Chapter III
"You didn't come back before I went to bed last night," Ron said.
The Great Hall was filled with students. Most people made an appearance at breakfast for the first few days before skipping in favor of more sleep. There wasn't much space at the Gryffindor table and Harry was leery of saying anything that other people could hear. Ron didn't seem all that bothered, still shoveling food into his mouth while looking half-asleep.
"Fleur wanted to iron out some details about the Dueling Club. She had me put up those flyers in the common room," Harry said.
Hermione had refused to come down to breakfast with them. She claimed to still be mad with Ron but Harry figured that they were still uncomfortable around each other after whatever had happened between them. Ron hadn't protested when she refused to come down; in fact he had seemed more relieved than anything.
Harry hoped they wouldn't keep up the cold war relations for too long. He was hoping to enjoy what he could of the year, even with Voldemort looming, and his two best friends refusing to be around each other was a serious impediment to that.
"I saw those. They looked pretty good. First meeting is next Monday, right?" Ron asked. He did look genuinely interested. Ron had gotten more than most people out of the DA the year before. It had helped him to improve his skills and his confidence, something that had been sorely lacking. Harry was hoping that the Dueling Club would do more of the same.
"Monday. It should be a short meeting. We're just trying to get a feel for how many people are interested and will show up to every meeting. We might work on a spell but it's mostly for administrative purposes."
"Fleur's turning you into a bloody bureaucrat," Ron said. He finished the last of the eggs on his plate and chugged his glass of pumpkin juice.
"Have to get that out of the way before we can get to the good stuff," Harry said mildly.
A second year Gryffindor that Harry vaguely recognized came up behind Ron and held out a letter. Harry recognized the embossed scrawl on the front as Slughorn's. "Note from Professor Slughorn," the boy said. To call it a note was an understatement; it was the kind of invitation one would expect from the Prime Minister.
Harry thanked the boy and they opened the notes. There wasn't much written, it was devoid of the flowery phrasing of Slughorn's previous invitation, but the contents were much more pleasing.
"He wants us to come to his Potions class," Ron said, sounding a little shocked. Harry thought that Ron had been somewhat pleased at only receiving an Exceeds Expectations in Potions. It was good enough to get an O.W.L. but not good enough that he would have to continue the class; the best possible outcome for someone who hated both Potions and Snape.
Now that the option of taking the class was open Harry knew that Ron felt as if he would have to take it. The Weasley boys made most of their decisions based on what would upset their mother the least. He would never risk her finding out he was skipping a N.E.W.T. level class just because he didn't want to take it.
"It can't be as bad as Snape," Harry said, letting the note drop to the table. Perhaps his dream of becoming an auror wasn't quite as dead as he had thought. Slughorn, likely unknowingly, was doing Harry an enormous favor.
"No, but that doesn't mean it won't be awful. We'll be brewing tedious smelly potions in the dungeons with people that we hate, Harry. That's miserable no matter who the teacher is."
"Suppose so. We should hurry if we want to be on time."
Ron looked disgruntled at Harry's lack of a sense of impending doom. He grabbed a piece of toast and they went to the Potions classroom.
The rest of their classmates were already there when they arrived a few minutes late. Hermione glanced up at their entry, appeared surprised to see them, and then lowered her head before Ron looked in her direction. Harry had to resist the impulse to roll his eyes.
"Harry m'boy, do come in in," Slughorn said. His voice boomed in the confines of the classroom. The Slytherins looked rather put out by the warm reception Harry was getting. "I see you got my note. Excellent, excellent. Professor Snape may have only taken Outstandings for his N.E.W.T. class but I believe that anyone with an interest should be able to pursue Potions to the very highest level. And I see you brought your friend, Mr. Weatherby. Excellent. You boys should go into the closet and grab a copy of the textbook; I think I left a few old ones lying around. Then grab a table and get to work. We're brewing the Draught of Living Death today. The best potion gets a special reward." Slughorn winked conspiratorially. The man was just as outrageous as Harry remembered him.
There were a half-dozen copies of the potions textbook so Harry and Ron grabbed a copy without glancing through them. They were already behind the rest of the class. It wasn't until they got to their empty table that Harry glanced through his book and saw what appeared to be vomit on a few pages. He groaned softly.
From there it was a desperate scramble for Ron and Harry to get the ingredients and start brewing the potions, making up for the several minute head starts that their classmates had. Hermione didn't look at them throughout the process. Harry hoped that she wasn't angry at him as well. Sometimes just consorting with Ron while she was angry with him was enough to set her off.
Unsurprisingly, after twenty minutes, Harry's potion was a burbling mess the wrong shade of violet.
Somewhat surprisingly, Ron's potion was exactly the color and shade that it was supposed to be. Harry thought that it was by far the best potion that Ron had ever made. He shot him an incredulous look and got one back in return. Hermione's potion was a bit lighter than it was supposed to be and she was normally the only one in the class to even come close to brewing the potions properly. Harry's potion looked roughly in line with what everyone else was doing; Ron and Hermione were making unparalleled potions, though Ron's was a little better.
Malfoy's potion was almost as bad as Harry's, which was surprisingly considering that Malfoy, even when accounting for Snape's blatant favoritism, was one of the better Potions students in the school. He looked tired and stressed. His hands were shaking slightly. He had the demeanor of someone under a great deal of pressure. It was a look Harry knew from the faces of members of the Order of the Phoenix but it wasn't one he expect to see on a Hogwarts student. He resolved to keep a closer eye on Malfoy. It could be nothing. Or it could be dangerous.
The class period went by quickly because of how much Harry was struggling to catch up to his classmates. Not only did Ron finish before Harry, he finished before the rest of the class, including Hermione. Harry's surprise morphed into outright suspicion.
Ron wasn't an idiot but he was brewing like a prodigy. His finished potion matched the description in the textbook perfectly. Harry couldn't detect a single flaw. His own potion looked like a popped zit, nothing like it was supposed to be. Harry had no doubt that it would cause some form of death, but probably not exactly the way it was supposed to. He wondered if it was too late to drop Potions again.
"And that's time. Bring a sample to the front for inspection and we'll determine the winner!" Slughorn threw his arms out wide, as if announcing something grand that would go down in the annals of history.
The students, lacking his enthusiasm, placed their samples on his desk. It was clear to everyone that the only two possibly in contention for the prize were Hermione and Ron. Hermione still wasn't looking back at Ron though Harry thought she must have known that it was Ron's potion that was challenging her.
If that wasn't enough to break her out of her funk he would just write her off as a lost cause for a while. Anything that could overpower Hermione's curiosity was dangerous indeed.
When Slughorn came to Harry's potion he gave a little start and moved past it without commenting. Harry doubted that it would materially affect Slughorn's opinion of him; he was being accommodating because of Harry's fame, not his potions skills. Eventually Slughorn cleared away all of the potions but two, Ron and Hermione's.
"Almost perfect," he said, admiring Hermione's under the light. He put it down and picked up Ron's sample. After a tense minute of minute examination, he said, "Perfect," flatly, as if even he couldn't believe it. The class seemed just as incredulous as Slughorn. For that matter, Ron seemed just as incredulous as Slughorn.
"Mr. Weasley, congratulations. You are the winner of a very special prize." The showmanship was gone, cold sobriety replacing it. "Felix Felicis, commonly called Liquid Luck, one of the most powerful potions known the world over. It turns the ordinary into the extraordinary; two drops can transform the most average day of your life into one of the greatest. Use it sparingly, Mr. Weasley. Its potency is not to be underestimated." He handed the vial to Ron gingerly.
Ron cradled it in the palm of his hand, still unable to believe that he had won. Harry had to admit that the prize was much greater than he had thought it would be. Extra credit or an invitation to the 'Slug Club' was what he had been expecting; not a potion which sounded like it warped the very fabric of reality around the user. Whatever Ron had done to win had put him in an enviable situation.
Class was dismissed after a moment of silence from Slughorn. It was a mixed end to a mixed class, Harry thought. Nobody could wrap their head around the fact that Ron Weasley had brewed perfectly such an incredibly difficult potion. Hermione was packing up her things with some vigor, not seeming to care if her supplies were bent or broken as she stuffed them into her bag. She was out of the classroom before Ron and Harry finished packing.
"You're going to have to apologize to Hermione at some point," Harry said.
"I didn't do anything," Ron said.
"Do you really think that matters?" Harry asked.
Ron grumbled and they left the classroom together. Once he and Ron were a good distance from the classroom and Harry didn't see anyone around them he drew Ron into an alcove.
"So? How'd you do it?" he asked.
"Do what?" Ron asked, making a shoddy attempt at being evasive.
"Make a perfect potion that you wouldn't normally be able to brew if you had a hundred tries," Harry said.
Ron glanced around, making sure they were really alone, and then reached into his bag and drew out the potions book that he had borrowed from Slughorn. He flipped to a random page and Harry could see cramped marginalia all over the page. Certain instructions for making a potion were crossed out and an arrow led to handwritten instructions instead.
"I just followed these instructions. Whoever edited this is a genius. If you just do what they say you can make a better potion faster than anyone else," Ron said.
"Any idea who wrote them?" Harry asked. He flipped through a few more pages of the book. Each page had an enormous amount of the marginalia. There was enough writing to make a book out of just the commentaries alone.
"The book is supposed to be the property of the Half-Blood Prince, whoever that is," Ron said. He showed Harry the inscription on the title page of the book.
"Half-Blood Prince? Sounds pretty melodramatic to me," Harry said.
"I'm not going to judge the guy. If he's helping me in potions then he's okay in my book."
"Just be careful, Ron. This shortcut worked but you don't know that all of them are going to. I'd hate to see you get blown up. We don't have the best track record with clever books."
Ron paused at the reference to the diary. "I will be but I'm not too worried. This guy clearly knows his stuff. He helped me win this after all." Ron held the vial of Felix Felicis in his hand, admiring it in the light. The fluorescent silver liquid hardly moved, like melted gold, and shone with some inner light. Harry didn't doubt that it would operate as a light in the most absolute darkness. Magic seemed to roll off the potion in the same way a powerful spell or artifact affected its surroundings. It reminded him of Hermione's time turner their third year.
"Any idea what you're going to do with that?" Harry asked.
"A few, nothing concrete yet. It's incredible though. I feel like opportunities are just waiting for me now. This potion could really change things for me. I've just got to be sure to use it right; can't waste on it on the first half-baked idea to come my way."
"I wonder how powerful it is really," Harry said, still admiring the potion. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of it.
"Slughorn seemed to think it was a big deal. The ordinary into the extraordinary. The guy's a showboat but I think he might have been telling the truth about this. There's just something about it…"
"I know what you mean," Harry said. Ron, somewhat reluctantly, put the potion back into his bag. Harry felt as if a light had been stolen from him. He was irrationally disappointed at the potion's disappearance but he shook off those thoughts and said, "Let's get back to the tower. I've got to pick up my book before Snape's class."
"You know, I trust Dumbledore and all, but making Snape the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher has got to be his worst move yet. Worse than Lockhart even," Ron said.
"On the bright side, that means Snape will be gone by the end of the year. We haven't had a teacher make it more than a year yet."
"You're right. Huh. I hadn't thought of that." Ron seemed cheered by the thought.
When they got back to the common room Hermione was sitting by herself in a chair in front of the dim fire. She was reading from their Defense textbook, oblivious to the rest of the common room. Her mouth moved slightly as she read the book, like she wanted to be reading it out loud and was only just able to restrain herself. Most students were in class. There were only a few older students, who weren't taking the full course load, loitering around. Hermione was the only one doing any sort of work. Even on the first day back she was studying. Harry thought that her work ethic moved past the admirable into the realm of the frightening.
"You should go apologize now," Harry said, nudging Ron forward.
Ron seemed reluctant; he looked at Harry to make sure he was serious and then slouched over to Hermione and sat down in the chair across from her. She didn't look up from her book, too engrossed to notice him, her lips still moving, so Ron cleared his throat loudly.
Harry thought that the entire common room would have heard that and cringed. It did manage to get Hermione's attention and she looked up at Ron, then narrowed her eyes. She thumped the book shut on her lap and crossed her arms, looking at Ron expectantly.
He spoke too softly for Harry to hear. Whatever he was saying seemed to be working. Hermione's face went from a hard mask to a blank stare; not happy by any means but no longer angry either. There was uncertainty there, and more that Harry couldn't decipher; Hermione had always been harder for him to understand than Ron. He supposed it had to do with being a girl.
By the time Harry got his book and returned to the common room Hermione and Ron were no longer whispering, they were talking animatedly about how Snape would differ from when he was teaching Potions. Whatever cloud had been hanging over the two of them had parted thanks to Ron's apology. Harry still wanted to know what had caused their problem in the first place, he only had his own vague suspicions, but he thought it would be a good idea to give it more time before he asked.
"I'm telling you, nothing's going to have changed. He'll still be an obnoxious git who hates Gryffindors," Ron said.
"I see you two have made up," Harry said, dropping onto a couch next to their chairs.
"We came to an understanding," Hermione said primly. Ron blushed a little but Harry pretended not to notice. The why didn't matter. As long as they weren't arguing he was happy.
"Good. Now we can all go and suffer through Snape together," Harry said.
Ron nodded sagely and Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry could tell that she was amused. Sometimes he thought that Hermione was just being contrary when she defended Snape, worrying that if she didn't defend him then they would start to stop trying in his class completely. Only by maintaining some sense of professorial impartiality, however slight it was, could Hermione be sure that they would actually go to Snape's classes and do his homework. She seemed to think that she was preventing an all-out riot. Harry thought that Snape should thank her when they graduated; the bastard owed her more than he knew.
"It could be worse," Hermione said, when they were climbing through the common room doorway. "He could be Umbridge."
The lesson with Snape wasn't as bad as Harry had feared. Snape refrained from making any complaints about the quality of the students he was instructing and instead focused on lambasting the quality of the education that they had received the last few years. He found Quirrell incompetent, Lockhart a fraud, Lupin unobjective, Moody a murderous imposter, and the less said about Umbridge the better.
Aside from Lupin Harry couldn't disagree with Snape about much. The quality of Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had been spotty, to say the least. If one listened to Snape the string of teachers had been bad since long before Harry's first year. It seemed that finding a qualified teacher was a perennial problem.
About the course aims, Snape said, "We will be focusing on dark curses and creatures this year, with an emphasis on what you can reasonably be expected to find in the British Isles. I intend this to be the most practical of all of your classes at Hogwarts. In this class you will learn to defend yourself and others. If I suspect, even for a moment, that you are not putting forward your full effort in this class, you will be removed."
Snape took a long pause and stared out at the rest of the students. It was the biggest N.E.W.T. class at Hogwarts since anyone who wanted to take it was, by Dumbledore's orders, allowed. Personal safety wasn't something Hogwarts took lightly since Voldemort's return.
"There will be no dueling in this class; we will cover the theoretical work which will enable to you to learn to cast new, and more challenging, spells, and to deal with dark creatures. The Dueling Club has been founded in an effort to instill some rudimentary skills in combat. Despite its…subpar leadership, I will expect you all to attend as an additional form of homework. Should I find that you are not attending you will be asked to leave this class. Should I find that you are not putting in the same amount of effort in the Dueling Club that you do in this class you will be asked to leave this class. Do I make myself clear?"
Though Harry had expected Snape to make some jab at the Dueling Club he hadn't expected him to make attendance mandatory. If Snape was doing that in even a few of his classes it meant that attendance was likely to be much bigger than Harry and Fleur had expected. The comment about his qualifications wasn't any more than an obligatory and minor insult, the sort Harry had learned to let roll off of him years ago.
He knew that he had to tell Fleur after class what Snape had done. It would be just like him to plan something like that and never let Fleur know. She had told him that she would be setting up the room that the Club would be using for the foreseeable future and Harry decided to go and tell her after class.
After his spiel about the Dueling Club Snape told the class that they would be learning nonverbal magic in all of their classes and that he expected them to have it mastered by Christmas Break. Hermione looked aghast at that so Harry assumed that nonverbal casting was supposed to be far more difficult than Snape was making it out to be. Harry had expected nothing less than for Snape to maintain his absurd standards for his students when he made the switch from Potions to Defense. The man had changed jobs but the job hadn't changed him.
The last twenty minutes off class they were instructed to pair off and begin practicing nonverbal magic. Hermione and Ron were still a bit uncomfortable around each other so Hermione grabbed Harry before Ron could say anything and lead him off to a corner of the classroom. Ron was stuck being paired with Neville, who, to be fair, had made great strides in his spellcasting since the inception of the DA. Harry hoped to see him at the Dueling Club. He thought that Neville could become, if not a stellar wizard, at least average, which was already more than anyone had expected out of him since he came to Hogwarts.
"So, uh, how do we cast a spell nonverbally?" Harry asked Hermione.
"It requires the upmost concentration and discipline. Without the verbal incantation to guide the spell your own mental fortitude must make up the difference," Hermione said, with the air of someone who was quoting something.
"That's nice but how do I actually do it?" Harry asked.
"I don't know. I've never actually cast a spell nonverbally before," Hermione said, much more subdued.
They went back and forth but neither Harry nor Hermione were able to get any more than a spark out of their wands, and Harry had been mouthing the spell when he got that much. He felt lucky that Snape hadn't seen him doing that.
Ron was less fortunate. Snape had come up behind him when he was whispering the spell and assigned him detention for doing so. In his words Ron had "Contravened the entire point of the lesson and, in doing so, demonstrated his contempt for the subject matter." Harry could tell that it took a great deal of restrain on Ron's part not to say that it only demonstrated his contempt for the teacher. From the ugly smile Snape was wearing he knew it too.
"Nonverbal spells will be really useful for the Dueling Club," Hermione said.
"You think so?"
"In a duel you get a massive advantage if your opponent doesn't know what spell you're casting. It's easier to take them by surprise. You're also able to cast more spells in any given period of time if you don't have to use an incantation."
"Maybe I should ask Fleur to help me," Harry mused out loud. Snape turned his head in their direction and they both fell silent.
The more Harry thought about it the better an idea he thought getting her to help him would be. She had used nonverbal spells in the Triwizard Tournament so clearly she had been using them for a while and Harry could only be a better assistant if he were able to use nonverbal spells. The better the spell caster the better the teacher, after all.
Nobody made any real progress by the time the lesson ended. Snape didn't look any more displeased than usual. Harry assumed that Snape had been expecting them all to fail miserably; it would be just like him to assign something he knew they weren't able to do and not to give them any real instruction.
"What a bastard," Ron said when they had left the classroom behind. He had a sullen look on his face that Harry knew was only partly from the fact that he had detention. Getting paired with Neville never made Ron happy. He didn't have a great deal of respect for the other boy.
For once Hermione didn't try to defend Snape. Harry figured that she was still upset that he tried to have them cast nonverbally without any real instruction. Hermione absolutely loathed bad teaching.
"Some things never change," Harry said, in a sing-song voice. Ron glared at him for the attempt at levity. He wanted someone to commiserate with him and it certainly wasn't going to be Hermione.
"I should head to the library and check out some books on nonverbal casting," Hermione said.
"And I should go help Fleur set up the Dueling Club," Harry said.
"Wait, what am I going to do then?" Ron asked.
Harry and Hermione shrugged rather indifferently.
"Read a book," Hermione suggested.
"Make new friends," Harry added.
Ron just turned and walked away, grumbling curses under his breath. Hermione left in the direction of the library and Harry started walking to where the flyers Fleur had given him had said the Dueling Club would be held. If she wasn't there she would probably be in her room.
Harry knew that he had had too much to drink the night before. He had been fortunate to escape without a hangover; Uncle Vernon was never in a good mood when he woke up the morning after he had too much to drink. It evidently wasn't a pleasant feeling. He wondered how much of a fool he had seemed to Fleur. She was responsible for finishing more of the bottle than he was but Harry supposed that she was better able to handle her alcohol better than he was, being much more experienced.
For his first time drinking Harry didn't think he had behaved too badly but thinking about some of the things he had done, such as opening up about the Dursleys, made him cringe. That was something he had kept to himself for years. Opening up to Fleur, who he had only known well for a little over a week, was uncharacteristic of him. He liked Fleur but he wasn't sure he trusted her that much; there was too much about her he didn't know and didn't understand.
He decided to act normally, pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. She undoubtedly knew that he had never been drunk before but Fleur was astute; she would realize that he didn't want to talk about it. He could count on her to be tactful when it was needed.
Fleur was in the Dueling Club room, though Harry thought that room was less appropriate for describing it than hall. It reminded him of the Great Hall, though without the charmed ceiling. The hall was about a hundred yards long and had huge vaulted ceilings.
There were no windows, giving the hall a monastic appearance, as if it was somewhere you would go to pray or meditate. Torches were bracketed at even intervals along the wall, flickering beams that illuminated more than they should have been able to. The hall was bright and there were banners from each of the four houses decorating the walls, the only splashes of color in the room.
Every dozen feet or so, against the wall, there were roughly human shaped dummies. Stacked on two round wood tables near the hall's entrance were dozens of copies of the book that Harry had helped Fleur to pick out at Diagon Alley. There were mats on the floor that Harry recognized as being variations on the standard dueling size; some looked fit for two combatants, others for more.
Fleur was at the far end of the hall unrolling one especially large mat that looked to be able to host a dozen people comfortably. She was orchestrating the positioning of the mat with her wand. Her hair was tied back into a loose low ponytail and sweat was beading on her forehead. She looked rather stressed, Harry thought.
Harry walked over to her. She didn't hear his approach. "Need any help?" he asked.
Her concentration wavered and the mat dropped to the floor with a soft flapping sound. She glared at Harry. "I didn't until you interrupted me," she said.
"Everything is easier with two people," Harry said. He rolled up his sleeves dramatically and took out his wand. "Shall we?"
Together they placed the large mat exactly where Fleur wanted it. She sighed when it was finally down, put her wand into a spare pocket, and sat down on the stone floor. Harry sat down on the mat a few feet away.
"I've rearranged this room three times today and I'm still not happy with it," Fleur said.
"You're not unhappy with the room. You're nervous about being in front of so many people," Harry said.
"I was a Triwizard Champion. I'm used to being in front of a lot of people," Fleur said, acting as if the very idea of being nervous was repugnant.
"That's not the same. You were only responsible for yourself then. Now you've agreed to take hundreds of students under your wing and teach them skills that will determine whether or not they survive a civil war. Honestly, you've never done anything so important in your life," Harry said. He stood up and held a hand out to Fleur.
She took his hand and used him to pull herself to her feet. "Since when are you an expert on what I'm thinking?"
"I'm not," Harry said. "But I felt the exact same way last year and I was only teaching two or three dozen people; you're dealing with at least three times that."
"That's why I have you. If anything goes wrong you're the perfect scapegoat," Fleur said.
Ignoring her, Harry said, "I'm afraid I may not be enough. Snape is making attendance for the Dueling Club mandatory for my class, which means he's probably doing it for other classes too. That means you're going to have even more people in here than we planned for."
"Bastard," Fleur said.
"Exactly. That's why I came to help. I thought you might be stressing."
"And so you came to add to my stress," she remarked.
"I've never claimed to be good at relieving stress," Harry said, shrugging.
"Unless you've been drinking," Fleur said, a teasing glint in her eyes. Harry flushed but she didn't say anymore, content to let the memories settle in the air.
So much for relying on her tact.
There wasn't anything in particular she was referring to but the ambiguity was part of what was humiliating; Harry could think of a number of things he had said or done that qualified as embarrassing.
"What can I do to help?" he asked, eager to change the subject.
Fleur let it go without further comment. "Nothing. I've had flyers set up in every common room and now I'm happy with how the room is arranged. All that's left to do is wait until the first meeting next week; it sounds like there will be a much larger crowd than I had thought."
"We might want to look into getting so help," Harry said. "I've got some people in mind that could help with the younger students, the fifth years and below."
"Let's see how many people actually show up before we commit to that," Fleur said.
"If you're not busy then I've got something I could use your help with," Harry said.
"And what's that? More girl trouble?"
"Not this time." She didn't manage to coax a blush. Harry mentally patted himself on the back. He was getting much better about remaining calm when he was around Fleur. She wouldn't be able to mess with him so easily in the future. "Snape, and a few other teachers supposedly, are having us learn to cast nonverbally this year," he said.
"You need help, I assume," Fleur said. She looked him up and down speculatively, like she was debating whether or not he was worth her time.
"It's not like you have anything better to do," Harry cajoled.
"I don't know. I could be reading or getting to know my new students or fraternizing with the faculty; why should I help you?"
"A few reasons. One, you love to lord your superiority over me; two, a competent assistant means a smoothly functioning Dueling Club; three, you can't resist an opportunity to teach and I have no idea what I'm doing. This is excellent practice for you."
"You make a convincing case, Monsieur Potter. Have you ever considered becoming a barrister after you graduated?" Fleur asked.
"That's a yes, then?" Harry asked.
"Yes, it's a yes, and there's no time like the present. Let's start now." Fleur grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him over to stand about a dozen feet away from one of the dummies in the room. She had him draw his wand and stand in a dueling stance. "Nonverbal casting is all about intent and force of will; the incantation is just a crutch that they want you to use when you're younger. A talented witch or wizard has no need for crutches. Snape didn't give you instruction on how to cast nonverbally because there's little to be had. It's just you and the spell, you have to work it out yourself for the most part."
"Then how can you help me?" Harry asked. It was somewhat irritating to hear Fleur agreeing with Snape. He wanted to validation, to hear that Snape was an awful teacher and have Fleur give him the real way to learn nonverbal casting. To find out that Snape was approaching it correctly was tantamount to saying it would be a failing of Harry's if he didn't get it to work.
"It's often easier to cast nonverbally for the first time when you're relaxed, in a quiet space, with people you trust. Your mental focus is too easily broken when you're in a crowded space. You won't be able to consistently cast nonverbally under pressure for a while. Think of this as a safe space."
"Alright, I'll give it a shot."
"Try with the spell you know the best; the simplest, most familiar, spell you have."
The Disarming Spell was the most obvious choice. Harry faced off against the dummy, wand raised, and steeled his mind, eliminating all other distractions. It was somewhat like preparing his mind for Occlumency but not quite as extreme.
He jabbed his wand and screamed the incantation in his mind, where it echoed off of blank space, the only thought in his head. His perception of the world around him shrunk until it was just him and the dummy and the spell. Fleur was a slight presence on the periphery, sprite-like, easily ignored in the face of more important matters.
It didn't work, of course. He had doubted that his first attempt would. There was no spark of magic, no feeling that came with the successful casting of any spell. The dummy stared back dumbly at him. Harry could hear himself panting, like he had just exerted himself on a strenuous run.
Fleur was watching him without her usual teasing smile. She looked utterly focused on the task at hand. "That was good. I could tell you were focused. Try again; I think that we'll be able to make some progress today."
Harry tried, then tried again, and then a third time. Each time he felt progressively more exhausted. Trying to cast nonverbally was trying to roll a boulder up a hill, except he couldn't get it all the way up and it would roll down to the bottom each time, making him start over again. He could get close, see the top even, but there was a small distance that he couldn't bridge.
It was the difference between feeling the spell and actually getting it to work. Fleur gave a small suggestion each time, telling him to focus on his posture, how he was holding his wand, to block out other thoughts. He wasn't sure how much of an effect her suggestions actually had but he was pleased that she seemed as focused on him succeeding as he was.
It seemed to Harry that each attempt brought him closer to the crest of the hill, as if he were connecting pathways that had lain dormant. Soon they would all light up, brighter together than each separately, and the spell would rip forth. Until then he could only practice and hope.
He had been practicing for nearly an hour before Fleur decided to stop him. "I think that's enough for today," she said, sounding rather pleased. Harry could feel the progress he had made even if he couldn't see it. He had the feeling that some sort of the breakthrough was near, a few dozen more attempts and he could have something.
Fleur was right; there was a massive difference between casting nonverbally with all of his classmates than there was by himself. It was easier to feel out the magic when it was quiet and he could focus on it. He thought Ron and Hermione would like to hear what he had learned, if Hermione hadn't already learned all about it in her books. Ron would find it helpful at least.
"It took me weeks before I cast my first nonverbal spell," Fleur said. "I found it so frustrating. All of my letters home for a month were me complaining about my teachers and how they were being impossible. I drove my parents, and my sister, absolutely mad. You're handling it better than I did."
"I have a patient teacher. I can't see Snape waiting an hour to help me with something that won't show any results for weeks," Harry said.
Fleur waved the compliment away. "You know, there was always something that bothered me about the Triwizard Tournament. We competed against each other but we never directly tested ourselves against each other. No contest to see who the best duelist was, or who had the most talent with transfiguration or charms, or even tests of guile or power. It was all obstacle based and there was so much chance involved in every obstacle. You and I were attacked by Grindylows in the second task but the other two didn't even run into them."
Fleur avoided saying Cedric's name. They all did really. It wasn't a pleasant memory. Harry avoided mentioning the tournament whereas Fleur, who hadn't known him as well, was able to mention the tournament but not his name. Death affected everyone differently, Harry supposed.
"I suppose I'm just saying that it all seemed to involve too much chance. Even the first task involved different obstacles. Your dragon was the most dangerous of the four by far," Fleur said.
"I never thought about it like that but I guess you're right. I think that's a fair representation of life though. Chance almost has more to do with it than skill. There are more things that are out of our control than in. I think that people like to tell themselves they can take charge but really there's too much uncertainty and chaos to ever really be completely in control."
"I never took you for a cynic," Fleur said.
"This isn't cynicism because I don't think it's a bad thing that we don't control everything. People shouldn't have that sort of power."
"A famous hero and a philosopher. So many hidden depths in one boy," Fleur teased.
"You brought it up for a reason?" Harry asked. He was starting to learn that with Fleur you just had to cut through the sarcasm and teasing if you wanted her to get to the point.
"I wanted to test you, see how good you really are. You don't have to if you don't want to but I'm curious. After all, you won the tournament and I came in last place. I've always wondered how we would have matched up one on one."
He could tell that the defeat had been eating away at Fleur for a long time. She sounded eager to prove herself to him, almost like it would redeem her loss in the tournament himself. It wasn't to prove her superiority over him or anything like that. She just needed to redeem herself in her own eyes, remind herself of the talent that she knew she had.
It was a reminder to Harry that no matter how assured Fleur seemed, she had her own very human problems, just like everyone else.
"What exactly does testing me entail?" Harry asked. Fleur brightened, knowing that asking that was practically agreement.
"Since we're the two leading members of the Dueling Club I think it's only fair that we test each other's dueling capabilities, don't you agree?"
"You have three years of experience on me," Harry pointed out.
"Which will only serve to make this more interesting for you," Fleur said.
She walked over to one of the smaller dueling mats, designed for two people, then looked over her shoulder and said, "Come on, Potter. Show that you aren't scared of little old me."
Her blatant attempt at goading him aside, Harry was curious how he would match up against Fleur. Not well, was the answer he suspected. She knew magic that he couldn't perform in his dreams. A three year difference at their age was an almost insurmountable gulf in skill.
The ability to cast nonverbally alone could usually determine a one-on-one duel. The volume of spells Fleur could cast would overwhelm him if he wasn't careful and that wasn't even considering the fact that she had more skill with charms and transfiguration than almost anyone else he knew.
"I'm going to regret this," Harry said, stepping onto the mat with her.
He realized that Fleur was wearing dueling robes, the type that had soft pads and an athletic cut, and wondered just how much of their meeting she had planned. It could be a coincidence…but with Fleur he often got the feeling that nothing was coincidence.
"This is going to be fun," Fleur promised. She bowed to him deeply.
Harry returned the bow and said, "For you."
She struck before the words had left his mouth. A whip of translucent silver magic flashed out at him, swatting at where his feet had been only seconds before. It was slow enough that Harry could evade it. Fleur was testing him, probing his capabilities. He reminded himself that she had never seen him duel before and had no idea what to expect.
"Stupefy," he said, sending a banal stunner her way. She didn't ever bother to shield against it, sidestepping it instead. The whip still glowed from the tip of her wand.
Before she attacked again Harry sent a trio of spells at her—disarming, stunning, and bludgeoning—in quick succession, muttering the incantations under his breath and moving his mouth as little as possible in the hopes of avoiding giving her advance warning of what he was doing.
One missed Fleur and she swatted the other two out of the air contemptuously. She raised an eyebrow at Harry as if to ask him if that was the best he could do.
Then the duel began in earnest; they traded spells, sacrificing quality for quantity. Harry had never been so pressed to cast spells quickly before. All of his fights had involved cover and running. He had never dueled someone while stuck standing relatively still before.
There were only a few feet he could move making him more vulnerable to sells that affected large areas. Fleur was taking advantage of that by sending Blasting Curses and Bombarding Charms mixed in with every barrage, in the hopes of him missing one and getting blown off the mat.
Harry realized about a minute in that he wasn't going to be able to keep up with Fleur. She was casting too many spells too quickly; it was all he could do to block or dodge the ones she sent at him and return the occasional spell of his own. As the duel wore on he became less offensive and had to settle for a more tortoise-like strategy. He huddled behind a shield and thought, knowing if he didn't come up with something he would lose, and lose handily.
As soon as a lull came in Fleur's spellfire Harry dropped his shield and unleashed a cloud of smog from the tip of his wand. It was a spell he had found in the charms book Fleur had lent him. He could hear her laughing through the smoke, the irony not lost on her either. A couple of spells flashed through the smog, trying to find Harry, but they went far wide.
Fleur tried to get clever and sent a powerful gust of wind to cleave through the smog but, unfortunately for her, it was enchanted, designed to resist all but the most powerful dispersing spells. Fleur was muttering to herself, lashing out with spells in every direction in an attempt to find Harry.
Blasting Curses were fired at random, exploding in various corners of the room, but none of them hit him. Harry could tell that Fleur was getting nervous; she had given up trying to disperse the fog and was instead casting a ceaseless flow of destructive spells trying to disrupt whatever he was planning. The problem with Fleur's strategy was that Harry could see where she was, thanks to her spellfire, but she could only guess where he was.
"Expelliarmus," Harry whispered, almost noiselessly. The flash of silver bolted at Fleur's back and it was to Harry's great surprise that she turned, almost presciently, before the spell struck her, and sent it careening into the ceiling. The smog in the room had started to disperse because of Harry's inattention to the spell. Fleur and Harry were standing a few feet away from each other.
"Trying to sneak up behind me? That's cheating. You left the mat," she accused.
"It's not like I was going to beat you in a fair fight," Harry said, unbothered by her outrage.
"Our duel isn't over yet," Fleur said.
The margin for error was nonexistent. They were too close to one another. One missed spell would be the end of their duel. Harry's concentration was stretched to the upmost as he deflected or shielded against Fleur's spell while trying to sneak in a few of his own in the hope of getting a lucky strike. He didn't.
Harry only lasted thirty seconds with the blistering pace that Fleur was setting before a Bombarding Charm hit him on the knee and sent him sprawling across the room, his wand torn from his grasp from the force of the blow. Fleur stalked across the room to pick up his wand and twirled it in between her fingers.
The smog had dispersed to the point that it was just a light haziness in the air, an irritant more than an obscurant. Harry was stunned by the spell, slightly dizzy, but not harmed. Fleur hadn't been putting anything like the full power of the spells into what she was throwing at Harry.
"Happy?" Harry asked.
"I didn't expect you to cheat," Fleur said. She seemed genuinely confused. Harry supposed that he hadn't done much to surprise her in the past; she must have thought him very predictable. "I expected to win but I didn't expect you to cheat."
"When your odds aren't great you pull something out of your ass to even things up," Harry said.
"Not the shining paragon of virtue that people assume you are," Fleur teased, once more in control. Harry wasn't sure what she had thought of him before but his willingness to cheat, even if it was something as pointless as their duel (or perhaps because it was something as pointless as their duel) had changed how she thought of him. It always surprised Harry when people expected him to be somehow more perfect than anyone else; even someone as sharp as Fleur expected him to be more honorable than most people, regardless of the situation. Harry was a Gryffindor but he wasn't an idiot.
"Never have been," Harry said.
"I think this Dueling Club is going to work well," Fleur said, a sudden change of subject. Or not so sudden, Harry thought. That may have been less a friendly duel than a test. Fleur may have like him but Harry had never gotten the impression that she respected him in the same way she did Bill or Krum, people who she viewed as serious competitors.
Harry had accomplishments, she admitted that, but they almost didn't seem real to her. And she clearly thought that the chanciness of the Triwizard Tournament excluded that from consideration. Fleur was about as focused on pure talent as anyone Harry had met. He wondered if merely proving he could keep up with her in a duel was enough to earn her respect.
Harry doubted that but he figured that he was on his way. Incremental steps on the road to becoming a wizard to be reckoned with. Earning Fleur's respect was, in its own way, a good measure for how people saw him; not just Hogwarts students but more worldly people. Fleur was more judgmental than most so he figured that if he could earn her respect he could earn anyone's.
"I have high hopes for this year," Harry said.
"Originally I didn't. I thought this was just a stopgap job before I found something else, some serious career that I could devote myself to. But now I think I may have underestimated Hogwarts and its students. If they're anything like you then this will be quite an interesting year."
"Now who's the flatterer," Harry said, trying to hide how touched he was by Fleur's compliment. He got warnings and reprimands all the time but genuine compliments were a rarity.
"When you flew circles around the dragon I thought it was just a demonstration of how little magic you knew. When you saved Gabby from the lake I thought you were a naive little boy, even if your heart was in the right place. Even when you won the tournament I assumed that you had gotten lucky, had all of the competitors and obstacles removed from your path. But that's not it at all. You're a survivor, Harry Potter. You do whatever it takes. I didn't understand that before but I think that I do now."
Though she often seemed deep in thought Harry hadn't ever seen Fleur look so frankly measuring before. Being appraised so openly was disconcerting and a little uncomfortable. Harry looked away.
Finally she said, "I'll see you on Monday, Harry. Come early. I'll want to go over the plan with you before anyone else shows up." Then she left, sweeping out of the room like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Respect was earned in the most unlikely of ways, Harry thought.
Dumbledore had contacted Harry and asked him to meet him for their first meeting on Saturday night. Hermione was lost in the library somewhere and Ron had volunteered to fish her out. That had been an hour ago and Harry hadn't seen or heard anything from then since. Unable and unwilling to wait any longer he had gone down to the Great Hall to grab a quick dinner before his meeting with Dumbledore.
It was early enough that there weren't many people in the hall. A few gave him strange looks (people were accustomed to seeing Harry in the company of either Ron or Hermione) but most didn't bother with him as they ate quietly. The boisterous crowd didn't show up until later in the night. It was people who liked to grab short quiet meals who showed up early to the Great Hall. Harry didn't see anyone he recognized so he sat down by himself at the Gryffindor table and served himself, taking the choicest cut of the roast beef. He felt exposed without anyone by his side.
For a minute he tried people-watching but they would invariably notice that someone was watching them and meet Harry's eyes. After the third time that happened Harry gave it up as a lost cause. He didn't want to cultivate a reputation for ogling people.
Without anyone to distract him Harry went through his meal quickly. He was nearly finished when Ginny sat down across from him.
"I don't think I've ever seen you eating alone before," she said.
"It doesn't happen often," Harry said. He put down his spoon in favor of talking to Ginny. He didn't want to be too early to meet with Dumbledore, after all.
"I was just going to grab some food and run but you looked so lonely I thought I'd give you some company." Ginny served herself a plate of food, significantly larger than the one Harry had made for himself. She was so small. Harry wondered how she didn't get fat if she always ate like that.
"It's a Weasley thing," Ginny said when she noticed him staring at her plate. "You've been friends with my brother long enough I had thought you would have picked up on it by now."
"I had thought Ron was an exception," Harry said.
"He's not. When are you going to schedule quidditch tryouts? We've been back almost a week and I haven't heard a thing yet." It was nice to see that Ginny wasn't an exception when it came to Weasley single-mindedness.
"I just booked the pitch for next Wednesday. I was going to put up a flyer and spread the word tomorrow. That should give people plenty of time to hear about it."
"A week and a half until we even have tryouts. Wood would throw a fit."
Harry knew he would. Quidditch tryouts had been nagging at him since he got back at school but he had kept putting off scheduling them in the face of what he thought were more important things. He had received a few odd stares from people who he knew were interested in trying out but none had been bold enough to approach him. Except Ginny.
Since his conversation with Fleur he had been avoiding Ginny for the most part. It was nothing too obvious, like ducking out of the room when she entered, but he certainly hadn't been going out of his way to talk to her. He still wasn't sure how he felt about her almost monomaniacal pursuit of him. Flattered at times and uncomfortable with it other times. He had been putting off deciding what to do about Ginny as well.
Every day was busy for Harry. He spent hours in class, then hours doing homework despite the fact that they had just gotten back to school, then he spent time working on his nonverbal casting and planning out his lessons for his Dueling Club charges. Fleur wanted a draft of his plan at least the day before the club met for the first time and Harry was only about halfway done, most of that coming from what he and Hermione had worked out over the summer. Harry had a newfound respect for teachers. Creating a lesson plan was much harder than he had anticipated.
"Don't worry. You'll be having more than enough practice soon enough. If you make the team, that is," Harry said. Fleur's banter with him had rubbed off. He found himself teasing and pushing people even in casual conversation.
"I wouldn't worry about me making the team," Ginny said with a confident tilt of the mouth. Harry thought that Fleur and Ginny were more alike than either was willing to admit; they both had a level of self-assurance that put the average witch to shame.
"If you don't make the team I may have another job for you," Harry said. Whatever his feelings toward Ginny romantically he still admired the skill she had demonstrated both in the DA and at the Ministry the year before.
"And what might that be?" Ginny asked, almost coquettishly. Harry had to resist the urge to look around to make sure Dean Thomas wasn't in the room.
"Fleur and I think that the Dueling Club is going to have more members than we had originally planned for. A lot more. If that's true then we're going to need help, especially with the younger students. I don't want to slow down your learning but I thought you would be able to help with the first and second years especially. They'll need the most hands-on help."
"Who else are you thinking about asking?"
"Ron and Hermione."
Ginny waved her hand to say that much was obvious and looked surprised when Harry didn't list any more names. "That's it? Ron, Hermione, and me?"
"It's not exactly easy to pick qualified teachers out of a bunch of teenagers," Harry said. Creating a list of qualified students that could help was something else that he had been slacking on. There was so much work that he had to do that he seemed to be working just a bit on everything and not enough to actually get anything done.
She patted his hand with faux sympathy. "Don't worry, Harry. You've come to the right place."
"How relieving," Harry said.
"I can have a list of likely candidates by Monday. I'm not sure how many you need so I'll give a dozen or so in order of helpfulness. You've really got to get out more, Harry. You've been here a full year longer than me and seem to know half as many people."
"Being a pariah every other year isn't exactly conducive to having a large group of friends," Harry said.
"I suppose not," Ginny said. "Where are Ron and Hermione, anyway? It's not like Ron to miss a meal."
"Hermione is somewhere in the library and Ron went to hunt her down. That was a while ago. I couldn't wait any longer. Dumbledore wants to meet with me."
Eyes widening slightly, Ginny scooted forward on her bench and said, "What does Dumbledore want you for? Are you getting advanced lessons?"
"I'm not sure yet," Harry admitted.
"Oh." Ginny leaned back and went back to eating her meal. Dumbledore's name was like a shot of adrenaline for most people, Harry had noticed. With Voldemort's cronies it was a name that inspired fear and anger. For the rest of the wizarding world it aroused focus and admiration. Dumbledore was a real life larger-than-life figure but he managed to keep any of that from showing when you spoke to him. He had never been anything less than humble and kind to Harry.
"How long is it until your meeting?" Ginny asked. She had finished her food at the same time Harry did. Weasleys, Harry thought with amusement.
"I've got another half-an-hour I think."
"You get to be my escort back to the tower then. No point in going to Dumbledore's office early and I don't want to walk by myself."
Harry did enjoy Ginny's company. She challenged him, gave him a kick when he wasn't moving fast enough, and his conversations with her were usually far ranging and interesting.
He was able to put his knowledge of her infatuation with him in the back of his mind when they talked. She hid it well. If Fleur hadn't said something Harry probably would never have noticed.
"I make it a habit to never leave a damsel in distress," Harry said, making an attempt at being gallant. Ginny just snorted and got up, walking out of the hall without looking back to see if Harry was following.
Harry caught up to her and felt the need to say something. "So, where's Dean?" he asked. He almost cringed when he said that; there were too many ways for Ginny to take that. It sounded like a clumsy come-on.
Fortunately for Harry she didn't seem to take it like that. "He said that he had some work to do tonight. Honestly, I'm thinking of breaking up with him." Ginny looked at Harry to gauge his reaction.
He didn't let any emotion sweep over his face, pushing down on what he was feeling. Part of him was pleased. Every time he saw Dean and Ginny together he became irritated. He knew it was irrational but it made him jealous. Which was, no doubt, exactly what Ginny wanted.
Harry supposed that was a testament to how much he enjoyed Ginny's company. Another part of him was still worried about the extent of her feelings toward him. Harry never wanted to be the partner in a relationship that was so imbalanced that one person was madly infatuated and the other was more blasé. He didn't think he could muster the depths of feeling for Ginny that she seemed to have for him.
"Why is that?" Harry asked.
"There isn't really any spark between us. I like him, enjoy his company and he's a great kisser, but there's something missing there. You ever feel like that?"
Harry thought about Cho. He couldn't say that he had even enjoyed her company or that either of them had been great kissers. "Can't say that I have," he said.
"No advice for me then?" Ginny asked. She was trying to get him to confront her situation, make a definitive statement either way, Harry could see. It was her way of feeling him out for any potential romantic feelings. If he expressed a strong interest in her breaking up with Dean she would likely take that for an expression of interest in her on his part.
Rather than commit either way he said, "You should do what makes you happy, Ginny. If Dean isn't making you happy then you should break up with him."
She didn't seem thrilled with his response and said, "I'm not unhappy with Dean. I just can't help but feel that I could be happier, like there's something else out there and I'm missing it. You can't tell me you've never felt like that before; like happiness was just out of reach, but if you take a chance you'll be able to find it."
"That's a heavy thought for your fifth year," Harry said. "We've got our whole lives to figure out what'll make us happy in the long run. I've always thought about Hogwarts as a place to…experiment, I suppose. Try to figure out what will make me happy."
"Maybe you're right. But sometimes the things that could make us happy will slip away if we wait too long," she said, with a note of warning.
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said.
"I'm not telling you what to do, Harry, but I think that we're friends and as your friend I have to say that you never seem focused on your own happiness. Not everything has to be conflict and sacrifice. Life is more than just the next obstacle. There's friendship and joy and love."
"I know that Ginny," he said, a bit shortly. It was like lines had been drawn. Ginny had laid out her position and Harry remained noncommittal, unwilling to make a decision that would upset the practiced balance in his life. The problem was that he couldn't say that she was wrong. Harry didn't do a lot of things that made him happy. Quidditch and his friends were about the extent of the list. Ginny was offering him something. Could he really say that he wasn't interested? Wasn't it worth a chance?
The whole conversation had been a thinly veiled statement. Ginny was waiting for him, willing to drop Dean. He needed only to say the word. But he had to be willing to take the risk. Commit to a relationship that would fundamentally alter his life.
There was something frightening about that. The changes in Harry's life were usually forced upon him. He didn't choose to be a wizard or come to Hogwarts so much as they were the only viable alternative to the Dursleys. He didn't choose to be Voldemort's foe; that was forced upon him too. His friendships with Ron and Hermione were a matter of circumstance as much as choice. They just seemed to find each other.
Romance wasn't like friendship. Friendship was a naturally evolving organism that subtly entwined itself into your life. Romance was a matter of forcing companionship to determine compatibility and it required work in a way other relationships didn't. It changed lives in the way that a friendship didn't. It took more out of people than friendship, and Harry was still a little leery of it after his aborted attempt with Cho, which hadn't been the most favorable first try.
They were close enough to the tower that Harry didn't feel the need to start another conversation. The two of them walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts, their own impression of what had happened between them.
Outside of the Fat Lady, Harry said, "I understand what you're saying, Ginny. And you're not wrong. I just…need time to think."
"That's alright. I thought you might," she said. She bit her lip, looking to be arguing with herself for a moment, then leaned up on her toes and kissed Harry on the cheek.
Her lips were soft and cool and exactly like Harry had imagined. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss her back, not chastely on the cheek but commandingly, on the lips, to see if there really was something between them. He thought that there was. But Harry didn't dare.
"Good luck with your meeting with Dumbledore," Ginny said. She gave the password to the Fat Lady and went into the common room.
Harry was left by himself, on the brink of something, but not quite sure what it was.