?" he asked, confused.

"No, Potter. You aren't switching your attention between two things. You are thinking two lines of thought simultaneously. The amount of focus is the same on both."

Snape clearly wasn't getting anywhere, so McGonagall jumped in.

"Your mind is split, yet unified. The two make one perfect clarity."

Harry really didn't see it yet. "How do you describe it?" He asked Dumbledore.

The old man smiled gently at him, lines creasing his face. "It is like love."

Right. Harry stared at him. What on earth did love have to do with it? "Err…"

Dumbledore extended his hand out to Harry and looked at him expectantly. Harry swiftly glanced round at Snape and McGonagall to see if they had any idea where the old man was going with this. Snape's face was closed, but McGonagall's spoke of contemplation.

The headmaster made a small come on gesture with his hand. Hesitantly, Harry placed his hand in Dumbledore's, hoping that he was doing the right thing. The hand was covered in wrinkles, and felt warm and surprisingly strong to Harry.

Meeting Harry's eyes, Dumbledore said, "We are individuals, you and I. But we are bound, clasped by the strength of our hands and the strength of our love. We are more than ourselves when we are together. We dream as one, and are two parts of one whole. We will not shatter, or break, or fracture. We can withstand all that comes."

The grip on Harry's hand tightened. "We are one now, no matter that we may do different acts, or sing different songs, or come from different places. We are one, and we are two. Counterpoint."

When Dumbledore let his hand go, Harry wasn't quite sure how to feel. He took a deep breath, then looked away from the headmaster's earnest face. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I – I" But he didn't know what to say.

Did he know what love was? His parents had loved him, he was sure, and he had loved them back. Now, he loved them, but he didn't actually know them, just faded pictures and worn-out stories about them. Did that count? How could he miss and love people he couldn't even remember?

The Dursleys had not engendered any understanding of love in Harry: Dudley's relationship with his parents seemed to be based on convenience for Dudley more than anything. And his parents – did they really love him? They adored him, certainly, but they placed no limits on him, and were content, even happy, to see him grow up overweight and a bully. Another thing was for certain: they did not love Harry.

With Alexis – he didn't know. He had cared for her and liked her, and she had done the same, but he knew that they weren't family. And Harry hadn't even seen her very much since he had started Hogwarts, either. He missed her terribly, but it didn't seem to be love in the way that Dumbledore had been speaking of it.

Ron and Hermione were good friends. Great friends, even. But love?

Harry steeled himself and said, "I'm not too sure love like that exists." He swallowed an unexpected lump in his throat.

The three adults blinked at him. McGonagall, he saw, seemed older than usual, her face lined in loss. Snape looked blank, but there was a shadow to him that made Harry think of regret. And Dumbledore –

Dumbledore said quietly, "Oh, it exists." He settled his hands in his lap. "It doesn't have to be romantic, you know. A great friend, who supports and understands you as you support and understand him or her, who wishes with all their heart for your fulfilment and achievement while you wish for theirs, pushing each other from one great thing to the next—"

He stopped and looked at Harry, who lowered his eyes. He didn't think he could say that of his friends, not entirely. Ron didn't push him. While Hermione did, he didn't think either of them really understood his motivations and drives.

"Perhaps you haven't found it yet, though. You are young."

Snape was looking aside awkwardly – Harry found it in him to be amused at that – and then said abruptly, "Enough. If he wishes to ruminate on that, he ought to read Dumas and be done with it. One for all and all for one, indeed."

Harry found he was glad having an end to the topic, until Snape continued.

"Returning to your idea, Potter. Multitasking is in no way the right way of thinking about it. Furthermore, it is just an excuse used by imbeciles who cannot focus for more than half a minute. Perhaps that explains your latest potions essay, where you stated that the third step could be modified by placing your wand on a 15 degree angle and encanting with emphasis on the last syllable rather than the first." He glared at Harry pointedly.

Harry flushed beet red. Had he really written that? Sinkingly, he remembered that he had been rather tired after quidditch the evening before it was due.

Snape added, in an aside to the other teachers, "As Mr Potter ought to know, the Arthritis-Reducing Elixir does not contain any wand-waving, even in the variation for pregnant women. As a matter of fact, incantations do not play a part in my curriculum for the first term of each year."

McGonagall was giving him her best disapproving frown, and Dumbledore looked disappointed, which hurt more than it should considering Harry had hardly met the man more than a handful of times. Then McGonagall's gaze sharpened, and she said bitingly, "Perhaps Mr Potter was revising for my class instead."

Harry gulped. Did she remember that—

"Knowing the variation to the reverse pencil-to-quill didn't help him, however. He did not manage a basic lead, let alone a coloured pencil."

She remembered. Harry found his voice, and said weakly, "But I did do it the other—"

"Yes, on Monday you managed pencil-to-quill. Which makes it even more deplorable that on Thursday you couldn't manage the reverse, which is of the same difficulty."

Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Harry. "Organisation, I do believe, is a trait that ought to be encouraged."

Harry couldn't have felt worse. All three of the adults seemed to have suddenly remembered that he was their student. And, he knew, he really could have been better organised. Saying if only quidditch didn't run so late was just his way of excusing poor work that should have been done earlier. Hermione had even reminded him about it, too.

He bit his lip, then looked up and said, "I-I'll try to do better next time."

Snape shook his head sharply, drawing Harry's attention, and said bitingly, "No, Potter. You will do better now."

Harry looked at the other adults for help—Right. Teachers. He nodded.

McGonagall's expression changed swiftly, to one of concern. Harry found he was very worried about what she might be thinking.

"Perhaps you are trying too much at once… Schoolwork, quidditch and music…"

Harry, when looking over to see what the two men thought of that idea, saw Snape's expression grow wicked. He jumped in hurriedly to prevaricate. "Oh, I don't think—"

But Snape opened his mouth anyway, and said carefully, "Perhaps he is trying too much at once. I am sure that he needn't play quidditch if it drains too much of his time."

Harry stared horrified at Snape. He knew where this was going. "It's fine, it's fine—"

"If Mr Potter finds it all too much to bear, we cannot allow it, even if he wrong-headedly believes that he must save every damsel that crosses his path—metaphorically speaking, of course. Quidditch, as an extra-curricular activity, ought not to be pursued to the point of neglecting classwork." Snape's expression was one of deceptive benevolence.

All last traces of Harry's guilt fled to leave room for his boiling anger. "You—" he began.

Luckily McGonagall cut in at that point. "I do not believe that course of action should be pursued yet, Severus." Harry remembered how she had gotten him on the Quidditch team in the first place, and breathed a sigh of relief. She had also recruited him into the quartet, he thought. Interesting.

"All we have evidence of here is a single lack of time-management and judgement. We also need to consider that Mr Potter is still settling back in to school."

Harry nodded fervently, while Snape looked like he could contribute several instances of Harry's misjudgement and lack of effort. But McGonagall continued.

"Of course, if it becomes chronic…" She trailed away.

Snape looked satisfied, and Harry realised what she had done. She had left Snape with the satisfaction of knowing that Harry might get banned from the team, or restricted, or something. And she had left Harry with the threat of it hanging over his head, to make him toe the line.

"Perhaps I could put a word in Wood's ear, though, just to make sure he doesn't overwork the team, though," she mused.

At that Harry started. "No, no, please don't. It's fine." That would almost be worse than being restricted. Oliver would think that Harry had complained and go all grumpy towards him. The rest of the team would think he was a sissy.

She left him in suspense for a horrid thirty seconds until she broke into a smile and laughed. Snape looked disappointed.

"No, I won't do that." Her face went stern again as she added, "Not yet, anyway. Shape up, Potter."

He was sure he was gaping at her a little.

Snape's matter-of-fact voice drew his attention away from her. "I want that essay rewritten by Monday, Potter. You can add a discussion of possible substitutions for the willow bark as well as on the modifications needed so that a pregnant woman can take it."

Harry stared at him. "But—"

"You will do the essay for Monday." It was in no way a question. Harry gave in to the inexorable force that was Severus Snape in full homework-giving mode.

"I will do the essay for Monday," he wearily agreed. Goodbye, Sunday.

"And I will know if Miss Granger's hand is in it," Snape added. Harry rolled his eyes and gave a grudging nod.

The sound of a clap drew their attention to Dumbledore. The old man lowered his hands once he had their attention. "We have spent enough time on that, I think. Harry, I don't believe that discussing the magic using metaphor is helping your understanding. To put it plainly, you must hold the image in your head while you play. But your music cannot be distracted or half-hearted. It is the channel, the driving force that takes your internal image out into the world. An equal amount of focus must be on your music and on your image, until they become one. Music into image and image into music, an ever-spinning duality."

Harry took that in, wondering why none of them had just described it that way in the first place. Not that he thought he could do it. Then he remembered, "But," he jerked his head at Snape, "during his I thought I could smell something. And," he said to McGonagall, brain ticking faster, "I felt warm in yours. It's not just an image, is it?"

Dumbledore was shaking his head and smiling. McGonagall leaned forward to tell him, "It's not just an image, no. Usually a memory, particularly vivid. That is especially true when you are learning. Later, if you have a strong enough imagination, you will be able to do all manner of things. Carmina Estelle—"

"Is not the purpose of this conversation," Snape cut in smoothly. "We are not here to discuss what he will not be able to do even when trained, we are here to drum a rudimentary understanding into his brain."

"To begin with," Dumbledore said, "It is probably best to have you concentrate on your ability to recall a memory. A place you are familiar with would be the best, and since we need to be able to know whether it is accurate, for now I must ask you to use a part of Hogwarts."

Harry nodded at that. He was rather relieved, to be honest. He didn't really want to go around conjuring up pictures of his life with the Dursleys.

"Erm… What about the Great Hall?" He knew what it looked like when not crowded with people due to his early mornings. He had thought first of the common room then realised that he was only in it when it was filled with people.

"That would work, though a smaller place would be easier to begin with. No?"

Harry shook his head. He couldn't really think of anything apart from his dorm room, and it was usually pretty messy. In fact, he didn't think he could remember it ever being clean. No, thanks.

"Now…" Dumbledore hesitated. It didn't seem like he was too sure about this part, which didn't exactly fill Harry with confidence. "Now, a spell. The Conaissen charm."

Harry heard McGonagall give a little gasp, and whipped his head round to look at her. She looked rather taken aback, and said, "Albus, are you sure?"

The headmaster nodded. "With the proper precautions taken, there will be no danger, and it will be far better than stumbling along blindly."

Snape said slowly, "However—you could not possibly—" He broke off and stared at Harry intently. Harry squirmed. "I could not, and I am sure you know that—Minerva, then?"

"Correct as usual, Severus."

"Me?" McGonagall was frowning. "I do realise that neither of you could really do it, but me?"

Harry, filled with questions, burst out. "Just what is this charm? Why shouldn't you be able to do it?"

"The conaissen charm allows one person to project an image in their mind out to the world. It used to be used for court cases, in fact, as evidence that the events had happened. However, it eventually became inadmissible, because they were highly prone to being manipulated."

Looking at Dumbledore, Harry tried to get his head around that. It made sense so far, at least.

"There are a certain set of criteria that a person has to fill in order to perform this charm, Harry."

Maybe that was why the other teachers looked so leery. "What are they?" he asked.

"Firstly, the performer—that's the person casting the charm, which in our case would be Minerva—"

Harry saw McGonagall's face twitch.

"Has to have a relatively trusting relationship with the visualiser—that would be you, Harry. And in addition to that, they have to have spent a decent amount of time in each other's company."

"Why?" Harry asked curiously. "Is it so that this trusting relationship is developed?"

Dumbledore tilted his head. "Not precisely, no—although that certainly is important. It is more so that the two are subconsciously familiar with each other's magic and personality. Otherwise the spell finds there is too much disjunction or friction, and will not work properly."

"What the headmaster is neglecting to mention," Snape said, rather snidely, "is that if they are familiar yet there is no trust, the results can be somewhat… explosive. It is also true vice versa. If you wish to refrain from blowing out your skull, the familiarity and trust are important."

Right.

"And the other condition is," Dumbledore added, shooting a reproving look at the Potions Master, "that the viewer consents entirely to the process." He explained it all a bit more, the other professors occasionally interjecting.

After a few minutes of that, Harry nodded, and said, "Okay, then. Familiarity and trust. Right." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "I'll do it with you, then. It'll work." It was true that he did know her more than the others, and certainly trusted her a great deal more than, for example, Snape. Dumbledore- Harry didn't know, he supposed he did trust him, but really he had to admit they hadn't interacted nearly enough to say for certain whether that was just because he was the headmaster or not.

"Do you trust me, Harry Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked formally.

"I-I do," Harry said uncertainly.

"Do you?' Her voice was serious.

"I do."

"A few minutes, then," she said, "Trace the curves and edges of the image in your mind."

When he had it pictured in his head, McGonagall murmured, "ready?"

Harry nodded, carefully. There was a strange tingling feeling in the air.

"We begin."

There was a definite intensifying there, and Harry noticed peripherally that Snape had shifted uneasily.

The woman moved her wand in a series of intricate, precise twists, and said slowly, as if she could not spare much attention for the words, "Hold the memory vividly. It should be almost as if you are there again."

Harry concentrated on the Great Hall, on the polished gleam of the floor, light streaming in through the enchanted ceiling. It was an early morning, and the house tables were empty, and there was a slight chill in the air—

McGonagall's wand continued its intricate patterning, until she said firmly, "Conaisse!"

- and he could see all the carving on the wainscoting, normally hidden behind dozens of bustling students.

Harry, in that moment, understood it all in a flash of inspiration. It was easy and tricky at the same time- even as he understood that understanding and the image itself were slipping away- the walls were warping and buckling, and there were only three house-tables-

"Finis."

When the charm ended it felt like Harry's ears had popped, so great was the difference in the atmosphere.

McGonagall was smiling. "Well done, Potter! You held it steady for a good few seconds, there- I could feel you balancing. That's how it ought to feel."

Harry couldn't help grinning back, even though holding the sensation might be compared to gripping a greased eel. He'd done it. And he was sure that he could do it again, now he knew. Maybe when he was doing arpeggios in the morning he could try to include an image...

"Practice visualising," Dumbledore told him. "A few minutes each day- you need to have either a strong imagination or vivid memories to get far with this skill. Both is better. It's possible to train them up, too."

Snape eased himself up out of his chair and made his way over to a bookshelf. Harry watched him rummaging in it out of the corner of his eye, even as Dumbledore added more about how he'd first learnt to do it.

"-best for a beginner to focus only on one aspect at a time. Try it first with scales, or a piece you are very familiar with-"

When Snape came back he was holding a raggedy book.

"Here, Potter."

Harry accepted the book that was thrust at him. A few of the yellowed pages had fallen out and then been replaced, he noticed. The cover was curling upwards.

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that one!" McGonagall laughed. "It's been so long- Aunt Cadie used to make me practice from that when I was a girl. She was especially fond of number 27 for some reason."

The title read, 50 Studies for the Developing of Sensorimagical Musicianship.

"Begin with the first ones, Potter: you shall find they increase in complexity as the book goes on. At least fifteen minutes a day, in addition to your usual practice."

Harry nodded distractedly at Snape's comment and lifted the cover to peek inside at the contents. However, Dumbledore cleared his throat before he got more than a glance.

"Perhaps you could look later, my boy? We haven't got long left, and we ought to have a run-through of our first piece."

The book was put away and they tumbled their way through an allegro in D Major. Harry was very glad he had sight-read it in the week before because otherwise even at the stately speed they played he would have been lost quite quickly. He'd never really played with others before and had got into the bad habit of pausing when he made a mistake to play it again properly. It was both exhilarating and terrifying playing with the Professors, who he could tell were all much more used to playing with others- and just better in general.

As he walked away once they were finished, clutching music, the book, and his case, he was looking forward to seeing if he could manage to develop his sensorimagical musicianship in the next few days.