Tuesday Morning, Harry rose before the sun did (the year was getting old, and so the sun was getting short with everyone). He wiped the sleep out of his eyes (because sleep was a beach that left sand behind, apparently*). He bounded down the stairs, in a controlled sort of perpetual fall, steered by his feet rather than caused by them.** He only slowed to a jog after he hit the ground floor running. If he'd hit the door at a flat run, it would have rebounded into its doorframe with a giant-waking thump (and since he wasn't trying to wake the whole stormin' castle...)

Harry ran around the castle, more wary than yesterday. Like yesterday, there were plenty of reasons to be wary. Not counting Hagrid's current collection of beasts***, or Sprout's greenhouses (which Harry was supposed to be going around, not rolling through - but he wasn't about to apologize if he wasn't caught), Snape had planted traps, some of which were practically muggle (Harry privately suspected that just meant he didn't notice the magic...). Others, of course, were just deadly. Those generally made a noise, or were otherwise detectable, if one was careful.

Careful didn't lead to fast running, of course. This wouldn't be one of the days Harry managed to circle the castle three times.

That was fine.

This was better anyway. Good training for being an Auror, Harry thought with a mild grimace.

People had just started assuming Harry wanted to be an Auror - and it really hadn't been worth correcting them. What else was he going to do? Quiddich? That seemed a waste... Oh, sure, he wouldn't mind doing it on the side... Besides, an Auror was a fine career path, and it wasn't like it didn't have difficult requirements. Not all the hard courses, of course - Hermione was taking Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, but still...

Harry really hadn't done much thinking at all past Voldemort's Death. For years, it had loomed so large, and was so inevitable, and was such the oncoming train of it all, unavoidable at best... Harry truly didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted to be good at something, sure... but was that all? What was he even good at? With a fond smile, Harry remembered Hermione saying, "You have a saving people thing." It would be nice to be useful, sure... Not that he had to have all of this life and death surrounding him... but just to be useful.

The Twins were useful - they made people smile. Harry wrote a mental note to tell the Twins to take some of their products to St. Mungos, and write them off as a charitable expense.

By the time Harry stumbled up to his rooms, his robe was only slightly melted, in a few spots. He studied it, frowning, before concluding, Not a complete loss. Not for classes anymore, though.

Tuesday flew by. Harry didn't really think much about anything except classwork. He threw his all into it, and found himself picking up the charms as if they were simplicity itself. That was how he worked, when he paid attention, ideas aligned and he was able to get his charms working properly. He wasn't Hermione - she was like that all the time. Harry? Just Harry got just distracted a lot by a lot of things, and he knew that some of them were important, and some of them weren't.

Not that knowing things helped, most of the time.

Harry sat down to dinner, noting as usual where people were sitting. Snape and McGonagall were having a 'healthy debate' at the High Table (by which Harry meant no one had probably been stabbed yet). Sprout was chortling (making her fat wobble in a very disturbing, and entrancing, way) as she was relating an anecdote to Filius. Dumbledore sat and oversaw everything, from the middle of the table.

Harry's eyes flicked down the Slytherin table. Pansy was not sitting with any of her yearmates. Were they afraid that Potter's stupidity was catching? That maybe he'd kiss one of them next? Harry made a mental note to tell Pansy his observations, before realizing it was probably futile.

Harry was in detention till doomsday. Otherwise known as when he graduated.

Harry got down to the Very Serious Business of eating dinner. Beef Wellington, with roasted taties, and some sort of green muck on the side. Nobody wanted the green muck, but nobody wanted to tell the House Elves that either. Hermione tried glaring Neville into eating some of it, in her prim way, "Please, they went to a lot of work to make this much - how would you like it if nobody ate what you made?"

Neville gave a sigh, and reluctantly managed a bite. Harry smirked -

A crack of lightning plunged the Great Hall into darkness. A gust of wind snuffed candles.

The entire Hall seemed to pause - Harry held his breath, and he wasn't the only one.

A clap of thunder, and then, in the middle of the Great Hall, there was a spectral green light. "I am Lussi!" a ... witchy voice shrieked, and then she cackled. It was a witch, as from the Muggle Fairy Tales.

Harry blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes. It was a simple trick - he was one of the first who saw the small, female figure on a broomstick. "Mean children beware!" The green light glinted off light, long hair.

... was that Luna?

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Lussiferda, Lussiferda, Lussiferda!" she cried, jabbing her wand above her head with each word. Hobgoblins and trolls popped out around everyone - Hermione shrieked and stood to avoid a goblin getting a look under her dress.

The witchy witch circled the room, pausing at the Hufflepuff table, "Have you been naughty little children?"

"Don't take me!" Ernie cried, abandoning all of the dignity he generally had.

Harry's attention was momentarily caught by the High Table, where McGonagall was climbing to her feet, irritation writ large on her face. (Harry could hear her stern No broomriding in the castle). Beside her, Snape finished what he'd been writing with a flourish, and bopped Minerva McGonagall on the head with the rolled up parchment, exactly as you might a cat.

Harry suddenly knew he'd better never admit to watching this.

Snape wouldn't have done it if he'd known anyone would be watching.

Looking at the note, Minerva McGonagall sat down with a sigh, as she crossed her feet and leaned back. Snape smirked, and harry could nearly hear Snape savoring his victory.

Luna had flown over to the Gryffindor table, "Have you been naughty?"

"No, Dame Lussi." Hermione said, and Harry could tell she was just guessing on the address.

Lussi went to the middle of the room, again - very, very slowly - was something wrong with her broom. Again she jabbed her wand towards the sky, "Liars and Men of Honor, prepare to be judged!" She cackled, then.

The room reverberated with the wind, Harry desperately peeling his eyes closed.

Closing his eyes made it worse, not better - there were sounds everywhere, little hobgoblin feet, the booms of troll feet.

When the light shone again, Luna was nowhere to be seen. Neither were the trolls and hobgoblins.

Snape was the first person to take another sip - of coffee, black as his eyes. He did so, even though his hair resembled something out of Rainbow Brite.

Draco Malfoy, whose entire ensemble was not just rumpled, but also inside out and backwards, stood, clapping slowly. "I stand for the Lussevaka this night."

Cho, and Li, and Padma rose to their feet (lunged would be more appropriate truly). "Ravenclaw stands with you, House Slytherin."

Harry's eyes flicked to Draco, who he swore had a look of satisfaction on his face.

Zach Smith rose for Hufflepuff, backed by Ernie, "Hufflepuff will join you, of course."

Lavender, Parvati - and Finnegan stood, "With Gryffindor, Hogwarts will stand united."

"Until evil be vanquished, and light burst forth again."

"Drika Jul!" the whole of the high table responded, as if to say "Amen."

and that was Albus Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling like usual.

Harry's first instinct was to Ask Hermione, but one look at her told him that she hadn't ever heard of this.

And that made asking her a really bad idea.

Not knowing things was stressful for Hermione, and when stressed, she tended to snap.

"I'm going to the library," Hermione said, standing up, even though she wasn't half done with her dinner. Harry didn't need to look to know Malfoy would be smirking across the room from them. If asked, Malfoy'd probably serve up some sort of ill-mannered quip, too. Harry's eyes flicked to the Ravenclaw table, but they were too far away to be heard, and the Hufflepuffs were all cuddled together like some sort of squirming pack of still-blind puppies - cute, but no good for eavesdropping.

Harry's eyes flicked up to the High Table, and he saw Snape stand. Parvati had started to say, "In Scandinavia, there's a legend..."

Harry let her words fade into the background - he couldn't stay.

He had detention.*

Harry didn't trudge down the stairs to detention. He walked, lightly, trying to make his footsteps quieter. That worked until he stumbled, hitting his shoulder on a piece of platemail. "Ow," he said, continuing downstairs.

"Enter," Snape said as Potter knocked on the door.

Harry knew, from the moment he stepped in the door, that this detention was going to be different than most. For one thing, there were no cauldrons. For another, the floorspace was entirely clear.

Harry swallowed a gulp, not entirely anticipating this.

This was a Defense detention, and so he'd better be prepared. It was almost like his armhairs standing on end, the way he focused. Ready, waiting, prepared to lunge, or roll, or even cast a spell.

Snape's wand moved, and Harry ducked into a roll - going on muscle memory, which was less instinct than intent.

It might have been fifteen minutes, it might have been four hours. Harry came out of 'battle-mode' as if coming out of a trance, with no idea of how long he'd been in it. He was sore, and Snape's wand was pressing into his throat, as Snape growled out, "Yield."

"I yield, sir." Harry said, trying (and failing) to control his gasps for breath.

Snape stood, putting his hands behind his back, before speaking, "The rest of the night is yours to enjoy."

"Thank you, sir." Harry said. And stood there, because he did want to know...

"Is there some reason you aren't leaving, Potter?" Snape asked, and he never seemed so snakey as when he was asking a question like that.

"What did you say to McGonagall at dinner?" Harry asked, just deciding to spit it out.

Snape started, "Well, we were discussing the merits of the Quiddich teams, specifically, dissecting the Ravenclaw team's weaknesses and strengths."

Great. That wasn't at all what Harry had wanted to know.

Snape picked that up straight off Harry's face, of course. "With regards to Lussi? I reminded her that the rules against flying broomsticks inside the castle were designed to prevent children from battering each other down, and that it was hardly appropriate to apply that to a child's training broom."

"Thank you, sir," Harry left as gracefully as he could - because he ached. He hadn't even thought of how odd it was that Luna had been on a broom. Of course, McGonagall had wanted to say something about it. However, the wonder was that Snape had disagreed. There was something here Harry was missing.

Walking up towards Gryffindor Tower was a weird experience, but it took a while for him to even notice how weird it was. It was after dinner, and there was no one around.

That wasn't unusual when you were in the dungeons. Harry knew the Slytherin Common Room was cozy enough (if prim and proper to the nines), but most of the dungeon was drafty and chilly. It wasn't surprising that even the Slytherins thought twice before spending copious time in essentially unused classrooms and dusty jumped-up storage closets.

Going through the main floors of Hogwarts, though, had Harry feel a tendril of unease sliding up and down his spine.

Where was everyone?

It was like the entire castle had been kidnapped.

Instead of going towards Gryffindor, and bed, like any sensible student would do after a detention with Snape, Harry's feet turned towards the library. There were few things indeed that would get all the Ravenclaws out of the library - and yet, as he didn't see a single soul on his way to the library, that twisting unease fought against his mind - trying to turn to dread.

Pince was in the library, sitting at her desk. Harry sighed with relief. He wasn't sure he could have taken it if everyone had been kidnapped by Aliens.

Or Death Eaters.

Harry wasn't sure which was worse - he knew he could at least find Death Eaters, even if they were horrible cowards that hid behind unplottable wards.

"Where is everyone?" he asked the librarian.

She shrugged, "Not in the library."

Harry would have turned to leave, except that he saw a flicker of bright blonde hair.

Luna? He thought, softly striding over towards her.

By the time Harry had gotten near Luna, he'd half convinced himself that Luna had something to do with making off with the rest of the castle (save Pince, who looked still as stone). It was Luna Lovegood, and with her, all things were possible, after all.

And there was this disquieting, almost itchy feeling under his skin. Snape had said to enjoy himself. Snape wasn't a person one thought of as happy, no, never. Gleeful, perhaps, but not happy. His enjoyment of something was a darker thing - Hermione's laugh was bright, and Ron's smile was gay, but Snape? His enjoyment felt more like a brief and bittersweet indulgence.

So it was downright odd for Snape to order Harry Potter to enjoy something.

What in the ducky is going on? Harry thought.

Before Harry could really think about tucking tail and turning round, Luna looked up at him. She hadn't been reading, just maundering - looking down and out the window.

"Oh, Harry! there you are!" Luna said, with that soft and airy smile.

"Where is everyone, Luna?" Harry asked, trying to keep any hard edges out of his voice.

"Outside, of course," Luna said, smiling. "There's a great big bonfire, and the house elves brought warm spiked cider, and treats!" Luna jumped off the windowsill where she'd been sitting, and did a soft pirouette.

Harry had to smile at that, even as his nose belated (and with help) decoded the subtle scent of fire. "Why aren't you outside?"

Luna smiled, showing off a bottlecap necklace, "Because I've got these, they keep the nargles away." Luna smiled, looking warm, "Nobody else will wear them, so we must resort to more extreme measures." Luna leaned over and winked.

"Like what?"

"Why, like bonfires and dancing and a feast! To chase the hobs away!" Luna smiled.

"It sounds lovely. Why aren't you down there with everyone else?" Harry persisted.

"I don't like fire," Luna said, "Particularly when it's out of control. It reminds me... of things I'd rather not think about."

Harry shifted uneasily, from foot to foot, "Do you need some company?"

Luna looked up at him, then gripped his hands, pulling him closer to her, "It's do you want company, Harry." Luna's blue eyes turned cold as a moonless night, "Or it's a lie." Luna's lips quirked into a devilish smile, "Don't lie to me."

"Are you feeling lonely? I hate feeling lonely, and would keep you company if you were." Harry said, trying to choose his words with enough precision.

"Go join the lot of them, Harry," Luna said, using her hands on his wrists to spin him, until his backside was touching her front. She lightly patted him on the nearest available surface, "Get going, lil' doggie."

Harry did, thinking as he plummeted down the empty stairs, Luna is so strange.

It seemed like everyone else had changed before descending to the bonfire (or ascending in the Slytherins' case).

Harry didn't mind not having changed (his non-school clothes were overly large), though he hoped he didn't look the part of the prat, like Malfoy did, strutting around with his medallion on. The Ravenclaws were doing it too, so at least Malfoy wasn't so gauche as to do it alone.

Wow. Had he really fallen so far as masturbation jokes?

There was food, and drink, a bit of music (someone had scraped together a guitar and a flute).

Harry was quite surprised to find he liked it - a lot.

Most of the time at Hogwarts, he was at purely Gryffindor parties, and they were pandemonium incarnate. Well, granted a lot of that was the Twins doing, but when you have everyone brave enough to think they're the Life of the Party, well, it's a recipe for noise so loud that nobody could sleep, even if they didn't want to party.

... which had been Harry, some of the time. He couldn't even skulk up to his room and try to sleep.

No, it had been craziness and zaniness, and a whole bunch of madcap plans and ideas.

In five years of twin induced madness, it was a wonder that nobody had capered down to the Slytherin dungeons and painted the snake Red and Gold (of course, they'd have to find the snake first, but employing time-tested Gryffindorian methods, they'd simply dye every animal they saw, until by process of elimination...).

Gryffindor parties made for fun stories, afterwards, along the level of "do you remember when Seamus stuck himself upside-down to the ceiling and started turning piroettes?" Everything always seemed hilarious, and tended to grow crazier in the telling. There was always some new elaboration... Hmm, Harry thought, I've never actually heard of one of these stories told about Hermione...

Harry himself leaned back against a tree, half lit by the firelight.

People were casual here, not manic like the Gryffindor parties, but also not... like the Yule Ball. Everyone had been Dressed Up there, and that had put undue pressure on everyone and everything. Particularly the boys, in some sense - they didn't much like the idea of Playing Dressup. Harry blinked, shifting himself into the position of, of all things Pansy Parkinson. He pictured her being upstaged and outstaged by Hermione Granger of all people - to the point where her own date (Malfoy) hadn't recognized Hermione Granger, his ... nemesis? Whatever you wanted to call it (Harry was certain that if he asked, he'd get a full list of three syllable words).

It had been stiff, and formal, and nobody had relaxed the entire night.

Lavender and Ron were making a spectacle of themselves - which would have been fine, Harry thought, if it didn't look like their public displays of affection were getting Pansy's nose seriously out of joint.

Harry was about to work himself into standing up (He was comfortable, for once!), when he remembered that there were solid reasons he shouldn't interfere. So thinking, he leaned back against the tree again.

"Looks like a lovely time you're having, Potter." Draco Malfoy's voice intoned, from somewhere behind Harry's ear.

Harry jumped, nearly pivoted in place, only Malfoy's wiry hand on his shoulder preventing it.

"I'm not here," Malfoy said, and Harry's eyes at last caught sight of the oddity - he couldn't see Malfoy's hand, even though he could feel it on his shoulder.

"So I see," Harry said, hiding a smirk - it would look odd to be smirking at nothing, after all.

"People watch you. You couldn't manage to hide if your life depended on it." Draco Malfoy said.

Harry shrugged, "I can hide fine enough. People don't bother a bear, even if they always keep track of where it is."

Harry could hear the smile in Malfoy's voice (and that was odd, the bloke barely ever smiled), "True enough. But I'd rather not make waves, and nobody's going to miss me for a little bit."

Harry shrugged, "So long as nobody wants me to put on a show."

Malfoy's laugh was light and cold, as silver as his eyes. "When I was affianced to Pansy, shows were the least of it. She wanted everything, and all of it immediately."

Harry chuckled, low and quiet. "I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Hey! I didn't either. Mum had to talk me through half of it, and that using an owl."

"No wonder you used to get so many owls!" Harry said softly, his voice amused.

"I miss them. I even miss Pansy, though she was a tyrant." Malfoy said lightly, and Harry knew if he could see those silver eyes, they'd flicker with a trace of sadness.

Harry had only a second to contemplate 'Malfoy's situation' - he really hadn't given any thought to the social consequences of (he presumed) being a Death Eater. Then Ron and Hermione descended on him, tugging him off his comfy tree and sending him into the dance.

Talking with Malfoy had given Harry cause to acquire a new goal: Avoid Pansy Parkinson at all costs.

Hermione Granger liked to study a problem. She'd approach it from all angles, and then, like a gemer with a rock hammer, would hit it. Hard. She'd break it into the pieces she liked, and wind up with a lovely result.

Harry didn't like those sorts of problems. He liked the ones where he had to respond quickly, where there was a limited time, and a limited space.

That was, actually, what he'd run into this morning. Snape's traps (which were either set to hurt only Harry, or set to disappear after sunrise, and Harry wasn't sure which was more likely or disturbing. Not that Harry truly contemplated Snape devising elaborate revenge schemes for him. No, those likely belonged to Harry's father.)

It wasn't as if these traps were fair, or anything. They were realistic, though, and Harry thought if he were Hermione, he'd probably have figured out how to hide from them, or how to sense them back when they were trying to sense him.

That wasn't him, though. Harry danced through a scattered shower of knives, bounced over a hole that tried to form under him, tucked himself into a ball and rolled under some spears... These were really violent, weren't they?

Drip, drip drip.

Harry's ears pricked. His eyes were drawn to the sizzle of dry autumn leaves dissolving in acid. His eyes opened wide as he saw a gila monster (or the magical equivalent) right in front of him.

Time to make like a bird and get up a tree. Harry thought, his quick scramble leaving the gila monster to walk back to its post. Harry hopped off the other side (turning his fall into a roll), landed with a rolling thudding bounce, and then unrolled himself as quickly as he could (don't leave yourself vulnerable too long, was a lesson he'd learned the hard way, from Dudley Dursley).

It was fun to surpass all the traps - or at least so Harry was thinking. Until he heard a sickening crunch. He looked down, and saw the steel jaws biting deep into his leg. From the feel of it, they'd struck bone.

Harry took a deep breath, knowing that he had to scream, that he was going to scream.

He sucked in a deep breath of air, and bellowed, "Help!" It was better than screaming. Screaming was the loss of control.

Asking for help was just practical.

Harry didn't have time to feel stupid, as he drew in more air. "Help!" he called, knowing that most people were sleeping now (certainly no one had ever asked him about these runs.)

His vision was starting to gray around the edges, as he opened his mouth again. Before he could as much as croak, a black sleeve covered his mouth, muffling his depleated voice. Harry didn't have time to panic, before the darkness surrounded him.

Draco Malfoy had come to breakfast early, wanting to review a few intricate spells in case they were needed in Defense today. Snape was well off his syllabus, and didn't seem to be particularly interested in returning to it. Draco knew what the Professor would say if confronted (by, say, a nosy Gryffindor): "No plan survives contact with the enemy." He was nearly done, when the Gryffindors arrived, as a pack, as usual. No Potter.

Draco frowned, and - instead of leaving in pursuit of someplace quiet, decided very abruptly to stay.

Granger and the Weasels looked worried from the moment they sat down (though they were good at hiding that). Draco's eyes looked up at the high table, where he noted that the teachers looked unmoved, as if whatever was wrong, they were fully briefed.

In Draco's experience, that was when the problems with Potter generally started. He seemed to excel at getting himself in yet more trouble. If I keep my ears open, I may learn something profitable.

Throughout the hall, "Where's Harry Potter?" was on people's lips (it was on Greg and Vince's at the Slytherin table, everyone else pretending disinterest).

Apparently rampant curiosity was not enough to force the High Table to disgorge information. Draco would watch, and if that didn't work, he'd request information. Politely.

Harry Potter blinked his eyes open, in the sterile white that was the school infirmary.

Madame Pomphrey bustled over, all officious, "Oh, you're awake!" She smiled down at him.

Harry didn't trust doctors who smiled, never had. "How bad is it?"

She stopped smiling. That was good, meant it was serious, but not too serious. Harry had wondered, a while back, if she smiled when she told children they were terminal. Probably not, that would be too professional for the Wizarding World. "Well, Mr. Potter. For the scale of the injury, I am happy to tell you that we will have you right as rain. Eventually."

Harry paused, remembering in a flash, just how nasty the injury had been. "How long?" Harry asked, not caring as much about anything else. Glory, but he hated the infirmary.

"Two nights. We'll have you up and functional in time for Friday classes." Madame sniffed, "You'll be confined to light work, but as Severus assures me that your DADA classes are on Mondays and Wednesdays, you needn't worry. You'll be fit enough for classes."

Harry felt something niggle in the back of his head, "And Hogsmeade?"

Madame Pomphrey said, "That fits within the purview of 'light duty', so long as you don't go running on that leg of yours. Be lucky you can use a crutch."

Harry was suddenly just very glad it wasn't a cane.

Being stuck in a bed was boring, Harry thought, and turned his attention to his pillow. He wanted to work on his wandless magic. And here was a convenient receptacle. Maybe he could make it one of those ornamental pillows from Mrs. Figg's old house. With cats on, even!

He kept trying for hours, but in the end, only managed to make it a little ovalloid (was that a word?), and a bit more compact. Harry didn't mind. He hadn't slept with pillows when he was young, and he'd never minded then. A harder pillow, and a flatter one, was generally his preference.

Harry sat in the infirmary, impossibly bored. That was the stage of boredom you generally reached after about a dozen hours of doing simply nothing. Harry'd reached it in two. His pillow was still stubbornly ovaloid.

Harry heard a loud boom, and looked around the infirmary - half nervous, half wired. Nerves were useless things - wired was pure energy, not yet focused into doing.

"If the two of you would be kind enough to stop whispering, and allow me to start my class?" Snape's voice (in false saccharine mode) slithered through the infirmary.

It took Harry a moment to grasp the content of what Snape was saying. He wasn't here, he was in the defense classroom. And from the tone, that was Ron and Hermione. Probably concerned about me, Harry thought wryly.

"Thank you. In the future, you may learn more by keeping your mouths closed and your ears open." Snape drawled. "Speculation has a 99% chance of being useless, in my experience." Snape's eyes hardened (Harry didn't need to see to hear in Snape's expressive voice), "Or would you care to share your inane blather with the class?"

"No, sir," Ron said.

"We were wondering where Harry is, sir," Hermione said, her tone respectful even if her words were anything but.

"Has your speculation helped any thing at all?" Snape drawled, his tone patronizing.

"No, sir. Though it might in the future, as any planning ought." Hermione didn't take well to being patronized.

Harry heard the faint sounds of Professorial Robes swishing, and interpreted that as "Snape was done pestering the impudent Gryffindors, and was now heading towards the front of the classroom."

"As I was saying, you might learn more from listening than idly talking. In this case, one Mister Harry Potter has apparently decided to conduct some extra credit for Defense class." Harry didn't need to be there to see Snape's eyes turning to slits - Shite, the Defense Club! Harry had to hope that no one was as bad at acting as he was. Snape wasn't even talkingabout that. "At nearly six in the morning, today, Mister Potter was injured in the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest."

"Accio Contraption!" Snape continued, not giving anyone enough time to even breathe a syllable about Harry. Whatever Snape had summoned, he shook - it had a metallic rattle, dull and heavy. "How many of you know how this works?"

"A paltry five. Had any of the rest of you been accompanying Potter, you would have been injured as easily. Granger, demonstrate how this works." Snape rattled off. Although it was nice of Snape to make it seem like Harry wasn't a complete and collossal idiot for stepping into a trap, Harry was one of those who knew how they worked. It was completely stupid for him to have fallen for it.

A moment later, "Not like that," Snape hissed, urgency in his voice, "If it nearly severed Potter's leg, what do you think it might do to your arm?"

The next moment, Harry heard, "Accio Oaken Cane!" Followed by the thunk of something hitting (presumably Snape's) hand. "Here, try this."

Springing the trap didn't make a detectable noise. What did was the audible crunch of metal teeth through a wooden cane. then the louder metallic crash of the teeth clanging together.

Someone in the class - possibly Parkinson (who possessed a particularly teeth-grating laugh) screamed in Soprano.

Snape allowed it to peter out, before speaking, "What sort of magic is this?" His dark tone was mild.

Hermione let out a nervous giggle, "No magic here, sir. Just a simple machine."

Snape continued, "If it had been you, and not Potter in the woods, how would you have detected such a thing?"

Hermione paused, "Using my eyes. Which, yes, are fallible."

Snape continued, "Is there a spell for detecting such muggle equipment?"

Hermione said, "Not that I know of." I know of one, Harry thought, suddenly, That magnetism trick would have been easily able to detect it!

"Nott," Snape said.

Nott responded, "For that particular... device, I could cast a detection spell for metal."

Hermione said, quietly, "Not all muggle traps are metal."

Snape continued, "Your homework assignment, at least for the ones of you that are not indisposed, is to research Muggle traps, and write an essay on one of them. You will each choose a different trap, is that understood?"

The room erupted in whispers, before Snape's voice cut through them again. "Potter will be losing 100 points for being out of bed, out of Hogwarts, and out of bounds after curfew."

The room stilled.

"For serving as an abject lesson in understanding the tools of war, Potter has gained Gryffindor 25 points." Snape said. "Class dismissed."

Unfortunately for Harry, the sound did not cut off just then. As students scrambled out the door, it was a merry din in the normally quiet infirmary. Harry heard the grind of a door shutting, and the sounds muffled. Soon, there was another stony grind, and Harry heard Ron, whisper-shouting to Hermione, "How can he do that? Harry's hurt - isn't that enough? Does he have to take that many points?" As Harry was currently hearing from Snape's own position, his heart sunk. Ron's mouth was going to get Ron in trouble - and Ron had been trying to be polite! He just wanted to vent.

"Calm down, Ron," Hermione said, "I want to see Harry before our next class."

Snape's voice spoke smoothly, "You would do well to listen to Miss Granger's words. Patience is a virtue."

Harry listened to the swish of Snape's robes for nearly a minute, before he heard a soft, "Off."

*beach should be read in a Jamaican accent, obviously.

**gravity is making him fall. feet are steering, not propelling.

*** the word's menagerie, Harry. menagerie.