I neither own nor profit from the world of Harry Potter.

AN : Thank you for the lovely reviews! Please keep them coming, I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback.

The first day of classes had been gruelling all round. Harry had made his way down to the dungeons first thing, alongside Hermione. He'd approached the new potions professor on Saturday and asked if he could test into Potions. It wasn't something he'd ever have asked Snape, but now he didn't see that he had all that much to lose. If he'd been denied then he'd have merely embarrassed himself in front of a stranger, yet if he succeeded? Voldemort looked here to stay, and how was Harry supposed to kill him without auror training?

The test that Professor Slughorn had put together had had the added benefit of isolating him. He wasn't sure why he didn't want to talk to Ron and Hermione; they'd left the Room of Requirement well after curfew and on good terms, but when he'd woken he'd wanted to be alone. It might have had something to do with the nightmare, or the dull pain in his shoulder, or possibly neither.

Hermione had, of course, been delighted. Ron? Less so.

"You want to do extra work?" his voice was incredulous. "That's, what, five hours a week in a dungeon with Malfoy when you could be in bed! Or flying! Or-"

"I think it's a very good idea Harry." said Hermione. "It opens up a lot of career opportunities."

"You could come too Ron." said Harry. "I'm sure Slughorn would let you try as well, and you need it to become an auror."

"Nah, I burned all my potions notes at the start of summer." He winced at Hermione's look of outrage and Harry laughed. "Besides I'd never make it." Ron looked sideways at Hermione and she glared at him. "Besides, I'm thinking of going for the healing class."

"Really?" she asked.

"Always the tone of surprise." he said wryly. Hermione blushed slightly. Was there something going on there? He assumed not - Ron had never been one for subtle unless it was accidental.

"Yeah." he said. "And that incorporates the necessary potions, so as long as my specialism doesn't need a lot of brewing I should be okay."

"Oh Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's wonderful! And of course most of the things healers specialise in don't need NEWT brewing, just recognition and identification of potions, because it's mostly the experimental side that requires- what?"

She stopped talking and turned to face the boys, who were both laughing into their toast.

"Ron's specialism is obviously going to be quidditch Hermione." said Harry.

She looked at him questioningly. "But-"

"Becoming a sports healer is an excellent way to get into management." Ron admitted. "Not that I don't think it'd be useful anyway. Maybe we can cut down on your trips to the hospital wing Harry!"

Hermione smiled, hiding her disappointment well. "I think it's a great idea Ron."

Sunday had passed in a blur. He'd risen early and again avoided his friends for a while. He took his firebolt out and drifted over the lake, dew still on the grass, and then sat on the edge of the forest with a book, letting his glamours drop and feeling the careful tension of keeping them in place release. All summer he'd ached to be back here, to be with Ron and Hermione, to be in the mountains rather than the suburbs. But now he was here he felt a strange kind of lethargy. He knew what he had to do - keep his head down and get the grades to join the aurors. The prophecy said he had to kill Voldemort so he supposed he'd have to kill him or, most probably, die trying.

In frustration Harry threw a rock into a large tree at the edge of the forest. He must have pushed some of his frustration into it, as it made a dent in the tree large enough for a viscous black substance to start oozing out into the damp earth. He stared at it, his momentary anger gone. What was the point, when his emotion was just destructive? He'd damaged the tree. He'd got Sirius killed.

Harry lay back down and stared up at the clouds.

It was afternoon before his mood picked up and he remounted his broom. As he flew back toward the castle he was waved over by what seemed to be most of the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in his year. Ron, unable to find Harry and sick of Hermione's worrying, had organised a pick-up quidditch match. Hermione, after briefly scolding Harry with worried eyes, had sat out along with two of the boys from the other house, but everybody else had proved themselves an adequate flyer. They didn't have a snitch so did without, switching positions regularly. It had gone on so late that Snape, who was for some reason covering for McGonagall, came out to send them back inside and straight to bed, both houses losing points.

And suddenly it was Monday.

The first potions class had been interesting. Slughorn had let him pick up a book on the Saturday after testing and Harry had, unsurprisingly, chosen the one that wasn't covered in somebody else's handwriting. He'd scanned it out of curiosity and realised that a lot of the notes were updates to the potion instructions, so he'd taken it too (with Slughorn's permission) for reference, though the handwriting had been too bad to try to decipher during the actual class.

Before they brewed though, Slughorn had shown them some new potions. He'd recognised the polyjuice potion of course, and amortentia had been covered in some detail in the reading he'd done during the summer, but Felix Felicis had been unfamiliar to everybody other than Hermione. It had been no surprise when she'd won the prize for the potion she'd made, though Slughorn had given his potion a nod, and they'd both left the class sweaty but happy.

Hermione pulled him into an alcove. "You should take this Harry." She pushed the vial of golden liquid into his palm. He stared at it.

"What? No."

"Yes!" Her voice wavered slightly. "Who needs luck more than you?"

"The people foolish enough to be my friends." He looked away. "Sirius was the one who needed it last year. Next time he might take you."

She reached out and turned his face back to her. He met her eyes unwillingly. "He'd keep us alive if it brought you to us."

He handed the vial back to her. "Why don't you split into twelve portions? Or six? Then we can share it if it ever gets... bad."

She nodded. "If you're sure." He was.

They'd left their privacy, ignoring the odd look that Nott gave the pair of them, and made their way toward Charms, where Ron joined them, and the three of them had transfiguration together. Hermione had gone to Runes and Harry and Ron had spent a largely pleasant hour by the lake, idly practising summoning charms.

"So how was your summer?" Ron's face was screwed up in concentration, and consequently the sandwich that he was attempting to summon into his mouth merely hit him on the chin. "Ow!"

Harry opened his own mouth, trying to decide how to respond. "It was okay." he said. He put his wand behind his head. "Accio apple!"

Despite the speed at which he'd said the incantation, and the fact that his mouth was wide open, it didn't work. The apple zoomed around his head and smacked into his wand hand, causing Harry to punch himself in the back of the head.

"Fuck."

Ron snorted with laughter. "I'm glad you don't try to catch the snitch like that."

"Prat."

"So your relatives weren't too bad?"

"No worse than normal."

That didn't seem to satisfy Ron.

"Were they any better though? After what dad and the others said at the platform?"

Harry merely rolled his eyes. "Sure." He dug into his bag, pulling out the spellcasting reference book he'd bought over the summer, flicking through until he found the right page. "Look - this spell - it's like a modifier. I think if you add it onto the end of your spell it makes the result happen where your wand is at that time, rather than making the spell move with your wand."

"You sound like Hermione. What?"

"Like this." Harry frowned and practised the particular wrist twist, then said clearly "Accio-ai apple." The apple zoomed toward him and he caught it. "Hang on, I'll try again. I forgot to move my wand after I cast."

Harry threw the apple back to Ron and did the spell again, more confidently this time. He placed his wand to his mouth, repeated the spell and watched as-"

"Fuck!"

The spell had done it's job, and instead of zooming to Harry's wand, the apple had hit Harry like a punch on his mouth. Ron was almost rolling on the floor he was laughing so hard. Harry clutched his hands to his mouth and felt a trickle of blood.

"Fucking hell."

"Mate!" Ron was almost wheezing. "Harry." He stopped laughing enough to cast a gentle numbing charm on his bruised lip -"I've seen mum do it hundreds of times"- and they slowly calmed down.

"You know" said Harry thoughtfully "this explains a lot."

"Yeah?"

"Well firstly it explains why we can never exactly copy what Hermione does, if she modifies spells slightly like this, and she must, because whenever she accios a book it lands on the table in front of her."

"Good point. Secondly?"

"Hermione can't catch."

They collapsed back into laughter.

"What are the Dark Arts?"

The question elicited silence from the glass. Harry saw Parvati's eyes flicker nervously to Snape and then land back on the blackboard. His own focus was on Remus though. What was Remus doing here? Why were he and Snape teaching Defence together? He racked his brains and quickly realised that he'd hardly been at the feast long enough to notice any staffing changes. But why hadn't Remus told him he'd be here? Why hadn't he sought him out? The last time Harry had seen the man had been at the train station when he, along with Moody and Mr Weasley, had threatened Uncle Vernon.

Harry winced. It hadn't been a particularly effective threat.

But why, why hadn't Remus sent him an owl? Why was he standing here, scanning the class and - scanning past Harry - pointing at Dean?

"Thomas."

"Dark Arts are evil magic, sir. Spells that hurt people?"

Remus nodded in thanks.

"There's a starting point then. Spells that hurt people."

Theodore Nott raised a hand. "Surely that's intention though? Most spells that can be used to hurt people can also be beneficial."

"Not the Unforgivables."

"Imperius used to be used on suicidal muggles, as well as witches and wizards." said Nott quietly. "It used to save lives."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm sure your family knows all about using the imperius, Nott!"

"Don't you fucking talk about my family!"

"Enough." Said Snape, his voice dangerous for all that it was quiet. "Detention, Mr Weasley." Harry waited for Nott to be given a detention and glared at Remus when it didn't come.

"That was a good example actually, Mr Nott. Imperius has been used when an individual has been deemed incompetent to act in their own best interests. Can anybody tell me why it was banned?" Hermione raised her hand. Snape ignored her. "Ms Greengrass."

"The Unforgivables have never truly been banned, with the exception of the Crutiatus curse." Daphne spoke quietly. "The aurors have never been persecuted for their use."

"Then why are they called the Dark Arts?" asked Ron, rhetorically. "Oh yeah, because they're DARK!"

"Actually" said Terry "the labels 'Light' and 'Dark' only came to be associated with different genres of magic during the nineteenth century. Back then there was still far more overlap between the muggle and the wizarding worlds, partly because it was before they started using electricity so much. Lots of muggles from Europe ended up colonising other parts of the world, and obviously the magical community got involved too. Words like 'dark' and 'black' became associated not just with the unknown and therefore the dangerous, but with darker skinned communities, who were routinely subjugated and enslaved. Blood magic and elemental magic were more widely practised abroad than in Europe - and wizards here were threatened and scared. Ancient magics were vilified and called 'dark', like their enslaved peoples." His Liverpudlian accent had strengthened during his speech, and he looked slightly pink.

There was a small silence while everybody digested this.

"Here's to Ravenclaws." Said Blaise Zabini, to a smattering of laughter. The boy had somehow brought a small gold goblet to class, and he raised it at Terry, who blushed slightly, but nodded. Harry supposed that racial prejudice must intersect with Blood prejudice somehow, though it was certainly not something frequently discussed at Hogwarts. The rest of the class looked slightly embarrassed. Hermione didn't seem to know where to look, although Blaise had raised his goblet to each non-white occupant of the room, and Ron just looked confused. Harry was curious as to where Terry had learned about it. He had known some of the muggle history from primary school and it seemed far more interesting and relevant than the goblin wars Binns had always droned on about.

Malfoy spoke up then. "So it's some old muggles' fault that people are prejudiced against Old Magic! They clearly shouldn't have conolised other places, how uncivilised."

"Colonised Malfoy, honestly!" said Hermione, exasperated. "And it was wizards too, or do you think that the white muggles were so superior that they could have defeated entire indigenous magical communities without help?"

"Fuck off, Mudblood."

"Detention Mr Malfoy." said Snape quietly. Malfoy looked sulky but remained silent.

"So British witches and wizards didn't practice blood magic? They were scared of it because it was different?" asked Harry curiously. "Or how is it different to 'Old Magic'?

"Of course, the Purebloods were largely practising 'dark' magic too, they just kept it quiet. It was a way to keep that particular knowledge restricted to particular parts of society." Hermione's voice was waspish.

"You almost sound as though you believe the Dark Arts should be widely taught, Granger." said Nott.

She turned and glared at him. "I agree with you, actually, regarding the intention behind magic making the difference. We all know rules can be broken in the right circumstances-" Ron mimed fainting in shock- "but the current use of the Dark Arts, primarily to torture, kill, and further divide people-"

"Enough, Miss Granger." Professor Snape. She looked indignantly up at him but he just stared at her impassively until she turned her body fully to face the front of the class again. "Fascinating territory as this is, I fear that we are moving away toward somewhat contentious ground. Three rolls of parchment - not copied - on the history of 'Dark' or 'Old' magic will be due in two weeks time in addition to your usual homework. If anybody fails to read up on any of the points discussed in class they will receive detention."

Harry sighed. They had already got homework today from Sprout and McGonagall, and it sounded as though Snape had somehow endeavoured to set additional homework. He took out a biro (he'd realised over the summer how little he could read of his writing when using a quill) and noted the assignment in his notebook. Ron didn't bother.

Snape glared at Remus. "Let us begin again. What ethical principles do you think that a witch or wizard should hold herself or himself to at all times, and why? Miss Patil, you will start. Go!"

It was an hour later that they were excused. Harry had realised partway through the discussion that it had been Professor Snape who had discovered Umbridge's detention sheets. He must know what Harry had had to write, and he'd probably told Remus. The thought distracted him, and he lost concentration, starting to doodle on his parchment. Snape had looked down and Harry was sure that he'd been caught sidetracked, but Snape only glanced at Lupin and moved on to Lavender.

When class ended Harry left quickly, not looking toward the professors.

"What happened to your face, Potter?" sneered Malfoy, pushing past. "Did you kiss Granger and get punched? I bet the mudblood doesn't even know how to pucker up."

"You're the only person I've ever punched Malfoy." said Hermione viciously. "And I went to the Yule Ball with a seventeen year old international quidditch star, remember?"

Malfoy twisted his lip but stalked off as Professor Snape snapped his name. Harry was surprised to see that Malfoy looked somewhat mutinous at Snape's summoning, and the professor was glaring down at the boy as he directed him back into the empty classroom. Remus appeared to have vanished, and Harry felt a bulky knot of rejection settle in his stomach.

Hermione shook herself, still recovering from her put-down of Malfoy. "What a little prick."

"Yeah." Harry looked sidewise at Ron, but he didn't seem to have heard the conversion, caught up muttering about Nott with Dean. Hermione looked slightly relieved.

"What did happen to your face then Harry?" She looked concerned. "That bruise wasn't there this morning."

For a moment he panicked, thinking that one of his glamours had worn off, but then he remembered the bruise on his lip where the apple had hit him. He laughed, relieved.

"You'll never believe it Hermione, but Ron and I did some spell practice earlier."

By the time they sat down in the hall, Hermione looked unsure whether to be amused or exasperated and Ron had joined them, performing a dramatic re-enactment of Harry's attack on himself.

Harry's attention was caught though by the high table. It was surprisingly bare.

"Where are they all?" He hissed at Ron and Hermione. With a sinking feeling he realised that there wasn't a single order member present.

"They must be having a meeting." Breathed Hermione.

"Nice of them to invite us." Harry muttered. The moment of levity had passed, and he poked moodily at his stew, no longer particularly hungry. Ron and Hermione glanced at each other as they sat down, but he narrowed his eyes at their look and they didn't say anything to him, and after a moment Hermione was sidetracked talking to a boy in the year above about the first enchanting class which was due to take place the following evening.

Harry spent the meal doodling quidditch drills with Ron, though he kept glancing up at the empty seats at the head table. He'd thought Dumbledore would involve him more after their discussion about the Prophecy. He'd kept expecting a summons during the summer, but after a few weeks he'd realised that, with Sirius dead and the Weasleys visiting Charlie, there was nowhere for him to go other than the Dursleys'.

He left the hall feeling depressed despite Ron's enthusiasm for tryouts.

"Potter." The three Gryffindors fell silent as Nott approached them, Greengrass beside him.

"What?" He asked dully. Nott's eyes narrowed.

"Here." Greengrass said quietly. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small pot of purple bruise remover. He took it gingerly and blinked at the lid.

"Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?"

Ron looked at Greengrass in shock and she raised an eyebrow.

"You know we're 'blood traitors', right?"

"I had heard that, yes." she said coolly.

"So is this some kind of a joke?"

She smirked and Ron flushed, his temper rising. He snatched the tub from Harry's hand and looked at it closely, then handed it to Hermione who cast a couple of diagnostic charms on it.

"It can't find any evidence of tampering." she said slowly. Daphne glared.

"I supposed we would be more worried if they were any less paranoid." she said to Nott.

"Why are you giving this to me?"

"You have a bruise on your face Potter, or hadn't you noticed." Nott was sarcastic.

Harry flushed. "I didn't know you cared about my appearance Nott."

"I don't."

"Then why-"

"It's a peace offering, Potter. Or at least a tentative truce." Nott stepped forward, hands empty. "And the only reason we're doing it this obviously is because Daphne reminded me that Gryffindors don't do subtle."

Hermione bristled and the blonde girl glared at them. "I've done literally nothing to antagonise you, yet you all laugh when someone sends a trip-jinx my way for being a Slytherin. Forgive me for not wanting to waste any more valuable time waiting for you to learn to differentiate between schoolchildren wearing green and Death Eaters."

Harry looked away from her to Nott. "Your father was in the graveyard."

"I'm not my father."

Harry paused for a moment, then took the bruise cream from Hermione and, ignoring Ron's hiss of outrage, dabbed a little on the visible bruise on his lip. They all waited a moment before it vanished with a little burst of relief. He handed the pot back to Greengrass with a nod of thanks.

"I'm not saying I trust you." he said firmly. "But thank you."

Nott and Greengrass nodded and left down a dungeon corridor, and the three started to climb.

"Why would you take that from them? They're Slytherins!"

"I don't know, Ron." said Harry, his frustration building. "Of course I don't bloody trust them, but I trust Hermione and I wanted that bruise gone, okay?"

"What do you think they meant by peace offering?" asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged. "No idea, but we might as well play along and find out. I told you that Nott and Malfoy were talking on the train, didn't I? I reckon Nott's spying on us for Voldemort, but I reckon we could do the same back - use him to get close to Malfoy?"

"I- I guess so?" Hermione didn't sound sure.

"You think he's serious?"

"No! But what's Malfoy got to do with it?"

"I just told you! He-"

Hermione sighed and Harry broke off, annoyed.

"What else would Nott be doing Hermione?" asked Ron. "I think Harry's right, and Nott is just trying to get close to us."

"I don't know Harry... do you really think he'd have recruited teenagers?"

"He tried to recruit me when I was eleven."

"What?" They stopped walking on the third floor corridor. There was no sign of the trapdoor anymore.

"What do you mean Harry?"

He kicked at the wall. "He told me he could bring my parents back."

"Oh Harry."

"Yeah I know." Harry's voice was thick. "I know he'd have killed me, and I didn't really believe him anyway, but I don't think he'd hesitate to use children."

"He used Ginny, too." said Ron.

Hermione nodded. "I- yes. You're right. You're both right. We'll keep an eye on Nott, Harry."

He nodded tightly, and they made their way to the common room where they settled down at the window and watched the smoke rise from Hagrid's hut. Harry could feel a headache coming on and he knew it was from the glamours. The bruises were fading, but appearing with half-healed injuries would just cause more questions. It was still too early to go to bed though, so he just pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

"I found this, Hermione." he said, pulling out the spare potions book from his bag. "It was one of the spares that Slughorn offered me."

"Professor Slughorn Harry." she said absently, pulling it toward her. "But someone's written all over it."

"What's the potions teacher like?" asked Ron. "He's Slytherin, isn't he?"

Harry shrugged. "He's okay. He was a bit over the top at the weekend - seemed surprised that I hadn't done better in my OWL and told me my mum was a great brewer."

Hermione looked up at that and smiled. "I didn't know that."

"Me neither." Harry admitted. "But he said that she loved it. To be honest I think he's probably partly interested in the fact that I'm famous too - he talked to a bunch of people in class with family members he claimed to know and seemed surprised that I hadn't got his message thing on the train?"

"Oh sorry mate, you were sleeping so I told the kid to sod off."

"Yeah cheers. Anyway - he's less of a fame-hungry fraud than Lockhart, and at least he leaves me alone, rather than goading me like Snape used to do, so he's fine, I think."

"Fair." said Ron. "Though I think our standards are off. Teachers should be somewhere between 'bad' and 'good', not somewhere between 'good' and 'possessed by a dead Dark Lord'".

They all paused a moment to laugh - then Hermione opened the book wider to show them the writing in it.

"It's clearly someone who knows a lot about potions." she said. "I don't really believe in writing in books, but I think some of these techniques are better than the ones in the instructions."

"Wonder why Snape and Slughorn don't teach this then."

Hermione shrugged. "They should. But I guess it's hard enough getting students to follow the textbook - additional instructions might just mean more chaos. And actually a lot of these are quite standard improvements. Certainly not all of them, and whoever wrote this has a very intuitive grasp of potions, but I've occasionally deviated from the instructions in similar ways."

Harry raised a brow at her.

"Not often. I like to try the way in the book first. But sometimes the reference books for the essays have alternative instructions. I just don't like to experiment in class though - it's dangerous enough already down there."

"What are 'reference books'"? asked Ron. "The words sound familiar but I think they must be dangerous if they're encouraging you to deviate from the instructions Hermione."

"I didn't know you knew the word 'deviate', Ron."

"Hey!"

Harry rolled his eyes with a smirk, and picked up the book.

"So you think they could be useful?"

Hermione nodded. "I want to cross reference first, but maybe we could use this like another reference book, and try out a few of the techniques that we're sure will work? There are fewer people and better brewers in the NEWT class anyway, and Slughorn might be able to give us some tips."

Harry nodded. "Sounds good." He shoved the book back into his bag and pulled out a spare piece of parchment. He wrote "Quidditch Tryouts - Sunday at Noon!" in large letters across the top and then considered it. "Think this needs anything else?"

"Yeah." said Ron. Harry handed him the parchment and Ron took the quill, signing his own name at the top. Ron Weasley - Keeper.

"Perfect." said Harry. He went over to the notice board in the common room, which was already covered in announcements. There was a timetable for the gobstones club and wizard chess, an infographic about the importance of using a wand holster that he was ninety-nine percent sure had been drafted by Alastor Moody (the clue was in the enormous 'Constant Vigilance!' that flashed in red every few seconds), and-

"What's this?"

"What's what?" Ron looked up from his essay and took the notice from him. "Oh - I forgot about this completely! We wanted to ask you about it but you went off somewhere on Sunday, remember?"

"Why would you ask me about it? I'm asking you!"

"Calm it a mo', Harry. We thought Remus would have told you."

"Nope." Harry's throat felt closed off.

"He hasn't said anything about becoming head of house?"

"Ron I didn't even know he was here until we arrived at Defence!"

"Harry, have any of the professors talked to you since we got back?"

"Yeah of course - you know I went to see Slughorn, and McGonagall called on me in class."

"That's not what I meant." said Hermione. She exchanged a look with Ron. "We thought maybe - after what we heard at the Ministry..." she trailed off awkwardly.

Harry glanced around the common room, spotting Neville over with Dean, Seamus and Parvati. "Come up to the dorm? There are too many people here."

They hurried upstairs and settled on Harry's bed. Ron and Hermione were looking at him expectantly and he felt himself start to panic a little. How was he supposed to tell them this?"

"Dumbledore talked to me last term." He said. A ball of lead seemed to settle inside his stomach, and as he acknowledged its presence it seemed to fill him up inside, weighing him down. "That prophecy, the one with my name on it, it was about me."

"But it was destroyed!"

"That doesn't matter, apparently. Dumbledore witnessed it so he could show me the memory of the prophecy. It said - The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

He trailed off. Ron was staring out the window and Hermione's mouth was open. She closed it.

"No."

"Hermione, Dumbledore showed it to me."

"But how are you supposed to kill him? And-"

He sighed and interrupted her. "I don't know, okay."

She took his wrist and frowned for a moment, then looked back up at him.

"I guess..." she seemed to resolve herself. "I guess it's good to finally know why he's after you? I always wondered why he was so keen to target your family, but I figured your parents were key members of the Order..."

"I guess. I don't see how it really helps me though."

"What did Dumbledore say?"

Harry lay down. "Not a lot."

"What do you mean, not a lot?"

"I mean he didn't tell me much. I guess he has a plan, and maybe that's what they're all talking about tonight, though I know he only told me about the words of the prophecy, not the Order, but it's not like we're even invited to know what they do, are we?" His voice rose, exacerbating the pounding of his head.

"Let's go and ask." said Ron. Harry and Hermione looked at him. He hadn't spoken since Harry had told them the prophecy and Harry realised that his friend was very white.

"Are you okay, Ron? I've had all summer to think about it."

"Are you okay with it?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing much I can do, is there. I'll just keep fucking up and try not to get too many other people killed along the way."

"That's a crap strategy." said Ron flatly.

"What the fuck else should I do?"

"We should go and ask Dumbledore what the plan is." said Ron. He turned to them, animated. "Think about it - Dumbledore must have a plan, and Harry's clearly in the middle of it. They can't keep us in the dark, not after the Ministry last term, and this Prophecy."

"Since when are they going to tell us anything? The Order doesn't even know most of Dumbledore's plans!"

"We'll make them." said Ron. "If they're having a meeting now then we can go and confront them. Remus is probably there too, so you can ask him why he never contacted you Harry. The Order owes you this!"

"What if there isn't a plan?"

"Then we make one! Think about it Harry! Right now we're fucking pawns with Dumbledore on one side and Voldemort on the other and it's moving bloody slowly. We need a proper strategy." He looked to Hermione.

"I'm not sure bursting in on their meeting is the way to do it." said Hermione hesitantly. "They probably won't even let us in, and it's terribly rude."

"I don't care." said Ron. "Not after last year. Sirius is dead because Dumbledore didn't tell us all what was going on, and you heard Harry - nobody at all has talked to him since June. They came to talk to all of us about Umbridge, but not Harry?"

Hermione sat up and nodded, seeming to share a glance with Ron. "Okay, let's do this."

"No, guys - wait!" Harry said. He'd watched Ron get more and more worked up with apprehension. "You've told me about Umbridge, I don't need other people fussing over me."

"That's not the point!"

"Yeah it is!" he said angrily. "It's my choice. It's me that it happened to, and if they wanted to be a part of that bit of my life then they bloody well should have decided that at the time. It's over."

"At least come and ask what the strategy is."

"You can."

"Just come with us Harry."

He looked at Ron's angry face, and at Hermione pleading, and relented. Now that he thought about it, perhaps venting his anger at the Order - and at Remus - was exactly what he wanted to do. It wouldn't work, he knew that, but it might feel good.

"Fine. Let's go."