Sixth Year: The Steps Toward The End

by scaryisntit

After losing Sirius, Harry resolves to himself to become stronger, revive the DA and create his own 'army'. In one of the most trying year of his life, Harry will need everything he and his friends can offer to overcome the trails and tribulations before him.

17. Drawn From Memory

A/N: Song title comes from the UK band 'Embrace'. I haven't actually heard this song, but I like their albums "Good Will Out", "This New Day" and "Out of Nothing".

Chapter 17: Drawn From Memory

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. For a few moments he could see nothing. Then his vision returned, blurred.

"Here, Harry," a familiar voice appeared from beside him. "I believe these will help."

Raising his hand in the direction of the voice, Harry felt his glasses being pressed into it. It took him half a minute of fumbling, but he managed to place the glasses on his head correctly.

Immediately his vision cleared. To his dismay, Harry found himself staring at the ceiling for the seventieth time today, sixteenth in the past two hours.

"Didn't work again?" asked Harry, already aware of the answer. His presence on the ground was the most obvious indication. He sat up groggily, grasping his head as it spun. Constantly being stunned and then awoken probably did not have positive effects on one's body.

"I'm afraid not," Professor Flitwick, who was standing to his left, replied cheerfully. His attitude was usually contagious and Harry found himself more often than not enjoying his training sessions with the undersized man. This time, however, was different. His inability to accomplish the current task was bothering him more than he'd like to admit. It made his previous difficulty with the Summoning Charm feel like a picnic. His Occlumency lessons were another matter, however.

"What am I doing wrong, sir?" questioned Harry tiredly. After an entire term of understanding and catching onto everything he was taught, old and new, quickly, it was frustrating that he couldn't get this at all after roughly thirty attempts.

"You understand what needs to be done but your precision needs work." Flitwick explained.

Harry sighed inwardly. "Can you explain it from the start?"

Flitwick agreed.

The diminutive Charms professor, who, while standing and Harry sitting, only managed to be slightly taller, walked, or waddled, his way to the front of the empty classroom that had been their training spot for months. There was no need to mimic the outside this time so the room was bare.

"Wizards tend to become complacent due to the simplicity of almost all tasks thanks to magic," Flitwick explained patiently. "That complacency is obvious in how one avoids, or doesn't, an incoming spell. Most wizards will shield rather than attempt a dodge."

It was true. It had taken Harry thirty full minutes to explain this to the DA, minus Hermione. Some, like Padma and Daphne, understood the advantages of moving rather than shielding, but others took a fair bit more convincing.

"When a wizard is in close range, dodging is not always an option. That said, it isn't always possible from a distance either. Spells have variable speeds and thus some spells aren't possible to dodge," Flitwick continued. Harry snapped back to attention. He didn't want to show any disrespect to the Professor by not giving him his full attention.

"Shielding is then normally considered the only option. However, it is not the only one." Flitwick went on cheerfully.

"Parrying," Harry added from his spot on the floor. His dizziness had now passed. He made moves to stand while Flitwick continued his lecture.

"Correct, Harry," Flitwick replied excitedly. "Parrying is more difficult than shielding is, but once learnt correctly, is more effective in most situations. Few wizards bother to learn this ability, believing that simple shielding is more than adequate. For most of us, that is the case. And it works just fine for them, too. However, in your case, the need to parry is more… prominent. There are, of course, spells that cannot be parried, just like there are spells that cannot be shielded."

"The best comparison I can offer is the Banishment Charm," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "A minor pulse of magic can, well, banish a spell slightly."

"What about sending a spell back at the caster?" asked Harry, walking a few steps and picking up his fallen wand for the sixteenth time this afternoon.

Flitwick shook his head. "While possible, it requires far too much pure magical force aimed directly into the spell to push it away for it to be of any real use. You are better off shielding or dodging and casting your own retaliatory spell."

"Is it documented at all?" asked Harry, rising with wand in hand and taking a spot in the middle of the room to listen to the rest of the lecture.

"It is not, I'm afraid," Flitwick replied dejectedly. "It is a most truly interesting concept; however it has been discovered to be far too costly on our magic to be of any use."

It made sense to Harry and he pushed the thoughts away. How wonderful it would be to merely force spells to rebound off him. But by the sounds of it, it wouldn't be advisable to do it more than, say, once.

"As I was saying, a minor pulse of magic can direct the spell out of our way without wasting energy on shields or dodging."

Harry nodded his understanding. He understood everything that had been explained so far. It wasn't difficult material to grasp; he simply couldn't get the right amount of magic to parry properly.

On the first attempt, Harry had used too much magical power and sent the spell flailing wildly off in the direction of a wall. Cringing at the display, Harry had glanced back to Flitwick and raised an eyebrow. The Professor had rather quickly explained that too much power, like he had used then, caused the spell to become unstable and uncontrollable.

Having the spell uncontrollable did not achieve the purpose of parrying. Considering the added unpredictability of being pushed off course, it was far safer to learn to parry exactly as it was meant to be.

Harry was still determined to learn to parry before the week was out. If he couldn't parry a simple Stunner, one of the most basic spells used in a duel, how could he hope to defeat one of, if not the, most powerful wizards of the twentieth century?

His second attempt had been a polar opposite of his first. Harry had overpowered the attempt the first time. This time he underpowered the attempt at parrying.

The Stunning Spell was what Flitwick was using for Harry to learn to parry. His underpowered attempt at parrying had resulted in him waking up to stare at the ceiling. This had now occurred sixteen times.

His underpowered attempt had only slowed the progress of the spell and, to a minor extent, altered the trajectory, nothing more and nothing less. It still hit him. He would be dead in a real duel.

What followed was a painful experience of either doing too much or too little. Of around thirty attempts, sixteen had resulted with him unconscious until Professor Flitwick could revive him. The rest had resulted with a wide variety of odd and, frankly, dangerous flying spells.

He couldn't get the power level right.

It was frustrating not to grasp this concept after finally getting the hang of silent spell casting.

To top it off, his mind was not always completely focused on the task at hand either. It wandered.

The past three weeks had been rife with activity within and outside the walls of Hogwarts. Another three attacks on the residences of wizards had been mentioned in the Daily Prophet. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot were shepherded out of the Great Hall mere minutes before a plethora of owls entered, revealing successful attacks on their homes and reporting the death of their families.

Hannah, in a brief exchange of words later in the day, told Harry that the two of them were withdrawing from Hogwarts and moving out of the country with their remaining relatives. It was a wise move. They weren't involved in the war at all. They had no reason to stay. Safety lay abroad, for the time being at least.

The attacks seemed to generate fear amongst the majority of the school population. While Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot were nothing special, it made the fact that everyone was a possible target hit far closer to home than ever before.

In their own way, various students tried desperately to cope with the rising panic. Eight times on a single patrol three days after Justin and Terry left Hogwarts, Harry discovered pairs of students locked in rather passionate activities in broom cupboards and unused classrooms. Each had progressed further and further, the seventh even having bits and pieces hanging out.

The eighth time he crossed paths with a couple getting intimate, there were three girls in a single, small broom cupboard.

That had thrown Harry off balance. He barely even registered the fact that Hermione was with him for the rest of the night due to the surprise and shock.

After the second patrol of such circumstances, Harry found himself glad he didn't have to catch any of his close friends or roommates in such compromising situations. Most of the caught students he'd never even talked to.

Though some had chosen to… explore with the opposite gender to avoid facing reality, others, like he had been warned by his fellow Gryffindor year mates, chose to draw lines in the dirt and pick fights with the enemies on the other side.

A small series of quiet, but noticeable, skirmishes erupted in the following week. Harry, Hermione, Padma, Ernie and Hannah had to break up fights, both magical and muggle style, in the halls both on and off patrols. More often than not a Slytherin was involved, with a Gryffindor, Hufflepuff – or even on two occasions a Ravenclaw – on the opposite end.

While Harry had no love for Slytherins, he was disgusted to discover a seventh year Gryffindor picking on a second year Slytherin. He was ashamed to live in the same tower as the guy. There were lines people did not cross, no matter how fearful you are, and a seventeen year old attacking a twelve year old, one that barely knew any magic to defend himself against attackers, was one of those lines.

When Harry tried to help the second year to his feet after giving the Gryffindor a week's detention, the twelve year old had stared at him with wide-eyes and backed away hurriedly. Bouncing into the wall several times, the kid continued a hasty retreat and Harry never heard from him again.

It looked as if the next generation of Gryffindors and Slytherins would continue to detest each other as well. The interference and stern warnings and detentions served to do naught more than draw more attention to the fights.

Almost without conscious thought, the entire DA began to work harder than ever before. It wasn't panic like it had been the first time, not at all. This time it was plain desire; the desire to stop Voldemort.

One advantage of knowing the prophecy was the knowledge that Harry had a chance to win. Sticking by him would also give them the best chance at helping end everything as soon as possible.

But sticking with Harry was also dangerous. Unless they were able to adequately defend themselves, it was a very unwise decision to stand by his side as he would, undoubtedly, walk into danger again and again.

The problem was that not everyone was up to task.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Keep moving, Katie!" hollered Harry from the sidelines. He was pacing up and down, keeping with the two duellists safely on the other side of the barrier that was provided by the Room upon request. The rest of the DA, besides the two duellists and Harry, were watching, whispering to each other on a variety of matters.

Spells of many and varied type flew through the room, crashing into opposite walls or shields erected by the frenzied duellists.

The strangest aspect of the duel to outsiders would be that the entire battle was done without the single utterance of a spell. Both Katie and her opponent, Susan, had learnt to cast silently with enough spells to put up a decent bout against each other. It had taken hard work and a lot of patience – two things true Hufflepuffs like Susan were known for – to get this far. In the end, it was worth the effort. They were far more capable of defending themselves than ever before.

Yet…

Katie, still on her feet, sent a barrage of hexes and curses, followed by a hastily, and of poor quality, conjured weighted ball. Susan, on the move, managed to keep ahead of the barrage of spells, shielding the several that she could not dodge. A simple Banishment Charm neutralized the threat of the ball. A second shield and her nimble feet rendered the next onslaught as fruitless as the one before it.

In a brief moment where Katie took a much needed breather – multiple silent spells so close together still took a lot out of each and every DA member due to the level of concentration and ordinary physical endurance required to keep moving at full pace – Susan began her counterattack.

The 'Puff had no real specialty, managing to be adequate at the main branches of magic – they being Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts – and because of that she had begun developing her own combinations of each magic's. Harry had mentioned it months ago, that everyone created their own style suited to their strengths and weaknesses, and Susan had neither no real strengths nor weaknesses in her magic, being decent in each.

Conjuration magic, recently begun by the sixth year students, had become a popular style of Transfiguration very quickly due to the broad possibilities it brought. While food and drink were not possible, an interesting array of offensive and defensive objects could be conjured. Except for Harry, who had begun learning it with McGonagall in his extra classes near the end of the previous term, the group was still in the learning stages.

Several blunted projectiles appeared from thin air before Susan, only to find themselves Banished milliseconds later. As it was the first style of 'outside-the-box' dueling Harry had shown, all were very quick off the mark in any attack based off that well practiced system.

Katie stepped and ducked down to her left, out of the way of the threat of multiple bruises, only to find herself creating a shield just in time to avoid unconsciousness. Another assault of magic rained down upon her. Her shield began to waver and Katie halted, removing her concentration from around her to keeping her shield up.

Susan noticed her opponent's mistake and kept the pressure on while moving in closer cautiously. Her face was scrunched together in fierce concentration. Harry could see she had something in mind; her spells were becoming more simplistic and less dangerous without letting up in intensity.

Then the spells stopped. Katie hesitated, unsure of why they let up, and because of that, she wasn't prepared for the rapidly approaching object from her side. By the time she saw the streak, it was too late to attempt to dodge or redirect her shield. With an audible thump, she was struck on the side of the head. Katie crumpled to the floor, her wand clattering to the ground.

"Bloody minger," muttered a frustrated Katie under her breath from her position on the floor. Her head had already begun pounding, a headache on the way. It hadn't hurt as much as a Bludger did, but it still wasn't a pleasant experience.

Katie made moves to get to her feet, only to find Susan's wand pointed at her.

"Susan, winner," said Harry unenthusiastically. With the barest thought the wall protecting the spectators dropped and Harry walked towards the motionless duelists. The rest of the group followed suit, their footsteps echoing, relating different speeds for different pairs of feet

"That was uncalled for, Katie," said Hannah disdainfully before Harry could say anything more. Her curse hadn't gone unheard.

Katie didn't respond vocally, however her face was reddening with a combination of embarrassment and displeasure at losing, and in the fashion she had. A flying object was something she dealt with often; losing to one was effectively a sore spot.

"Thank you, Hannah," said Harry dismissively. The 'Puff sent him a half-hearted apologetic look, but couldn't bring herself to be that honest in it, not that Harry would've expected her to.

Susan's wand was still raised, primed to strike at her opponent, when Harry gently laid his hand on hers and lowered it. The strawberry blonde didn't resist, admittedly enjoying the contact, to her silent embarrassment.

"Three things, Katie," began Harry, maintaining his contact on Susan's hand. "Firstly, you let yourself get taken off guard."

This was not the first time either. Katie had been beaten more often than she had won, and it was usually due to an average mistake. One who didn't know Katie might say she simply wasn't magically talented, but that would be wrong. She was excellent at Charms, yet she appeared unable to transfer her classroom brilliance into a duel.

"Yeah, I know," Katie replied tiredly. She clutched her head and closed her eyes, willing the pounding to dissipate.

Harry was sure she did.

"Second. You stopped moving and focused on your shield when it started to fail. Elsewhere I'd say use some sort of cover, but here, you could've ducked or dived out of the way and retaliated, putting Susan on the back foot."

"I know, I know," Katie sighed.

Harry frowned. This was a different reaction than normal. She usually tried to explain away her errors, not resignedly accept her loss.

"I'm just not as …" she paused, struggling to find an adequate adjective. "… proficient at this as you lot are."

A soft snort erupted from someone behind Harry. All turned to face Daphne, who was staring at Katie disdainfully.

"Not everyone is cut out for fighting," Daphne deadpanned. "She may be intelligent in the classroom, and that's just fine. But someone who can't apply her abilities to save her life –"

"- Thanks for that, Daphne," Harry interrupted in the same dismissive tone as he had used with Hannah, turning back to Katie. The Slytherin maintained her examination of Katie for a moment longer, before turning away in disgust, giving Harry's back a glare for good measure.

Their dynamics remained the same in presence of other people. However, on the sole occasion they had shared a conversation since the holidays, Daphne had been more receptive towards him than she used to.

"You sure you want to be a part of this? I've done all I can to show you what it'll be like…"

"I'm fine, Harry," Katie implored. "I just need more practice to get used to it."

She gave Harry a smile, but he wasn't fooled.

"Oh, and thirdly, try not to insult your friends."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Despite her reassurances, Katie worried him. It had been weeks since the group had started to duel each other and she was no closer to improving. The only person who she was able to defeat was Ernie, and only because he was in a similar boat to her. When he wasn't feeling arrogant like he had last semester, he was fairly intelligent. But he was failing in practice too.

Days passed from then, and more and more the residents of the castle seemed to change attitude. The Daily Prophet continued to display the odd death here and there. With no real large scale attack since Christmas Eve, Hermione speculated it was only a matter of time before another influx of bad news would reach their hearts and minds. With the castle the way it was now – students fighting in the halls or, alternatively, seeking out physical comfort with someone – how the populace would fair against more death would be anyone's guess.

His fellow year mates were amongst those that were nervously anticipating the next set of bad news.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry was seated in the Gryffindor common room beside Hermione reading the second half of his Defense Against the Dark Arts book for the year, having finally caught up in his readings and learnt the useful spells from them, while Hermione was working on a Potions Essay about the intricacies of brewing Blood-Replenishing Potions so that they worked for every blood type. For once it was something that, unfortunately, probably would come in useful in the future.

The pair shared the occasional idle chatter when Harry found or thought of something worth mentioning to his ever studious friend. It was one of those down moments where nothing was happening except for the now mundane work required by Hogwarts.

Leaning backwards slightly on the comfy wooden chair, one that was magically guarded against unceremonious falls from leaning too far backwards, Harry sighed and turned the page.

Cutting through his focus on Hermione's scratching quill on parchment and his own concentration on his Defence book were three pairs of footsteps that paused in front of him. Harry looked up to discover the figures of Lavender, Dean and Seamus before him, gazes held on him hopefully.

"Lavender, Dean, Seamus," Harry said their names, giving them a nod respectively. "What's up?" Hermione's scratching stopped.

"Can we talk for a second, Harry?" asked Lavender, her tone not encouraging Harry for his easy night plans. To emphasize, he sighed and sat up in his chair, returning all four chair feet to the floor, and placed his now closed textbook on the table beside him, away from Hermione's work.

The aforementioned girl began her scratching on parchment again.

"Go ahead," Harry said, gesturing for them to draw up chairs from the table beside Hermione. Sparing the working girl a quick glance each, they complied and drew up chairs. Lavender sat down with all the grace her practice during her years at Hogwarts had given her, while Dean and Seamus slumped down, quite used to the Cushioning Charms that were ever present on wizarding furniture.

The three Gryffindors shared a couple of odd looks. Lavender eventually sighed and faced Harry again. Seemed she would be the talker of the three. Harry looked at her expectedly.

"Well, Harry, you see …" she began nervously, to Harry's mild amusement.

Lavender was popular with the guys. One could not deny the impressive bust the girl held, even though the robes did little to extenuate such features. The fact that one could tell through the robes that there was anything there at all was a testament to said feature. Only Susan and a Ravenclaw that Harry had never conversed with offered any semblance of challenge in that area. It was with little surprise that this had made her popular, for mostly the wrong reasons.

Still, Lavender was not a shy person. Often, in fact, she was a little too outgoing, too forceful in nature, as she had been when interrogating him after his return from France. Seeing her nervous was therefore amusing, in a minor manner.

"Yes?" prodded Harry, awaiting the reason for being interrupted.

"I – that is to say we – were wondering if you would… startuptheDAagain," Lavender said hurriedly. She squirmed in her chair, uncomfortable at making the request.

The scratching stopped again. A page turned and it began again.

"Start up the DA again?" repeated Harry blankly. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this.

"Yeah, mate," spoke up Dean, crossing arms and giving Harry an unusually serious visual examination.

"We can tell you are up to something," Seamus added knowingly. "No homework? It didn't take long for everyone to know that, Harry, mate."

Harry sighed inwardly. "Suppose that wasn't an easily kept secret when nobody ever sees me working on anything."

He received three nods for his troubles.

"Your point is?" he asked the three of them.

"You're looking very nice lately, as well," Lavender said mischievously, her eyes running up and down his, thankfully, robe covered body. He got the distinct impression he was being undressed by her eyes and shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, not sure if he liked that imagery at all.

Hermione's quill paused again, and Harry could've sworn she was laughing silently. And the laughter was at him, rather than with him. Oh, that was unfair.

"Again, your point?" asked Harry, praying his question would be answered this time.

"You get into more scrapes than anyone else, yeah?" said Seamus. "You gotta be learning new magic or something to protect yourself, right?"

"It suits you," Lavender said matter-of-factly, embarrassing Harry further.

"Thank you," Harry replied dryly. He turned to Hermione for help, only to find her resuming her homework. Curse her multi-tasking abilities! She could listen in to a conversation, laugh and still write an O level essay without missing a beat. That was definitely unfair.

"Look, mate, you know we know that the war is getting worse," Dean said, his arms tightening closer to his chest and sitting up straight. "Last year was great. We wouldn't have passed our OWLs without you. This, though, is more important than learning behind Umbridge's back."

"Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

"A few lads and lasses in Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and with some of the younger years here as well," answered Seamus slowly, thinking of whom he conversed with.

Terrific, Harry thought to himself. They're probably expecting me to agree.

For a second time, Harry looked to Hermione for help. She continued to write, only stopping to check something in her book. There was, however, a small smile on her face, and Harry couldn't help but believe it was because of Lavender's rather obvious compliments.

"I'll give it some thought, alright?"

The three of them exchanged some slightly disappointed looks and made to leave. Dean and Seamus started their own harried conversation the instant they were out of earshot. Lavender, on the other hand, hung back, fidgeting nervously.

"Harry?" said Lavender tentatively.

"What's wrong Lavender?"

She gave him a quick smile, more reminiscent of the happy-go-lucky Lavender Brown he knew and… well, not loved, but knew.

"Can I talk to you privately for a minute?" she asked quietly.

Unused to this subdued version of his year mate, Harry, concerned, agreed immediately. Sparing the still working Hermione a quick glance, he extricated himself from the corner of the common room he was in and, led by Lavender, found an unused classroom near the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"It's about Parvati," Lavender said bluntly the second Harry had closed the door behind them.

The buxom blonde was uncharacteristically serious, more so than she had been in the previous conversation. This was more personal, more pertinent to her than the future prospects of a DA revival.

Harry sighed. Admittedly he had not given Lavender that much thought. He had been too busy worrying about Padma and the myriad of other matters in his life to pay the girl her due. As Parvati was the girl's best friend, she would have suffered the consequences of the Gryffindor twin's actions as well.

But he couldn't do everything and, thankfully, allowed himself not to feel too poorly over it.

"Ask away," he replied, resigned to an interrogation. She did deserve answers, however, and for once he was willing to part with them.

That is as long as she refrained from undressing him with her eyes. That scared him a little.

"What's happened with her and Padma?"

Straight to the deep questions, it seemed.

"What do you know of their relationship?" asked Harry, crossing his arms and leaning backwards into the wall. Lavender was standing in the middle of the room, watching him closely, her hands by her sides, long blonde hair free down her shoulders and back.

"Parvati told me that she and Padma started to grow apart after Padma took interest in her books," Lavender explained, bringing a finger to her lips and directing her eyes upwards as she recalled. "After… after their mother died, it only got worse."

Harry nodded his confirmation. "That's what Padma told me too. Living in different dorms hasn't helped either."

Lavender agreed non-verbally with a nod of her head. Her hands resumed their spots by her side and she resumed her watch of Harry.

"And?" she pushed a little impatiently.

"Back in the holidays, Parvati and Padma had a confrontation," Harry continued unperturbed.

"I gathered that from when I was asked to leave with Hermione," Lavender responded, more resigned than irritated at Harry though. "Parvati was in a horrible mood afterwards. The last time I had seen her so messed up was –"

"- After the Yule Ball," Harry finished for her. "Yeah, that's partly what it was about," he added bitterly.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry, let me explain from the start," Harry said.

He uncrossed his arms, withdrew his wand and attempted to conjure some seating. What was supposed to turn out as a comfy lounge turned out to be nothing more than the skeletal frame with a minor bit of padding over the top. He winced at the poor result and Vanished it a second later. He needed more practice with conjuring on non-dueling related uses. What could he say? They weren't a high priority in his life.

A second, different, less complex attempt brought a pair of big cushions into existence. Tentatively testing them out, Harry sat down on one and, to his surprise, found them fairly comfortable. Lavender took the offered second cushion, her eyes widening slightly at the impressive display of Conjuring magic. In regular classes, this style of magic had only commenced at the start of term, not even a couple weeks ago and they certainly hadn't covered such large objects yet.

"Sometime in the summer before our fifth year, Ginny –" began Harry, before Lavender interrupted, incensed.

"What does she have to do with anything?"

Harry sent her an irritated look. Lavender opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it and shut her mouth quickly.

"As I was saying, Ginny, before our fifth year, was told of a spell that is difficult to notice when cast upon someone. It was compulsion magic. Her target was me."

"Oh! Are you still under it?" asked Lavender worriedly, leaning forward and giving him a once over with her eyes. For a brief moment he thought that she had deliberately acted dumb to give him another once over, but discarded that at the sincere worry in her eyes. Sweet it was, in an odd way, yet he wouldn't have known about it had it still been on him, so he couldn't help feel it was a silly question.

"No," Harry replied. He didn't reciprocate his thoughts in his words, for if he had, he would have probably had a sore cheek for it. That wasn't a good way to end this conversation, or any, for that matter.

Harry continued his explanation until he'd reached the re-emergence of that horrible ball.

"Has Parvati ever talked about me after the Yule Ball?" asked Harry.

"Yeah … a little, not as much as before though," Lavender said, contemplating it.

"Well, according to Padma and Parvati herself, she had… has a grudge against me for… um, ruining her night," Harry said sheepishly. Hopefully this would be the last time that night would bother him. It was something so irrelevant, so minor in comparison to his usual troubles, yet it was causing him more grief than it should.

Lavender shuffled forward on her cushion to the edge and crossed her legs, not close enough to invade Harry's personal space, but getting there. He briefly wondered if she was doing this intentionally, for if she wasn't, it was no wonder she was viewed in the way she was, as her natural movements were suggestive in themselves.

"She was very disappointed after that night," Lavender agreed. "Her hopes were very high." She then paused, and her eyes widened. "Oh …"

"You thought she helped Ginny. And you and Padma confronted her over it," Lavender said, smacking her hand into her forehead. "Stupid," she muttered to herself several times, emphasizing it with several more slaps.

Harry reached forward and grabbed her hand to prevent her for slapping herself again. Lavender looked at him and he saw the despondent look her eyes. She finally was grasping what was wrong with her best friend and it was eating at her that she didn't understand and help earlier.

After a moment her shoulders slumped, returning to a calmer, though no less depressed, state of mind. She gave Harry a small smile and shook her still captured hand. He released it immediately, managing to avoid embarrassment over holding her for too long.

"Parvati was dating Seamus for awhile," Lavender said sadly, brushing her hand through her blonde mane, face turned downwards. "Did you know?"

Harry nodded, recalling the unexpectedness of that revelation just moments after seeing Dean and Ginny locked in a rather passionate embrace in one of the secret passageways earlier in the year. One of many things he'd wished he'd hadn't seen or overheard.

"They broke up in late November," Lavender continued on, repeating the motion. "Seamus told me she didn't seem as interested anymore. A shame, really. Seamus is one of the more attractive males in our year."

Harry coughed. He didn't need to hear what Parvati and Lavender gossiped about, thank you very much.

"Sorry," Lavender apologized, surprisingly sincerely. She stopped stroking her hair and began fiddling with her robes.

"Go on," said Harry gently, eyes not straying from her face.

"Parv's been distant since before then." Lavender shook her head slowly. "I couldn't figure out why. I saw her sitting with Ginevra a number of times … I didn't think anything of it till now."

"Padma asked me to be there when she confronted Parvati," Harry said softly. "As you've probably noticed, it didn't go too well. Parvati is angry at me and jealous of Padma." He then added in a false cheerful tone. "It's pretty messed up."

Lavender genuinely laughed. "It always is with you."

Harry grimaced. "Unintentional, I swear."

"Is that it?" asked the blonde.

"No," Harry answered disdainfully. "The two fought – verbally, that is – until Parvati swore vengeance, or justice in her view, or something like that. Point is Parvati is not pleased with me."

"Me too," agreed Lavender. "That is me, her, not me, you." She added belatedly.

Harry blinked. "Okay, took me a second, but I got it."

"You've changed, Harry," Lavender said observantly, startling him with the comment.

"Have I?"

"Please, out of all the people in Gryffindor, I'd be the one to notice."

He conceded that point. Intelligence wise she was perhaps average, however she was one of the more observant girls in the school, just for the wrong reasons.

"I've had to," Harry said solemnly, beginning to trace random patterns on the cushion he was seated on. "My life isn't what everyone thinks it is."

"Us – we understand that now," Lavender explained, leaning closer to him. "Took a bit of time, but we do now."

Harry shrugged and smiled. What could he say to that? It's about time? No, silence worked better.

"Harry?" said Lavender tentatively, again, moving a little closer. She was now on the edge of her cushion, not a meter from him.

Harry maintained his gaze on her and nodded. The blonde sat up a bit straighter and tossed her hair aside with a flick of her head, characteristic of the women with long hair in his life. It was a gesture he enjoyed, pretty much regardless of who it was. Seemed he was a fan of long haired women.

"Are you going to bring the DA back?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied honestly.

"Why not?" Lavender, though appreciative of the honesty, did not like the answer.

"Can I ask what really brought this on?" asked Harry, deflecting the questions away from areas he'd have to hurt her by flat out refusing to respond to.

"We've seen you in classes lately, Harry," Lavender explained patiently. "You are consistently on par or better than Hermione and Padma, and they are the smartest of us! Without being insulting, until this year you were never better than a slightly above average student, except in Defence."

Harry wasn't offended, as it was an accurate observation. But things were different this year.

"You know magic that we don't yet. These cushions alone are beyond us. You are the most capable of anyone in this castle to keep us safe," Lavender said adamantly. "Snape knows his stuff and all, but he doesn't help those that don't understand something. You did, and still do when someone gathers the courage to ask. You were patient with us and taught us as much as, if not more, than Lupin or Mad-Eye Moody."

Harry shuffled on his cushion again and severed his eye contact. Praise was still a new concept, especially when put up beside the likes of Lupin, who certainly knew his stuff.

"I will give it a lot of thought." Harry told her. The girl smiled briefly.

"I suppose that's all I can ask for. It must be a lot of work, whatever you are doing."

For once she wasn't prodding for information to use. This Lavender was a sight to behold. The giggling schoolgirl was growing, albeit forced, like many others.

"You've changed too."

"I've had to," Lavender said, mimicking his own statement. "Parvati and I … aren't able to have fun like we used to now. Seeing some of our classmates leave after family members die… we can't ignore what's happening out there. Dean, Seamus and I discussed this and knew that you would be involved in some way. You're always involved."

"You're not wrong," Harry said, facing her again. "Did I answer you about Parvati? We kind of went off track."

Lavender smiled wistfully. "Yes, but it doesn't matter. I can do nothing but try and be her friend and hope she opens up to me herself."

She suddenly stood, fixed her robes and hair, stepped forward and, taking a hold of one of Harry's hands, gently encouraged for him to stand with her. He complied and was engulfed in a quick hug.

"You're a good person, Harry."

Then came something very unexpected. She leaned in almost too quickly for Harry's mind to keep up with and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then released him.

Slowly, Harry raised the fingers on his right hand to his cheek, uncomprehending the action.

Lavender smiled at him once more, turned and made her way to the door. Harry shook free of his sudden stupor and faced the retreating form.

"Lavender?"

"Yeah, Harry?" the girl replied, facing him once again.

"How do you know that what I'm doing is good for my body?" he asked, perhaps not the question he should have asked, but he had to know. "You only see me in robes."

Lavender smiled a big smile. "That would be telling."

In a much better mood, Lavender about faced and, walking with a tad too much emphasis on her derrière, left the room, leaving Harry feeling that he was in way over his head with the females in his life. Again.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Thanks for the help, Hermione," Harry said sarcastically as he slumped down into his chair beside the aforementioned girl, who was, amazingly, still working away as if nothing had ever disturbed her.

"Daphne's a bad influence on you," Hermione replied, turning a page in her book.

Harry silently agreed, but chose to scoff and reply that she had brought her to him. Hermione didn't respond, knowing that she had won already. Harry just looked up and examined the occupants of the room, thinking about the DA and, more so, the recent lip to cheek contact he had just had. It had been a long time since someone had done that, and it made Harry think of Fleur. He wondered if she and Bill had reconnected, if she had told him and if he had or would forgive her.

His eyes continued to roam and eventually fell on Lavender who, from across the room, waved and winked at Harry. He looked away, facing heating.

"What did Lavender want?" asked Hermione curiously, finally laying down her quill and giving him her full attention.

She was looking tired but happy. She was continuing to run herself more than any other Gryffindor due to her additional subjects and their other activities. Harry had once tried a week before to get her to drop a subject, but she point blank refused.

"Parvati," Harry surmised in the entire conversation in the name. Hermione's mouth opened in the typical 'o' of realization and understanding.

"She okay?" she asked, searching the room for girl in question.

"Yeah." Harry replied. He leant back into his chair and furrowed his brow.

"What are you going to do about the DA?" asked Hermione.

"That's what I wanted to ask you," Harry responded, crossing his arms and facing her fully. It had been a long time since they'd shared a moment like this, figuring out problems together.

"I think you should do it." Hermione replied. "But this is your decision and your decision alone to make."

Harry gave her a quizzical look and wondered what she meant by that. Hermione gave him an insufferable look at his stalling.

"Will you really give it some thought?" asked Hermione seriously.

"Yes," Harry replied, leaning back into the chair. He shook his head and focused on the subject at hand. "How can I not? She actually wants to learn to defend herself. No offence intended, but if Lavender is keen on it, then most everyone else is as well."

Hermione pondered this for a moment, biting her lip in an unconscious motion.

"It would take time away from our version," Hermione said softly.

Harry didn't react outwardly. Hermione's words had only confirmed his initial thoughts on the matter.

But this was important too. It was selfish to say that his DA took precedence over teaching a larger group to defend themselves against Voldemort. His group needed the training if they were to survive, they all understood that. However, he could not leave the rest of the student body high and dry after they had asked for his help.

"I will think it over," Harry said again.

"You've already decided yes, haven't you?" Hermione was smiling at him in a knowing manner.

"Trust you to know my answer before I do," Harry grumbled.

"It's my specialty, Harry," Hermione mock chided. "Of course I'm excellent at it."

"Lavender kissed me on the cheek," Harry said pointedly.

Hermione's eyes widened, the pair rapidly setting off to examine his, trying to be, impassive face. He couldn't keep it up, however, and broke in to a small fit of laughter.

"Harry James Potter, you are having me on, aren't you!" Hermione said indignantly. "Well, if we're going to play it that way, what would you say if I had snogged Viktor?"

"I'd be disappointed that you hadn't told me before now, for starters," Harry said cheekily. Hermione gave him a light slap to the shoulder, but the act was hampered by her sincere smile.

"Come on, Potter, I've got an essay to complete and you have a book to disturb me with every couple of minutes," Hermione said cheerfully, turning back to her work.

Harry grinned and picked up his book, opening it back to the page he was at before the interruption.

Hermione's quill scratching soon filled up Harry's ears again and he fell into a calm state, half-reading, half-contemplating.

"Here's an interesting one," said Harry a few minutes later. "Supposedly it can breach the skin of a troll and injure it." He looked up at smiled. Then in a faux-realization tone, he said, "Oh, wait, that's a simple Cutting Curse."

The quill stopped again. "You're lucky you're my friend, otherwise I'd send a flock of birds at you."

"You wound me, Hermione."

She reached over and stole his book, placing it with a thud on the other side, out of reach. "Just try it, mister."

Hearing the humour in her tone, Harry relaxed into his chair and sighed.

These were the good times. It was a shame the time would soon come where these times were few and far between.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry was standing opposite Flitwick in the disused classroom that had become their meeting place throughout the year. Had the two not magically cleaned the room after their lessons, it would have been a rather putrid place to be.

Flitwick nodded at Harry, who raised his wand in preparation as a response. Without further adieu, the diminutive Professor raised his own and, silently, cast yet another Stunning Spell.

Harry's grip on his wand tightened as the spell rapidly closed in on him, the red light an all too familiar sight. Concentrating with everything he could, Harry released a small amount of his magic into the wand and, as the spell reached him, pushed it from the wand, dragging the spell to the side.

The movement took less than a second.

Unlike the previous time, the spell was redirected, but, unlike what Harry had hoped, the spell left his control mere milliseconds once it had cleared him. The red piece of magic fluxed in mid-air, and flew off uncontrolled into the wall, dissipating instantly.

Too much power. Again.

Bloody hell, he cursed.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A few days passed and the prospect of the weekend for the sixth years was a highly anticipated one. Those on top of their work were eagerly awaiting the trip to Hogsmeade, while those behind were welcoming the chance to catch up.

As it was the first since the failed attack on Harry, and because of him, Hermione – it was to be supervised heavily by the Professors.

The DA, having their priorities sorted out, was almost all free for the weekend. Given the only time Harry had anything planned for the DA this weekend was Sunday afternoon – the Saturday being used for Quidditch practice – certain someone's decided it was alright to leave their work till the weekend instead of finishing it during their multiple free periods during the week like the rest.

Harry, on Friday afternoon, was whiling away the time before an extra lesson with Slughorn. Neville was off with Katie somewhere, Hermione in an Ancient Runes class, leaving Harry to sit in his dorm without their company, as was the new norm.

Every time one of Slughorn's classes came around, the raven haired young man was sent into an unwelcome contemplative mode. Dumbledore's request for Harry to glean the memory of Tom Riddle asking about 'Horcruxes' hung over his head, eating away at his inactivity. He knew not what they were or why they were important, but for Dumbledore to give him this task, it had to be in some way, shape or form, pertinent to their current plight against Voldemort.

He had found himself in a stalemate. Try and fail, and it would become a massive task to squeeze out the memory. Without trying, though, he could not succeed. This was the quandary he was in.

It had been weeks since the task was set and, while Dumbledore had not mentioned anything about his progress in their conversations since that day, the wizened wizard had to be on the verge of losing some of his ever-lasting patience. So, Harry was convincing himself that tonight would be the night. After getting the overweight, overbearing Professor into a good mood, he would somehow find the moment to slip in the request.

Horcruxes…

The name did not sit well with Harry. It felt like he knew what it was, but not by name – as if he had experienced it but known it.

Tonight would be the night he would press for the memory.

Tonight would be the night he would learn exactly what a momentous task lay before him. And his perceptions of his future would change along with it.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Very good, Mr. Potter, another success, if I do say so myself," Slughorn praised joviality.

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied.

The two were situated in the potions dungeon, the light and warmth from the fire underneath the cauldron illuminating and staving off the coldness of late night in Hogwarts' dungeons respectively. Harry continued to stir the potion eight times counterclockwise and then three clockwise. Whoever had come up with the odd numbers had way too much time on their hands.

The fumes from the simmering potion were beginning to get to him. His eyes were watering, his head swimming, and he was feeling distinctly lightheaded. More than once he had to catch himself from falling out of his chair.

But there was another side-effect on both occupants of the dungeon. Out of place, it may seem, in the classroom and late in the evening, but both were feeling rather upbeat.

Was it coincidence that tonight had been the night Slughorn had desired Harry to brew the Euphoria Elixer?

The Elixer was originally used to combat depression. Unsurprisingly, however, more modern uses had become increasingly… shady.

Regardless, the Professor was in a good mood, albeit partly potion induced. Amazingly enough, the conviction Harry held earlier to get the memory had not been lost throughout the night.

"That should just about do it, Harry," Slughorn said cheerfully, his multiple chins flailing as he spoke.

"Yes sir," replied Harry, lifting out his stirring utensil. He picked up his wand from a bench beside him, littered with remnants of potion ingredients, and cleaned the residue from it. With care – Slughorn had drilled into him the importance of maintaining high quality utensils, cauldrons and ingredients over their time in this dungeon – Harry replaced the tool in its rightful place and turned back to the potion.

"Excellent work, m'boy," said Slughorn, leaning forward and taking a giant whiff of the emissions. His eyes glazed over for a moment as the mixture infiltrated his senses, inducing an increased flow of euphoria inducing hormones from his brain.

Harry slumped back into his chair, letting out a sigh of relief, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Potion making was tense work, for him. One mistake could ruin a potion. Snape had taken great pride in pointing that out to Harry.

Slughorn interrupted his new found relaxation by humming a tune. The man had procured a set of flasks from somewhere and had begun filling them up with the potion.

This seemed as good a time as any.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Harry m'boy?" he replied without losing an ounce of concentration on his task.

Harry's eyes roamed the room, attempting to formulate the best possible way of getting results. Just telling him that unless he had that memory Voldemort couldn't be defeated seemed a bit farfetched. The prophecy would have been a powerful negotiating tool; however it probably wasn't wise to tell him that.

His eyes fell on a jar situated on one of the several cabinets along the walls of the classroom.

"Is that Basilisk skin?" asked Harry without thinking. If it wasn't, it looked awfully similar to the creature he barely survived against in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Oh ho!" Slughorn said triumphantly, placing a newly filled flask on to the desk beside him and began filling the next. "Very astute, Harry m'boy, you never cease to amaze me. It is indeed Basilisk skin. A very rare find, I must say. One of my most prized possessions, in fact."

Harry nodded, still eyeing the jar, thinking it couldn't be that easy, and not paying his partly undeserved praise any heed. After Slughorn had realized how far behind Harry was in some areas, he had made it his year's goal to bring Harry up to and beyond par in the brewing business. The Half-Blood Prince's book, much to Hermione's continued, albeit now silent, displeasure, was a very helpful tool in his growth in ability.

There were potions here and there that Harry found would be useful in the future, but he considered the class to be a sometimes amusing and sometimes irritating way to spend the evening, and little more. Given that the man could have been relaxing in his own room rather than teaching him, regardless of his motives, it would have been ungrateful of Harry to go to either Slughorn or Dumbledore and request that the lessons stop because of the lack of much worthwhile in his eyes.

"Snake skin, venom, eyes and fangs are found quite often in potions, Harry," Slughorn explained excitedly. "Basilisk skin, venom, eyes and fangs are so rare and so valuable that one does not use them for any old potion. Only the rarest, most potent potions are deemed fit enough to be brewed with ingredients from a Basilisk. It is a very rare treat for a potion maker to ever use them, one that many do not live to enjoy."

"Have you, sir?"

"No, no, not yet, Harry, m'boy, not yet," Slughorn replied, placing the fourth filled flash on the desk and shaking his a large finger at him in a mock chiding voice. "I have yet to acquire Basilisk eyes, damaged or not, or fangs and their venom. If you'll allow me, m'boy, I wish to have the others in possession before brewing the potion that people will remember me by."

"What if I was to tell you there is a dead Basilisk wasting away in this very castle?" asked Harry, his eyes never leaving the jar of Basilisk skin. He was hoping and praying that this would work. All other means of getting the memory had been wiped from his mind the moment he laid eyes upon the item. It seemed perfect… perhaps even too perfect to have seen this.

Slughorn paused in mid motion, the fifth and presumably final flask hung suspended half a meter above the concoction in the cauldron.

"I would be very interested to know where, m'boy," Slughorn responded, his giddy voice betraying the false-calm he tried to lay across. He put down the flask, the potion being put into the background of his mind.

"I could show it to you, sir," said Harry slowly. "For a price."

Slughorn did not seem to think this price of much import, his entire demeanor changing from calm disposition to eagerness for the location of such a magnificent prize every second that passed.

"Name it."

Harry sighed, again, hoping and praying this would work.

"Many years ago, you used to teach here," Harry began. Slughorn's attitude seemed to drop, even just a little. "There was a student, a young, promising student here that attended the Slug Club very often. He was a handsome young man; one who you knew would achieve great things. Everyone believed he would."

"He bought you your favorite treat, crystallized pineapple," Harry continued solemnly. Slughorn had sunk back into his chair, his chubby face transformed from the euphoria induced mood into a displeased, fearful one. The remaining steam from the cauldron, that had no doubt aided Slughorn's willingness to part with his Basilisk ingredient secrets, served no real purpose, in the end. The steam itself was not strong enough for one not to fight had they tried, and trying was Slughorn.

"He was the model student. But he asked odd questions."

"Mr. Potter, stop right there," Slughorn said seriously, getting to his feet so quickly his body fat wobbled and jiggled.

"He wanted to know what Horcruxes were," Harry went on as if no interruption had occurred. "What are Horcruxes, sir?"

"Dumbledore sent you here, didn't he?" Slughorn asked furiously. "I knew I shouldn't have come back here. Of course he wanted something from me. He showed you that memory, didn't he? Yes, he has, hasn't he? Of course, but then you know there is no more to it."

His voice was becoming increasingly erratic the longer he spoke, yet Harry remained calm and in control. Freaking out would not go down well.

"Sir, it is important."

"My memories, Mr. Potter, are mine," Slughorn retorted angrily. With a deft wave of his wand, the remaining mixture flew out of the cauldron and filled the flask forcefully, some spilling over to the side in the emotionally controlled piece of magic. Harry faced the Professor and looked up at him in the eye.

"As are mine, mine," Harry said honestly. "But we can choose to part with them for the good of others."

"The good of others, my dear boy!" Slughorn exclaimed exasperatedly. He waved his wand a second time and the flasks were sent flying towards the shelves on the edge of the room. Magic saved them from a detrimental end as they ground to a halt and, perhaps a little too forcefully, seated themselves on the shelf.

"There is no more to that memory than you have seen," Slughorn followed up adamantly, paying the rough treatment of the potions no heed.

"We both know that isn't true," Harry responded ever calmly. While the carelessness of the wand use was disconcerting, he knew that he was is no danger. An angry potions mentor was the worst outcome, along with failure to complete the assignment handed down by the Headmaster.

"That is quite enough, Mr. Potter," Slughorn said, walking to his desk and began fiddling with everything distractedly.

Harry stood slowly and faced the agitated man.

"You liked my mother, didn't you?" he asked, stating the obvious. Slughorn hadn't exactly been quiet about his praise about Lily Evans.

"Liked her?" he repeated incredulously. "How could I not? Brilliant at almost everything she put her mind to. Had she … had she …sur –"

"-Survived," added Harry helpfully. Slughorn shot him an irritated look.

"Yes, well, she didn't, did she?" he said irritably. Frustrated, he slammed his palms onto his desk, a tin of quills falling to the floor with an echoing clatter.

"You know your memory, and I know why Lily Potter was killed," Harry said, taking a step forward, his eyes on the man with the memory. "I believe they are connected."

Slughorn faced him, horrified.

"Dumbledore needs that memory, sir," said Harry whispered, though his voice carried in the acoustics of the room. "Voldemort –" Slughorn choked at the word. "- must be stopped. Are you going to let him get off scot free for killing Lily Evans?"

"You have to understand, Harry…" pleaded Slughorn. His demeanour was changing again, this time sullen and, possibly, fearful. "I can't just give it to you…"

"Why not?" pressured Harry impatiently. He was so close!

"It isn't that simple!" shouted Slughorn indignantly.

"Why isn't it?" he replied just as strongly. Slughorn met his eyes for a second. He saw it in there.

"You're afraid," Harry said pointedly. "That he'll find out you helped me. You shouldn't be. If these Horcruxes are important to Voldemort, he'll seek you out regardless of what you do. It won't matter."

Slughorn failed to respond.

"Basilisk ingredients are rare, right? They are worth a lot?" asked Harry. Slughorn nodded. "Then I'll take you to the one here. You can have whatever you can take at once and then once the year is over, leave. Leave England and don't return."

"I – I – I …" Slughorn struggled to say anything. He watched Harry, his face displaying a wide range of emotions from fear to self-doubt, to apprehension and, finally, acceptance.

With a tremendous and fearful sigh, he withdrew a small vial from a drawer in his desk. The top was removed and seconds later resided the memory Harry was after.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said sincerely as he took the bottle from an outstretched hand.

"I thank you, Harry, for giving me the option of leaving England. I must however decline," he said, his voice disheartened. "England is my home. I survived a year on the run; I'll survive awhile longer, m'boy."

Harry contemplated leading the man to the Chamber now. He had been serious in offering to lead him down there. The man, though, was in no condition to focus on gathering precious, delicate potion ingredients. If the potions master still sought out the Basilisk in the morning, Harry would lead him to it another day.

He had done it. It seemed so easy in the end. Perhaps luck was on his side? Regardless, pocketing the memory, Harry turned to make his exit. Without getting into an emotional filled argument, he'd managed to weed out the memory.

Daphne would be so proud.

Without another word, for he had naught to say, Harry left the dungeons, leaving a suddenly tearful Slughorn to his demons.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"Just open, please," Harry said, irritated at the gargoyles blocking his progress after three failed attempts at the password.

Unsurprisingly, they did not respond to him. Though he could've sworn the one on the left rolled his eyes at him. Smart aleck…

Harried footsteps reached his ears moments later as Harry contemplated his next guess. He spun on the spot, hand reaching for his wand in what was becoming a standard practice when being caught by surprise. His training, both with his Professors and the DA, was doing wonders for his battle readiness.

The move needn't have been necessary, as Harry found out a second later, when the Hufflepuff Head of House bustled into the corridor.

"Mr. Potter," Professor Sprout addressed him, surprised. "What are you doing here so late?"

Harry checked his new watch and noted the time was nearing eleven p.m. His lesson with Slughorn had run a little late, thanks to his questioning.

"Professor Dumbledore and I have something we need to talk about," Harry answered the Herbology teacher politely. "Though, I do not know the password."

"Come on, then," said waved at him to follow her as she stepped up to the gargoyles.

"Ice Mice," she said authoritatively, a contradiction to the odd password. The gargoyles shifted dutifully and the passageway opened. The two stepped onto the revolving stairs and let them move them upstairs.

"Something wrong, Professor?" inquired Harry at the fidgeting nature of the woman.

"Not at all, Mr. Potter," she assured him. "Just something seems to have been misplaced in one of my greenhouses."

Harry wasn't convinced.

"Enter." Dumbledore's voice reverberated in the small room at Sprout's knock.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Professor Sprout, what can I do for you two this late evening?" Dumbledore greeted cheerfully, setting down what looked to be a foreign newspaper. Harry had to wonder when and for how long the man slept. Every time he was here, regardless of the hour, Dumbledore was ever alert and, seemingly, waiting for him.

"You first, Professor," Harry gestured the floor to Sprout. The Professor acknowledged him briefly before stepping forward.

"Albus, a large portion of chervil has vanished from Greenhouse six," Sprout intoned with the utmost seriousness. Dumbledore's brow creased.

Harry furrowed his own brow and tried to recall what chervil was. It did ring a bell but he couldn't recall where he'd heard it or what it was exactly.

"And you are quite certain, Pomona?" asked Dumbledore gently, interlacing his fingers with each other, elbows on the magnificently crafted desk before him.

"I have double and triple checked, Albus," Sprout replied, irritated. Of course she would have rechecked in case she'd made a mistake.

"I will look into it in the morning," agreed Dumbledore, nodding. "Thank you for notifying me."

Sprout, her business concluded, wished Harry a good night and left.

"What brings you to my office at such a late hour, Harry? Dumbledore asked once Sprout had closed the door behind her.

"What's chervil?

"I believe that Mr. Longbottom may be able to provide you with a better explanation," replied Dumbledore with a trace of amusement. "However, I can tell you that is a fairly widespread herb in Muggle society."

Harry slapped his hand to his forehead. "Oh, now I remember. It's an herb of some sort. A Muggle one. Aunt Petunia has some in her yard." He paused. "Why is it so serious if some chervil has gone missing? It's fairly common, as you said."

Dumbledore eyed Harry as if contemplating to answer him or not. "When grown in the right conditions and with a certain type of fertilizer, chervil gains special medicinal properties that are valuable to us. Hogwarts is the only known location in Britain to be cultivating this special form of chervil."

"Medicinal properties?"

"Chervil heals a variety of ailments. Burns, however, are healed quite effectively." Dumbledore continued to smile. Yet Harry felt the former conversation was over.

Harry removed from his pocket the vial filled with the memory he had sought and placed it between them on the desk. Dumbledore eyes never left Harry's as he placed the bottle on the table.

"Have you acquired the memory from Horace?" he asked, eyes twinkling, an old, tired smile on his face.

"Yes sir."

"Excellent, Harry," replied Dumbledore brightly. His smile grew and he seemed to be filled with youthful energy unbefitting of his age.

The Headmaster rose and retrieved his Pensieve from the cabinet it called home.

"Let us, Harry, travel once more into the past, for the answers to the present lay there."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Horcruxes.

Horcruxes.

Horcruxes.

A piece of soul imbued in an object, binding the soul to the earth.

And what was the price for such an act?

Murder.

What kind of person would do such a thing? What kind of person would tear their soul into pieces through murder and magically bind their soul to the earth?

It was impossible. It was inconceivable. It was a disgusting, vile and tortuous path to reach the closest to immortality any human could achieve.

But it was possible, it was conceivable, and had been done.

Riddle's Diary had been a Horcrux. A piece of soul imbued in an object that had slowly but surely overtaken the mind of Ginny Weasley as she poured her heart into it. It had manifested into a corporeal being as Ginny's strength had left her through their connection. Harry had pondered what magic could do such a feat while re-watching the trials in the Chamber of Secrets weeks earlier, and somehow this had not come as much of a surprise as he had expected it to.

Two of the same being had to have the same soul, didn't they? He knew Riddle had had a soul. There was no chance that that methodical and intelligent teenager had been a mindless drone, what Harry had heard the victims of the Dementors Kiss became.

Marvolo Gaunt's prized ring was also a Horcrux, one that had cost Dumbledore his hand to destroy. Riddle had mentioned seven in his conversation with Slughorn. Dumbledore was not leaping to conclusions when he had expressed his opinion that there were seven pieces to Voldemort's soul.

Two were gone, but that left four Horcruxes and Voldemort himself to destroy.

Hufflepuff's Cup and Slytherin's Locket were two possibilities for other Horcruxes. The other two, though, Dumbledore had no educated guesses for, except for the possibility that they were an item of Ravenclaw and an item of Gryffindor, to round off the number nicely.

The only known item, to Harry, of Ravenclaw's was the diadem Padma had mentioned what seemed an age ago in her common room. It was lost, however, centuries ago.

Similarly, Gryffindor's only known item was the sword, and Voldemort had not had access to that. Dumbledore would've known if it were a Horcrux, as it was in his office, right under his nose, day in and day out. A man of that calibre wouldn't miss something like that.

A few hours before, his only task was to survive against the Death Eaters and then defeat Voldemort in a duel. Now, however, he had to destroy four pieces of Voldemort's soul and then defeat a wizard capable of binding his soul to the earth through murder?

His task had become monumentally harder.

-x-x-x-x-x-

"I – I can't believe it." Hermione whispered in disbelief, leaning back onto Harry's messed up sheets as they sat alone in his dorm room on his bed.

It was the following day. Hermione had already gone off to bed by the time Harry had returned from Dumbledore's office, and even if she hadn't, he needed time to sort out his mind, to make sense of Horcruxes. Now, the two had free periods. Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville were out and about, giving them the solitude they required without resorting to traversing the castle in search of an empty room.

As would perhaps forever be, Hermione was the first Harry went to to discuss matters. The time where she and Ron had retreated into their own relationship had long since passed. She was back and, if she had any say in it, back to stay.

"I've heard of magics with the soul," continued Hermione in the same soft, awed and fearful voice. "But nothing has ever alluded to this."

"This isn't something that would easily be found in the library," Harry reminded her, watching her eyes open and close repeatedly as she digested this information. "Dumbledore has probably removed all references to it from the books there. Horcruxes must be one of the Darker magics in existence. He wouldn't want someone to stumble upon it."

"That is a reasonable assumption," Hermione concurred with a small nod. The motion was hampered by the fact she was lying down on Harry's bed. Her bushy, untamed hair was spilled out above her head. Her legs were raised and feet were planted on the sheets. Harry shifted uncomfortably on his bed when he discovered his eyes were lingering too long on parts of her to be considered completely innocent.

"This … this changes our situation with the others." Hermione stated solemnly, interrupting Harry's musings.

"I know," Harry agreed dejectedly, leaning back into his headboard and training his eyes elsewhere, his right hand twiddling with his DA ring. "We have to tell them. And give them the choice to back out or not. Nobody could have seen this coming."

Hermione agreed without any hesitation, and promptly changed the subject.

"How are you coping?" she asked, sitting herself up and watching him, though he was watching the ceiling.

"I'm fine," Harry replied automatically, immediately putting a halt to his fidgeting.

"Honestly, Harry, you would think that after five and a half years you would know that that doesn't work on me," Hermione chided both seriously and amusedly at the same time.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at her predictable response. Merlin knew what he would ever do without her, if only for the laughs he could share with her.

Head lolled to the side, he looked at his half cross, half amused best friend.

"Honestly, Hermione, I don't know how I'm taking it," Harry replied seriously. "It hasn't really sunk in, I don't think, what this all means. I thought it was just…" he sighed, "killing Voldemort. But there's a lot more to it now."

Hermione was silent for a moment, alternating between watching Harry and biting her lower lip, thinking, wanting to say something. The silence was only broken by the noises of students and animals outside the castle, braving the still cool winter air and breeze. The windows to the room were open ajar to let in fresh air.

"Voldemort is going to have his Horcruxes heavily protected," Hermione cautioned.

"I've come closer to immortality than any other," Harry recited as best he could remember. Hermione gave him an odd look, replaced with an understanding one a moment later. "Voldemort has made more Horcruxes than any other known wizard. And they're difficult to destroy." Harry shuffled forward on his bed and lay down on his pillow, unintentionally causing the bed to shake and disturb Hermione. She let out a small huff of disapproval that Harry didn't hear.

"Riddle's Diary nearly killed Ginny and you, and the Slytherin's Ring cost Dumbledore his hand," Hermione thought aloud, looking down at Harry.

"I know," Harry said warily, facing her. "If, and God how I hope it isn't the case, Voldemort notices his Horcruxes are being targeted, he'll make absolutely certain that nobody can get to them. That is if the rest aren't already under Fidelius or something."

Hermione crossed her legs and slouched forward, furrowing her brow as she hammered her brain into action.

"I don't think we have to fear that."

"Why not?"

"Dumbledore managed to find Slytherin's Ring. It can't have been under the Fidelius."

Harry conceded the point, but was still a little distressed.

"We've been lucky," Hermione admitted. "Dumbledore found the Ring for us and the Diary was a mistake by Lucius Malfoy. Does he have any ideas where the others are hidden?"

"Educated guesswork," replied Harry quietly, "only takes you so far."

"Meaning he doesn't have any real leads?"

"That I know of, but that isn't saying much," Harry said disappointedly. "For all I know he knows where they are, but is content to tell me at the last moment, or once it's too late."

The promise to take him along the next time Dumbledore found a Horcrux location was not held in high esteem for the moment. Their tenuous relationship over the past two years continued to end each day unresolved. Frankly, Harry wasn't prepared to fully trust the Headmaster until he had finally leveled with him completely, as he had no doubts there was more to tell.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin searching for them," Harry added, waving his hand offhandedly. "They could be all over the world."

"We'll find a way," Hermione replied with conviction, staring him dead in the eyes. Her face was set in an expression he knew all too well.

Harry blinked.

"We'll…?"

"Oh, you better not get heroic and self-sacrificing on me, Harry James Potter," Hermione spoke warningly, shifting forward onto her knees. "I said we'll and I mean we'll."

Her eyes flashed with emotion and conviction, and she added in a low voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

Harry blinked at the intensity. Had he not been lying down already, it was possible the power behind Hermione's gaze could have forced him to.

"It'll be dangerous." He couldn't deny that he was worried for her safety. She had been petrified, her hands covered in Bubotuber Pus and nearly killed by Dolohov, to name a few things, because of him. This task would be much, much worse than their previous experiences.

"The wizarding world is dangerous, Harry. We know that better than most." Hermione countered immediately. She knelt in front of him, a hand holding her up on one side of him, the rest of her body on the other, trapping him, with her face quite close to his.

There was a time recently that they had been nearly this close and Harry couldn't help but take the back seat as his mind replayed that scene in early December. So close they had been to kissing each other, and here they were again, and it had not even been intentional.

Harry involuntarily licked his lips.

The sudden movement drew the attention of the brown eyes of Hermione Granger for a moment, before shooting back to Harry's conflicted green eyes. Her own were no less determined than ever.

She retreated slightly, grabbed a hold on his robes, gently, and pulled him back up to her level. Hermione didn't let go her hold on him in their new position.

"Were you planning on telling me to stay behind or something, Harry?" she asked quietly. He could almost hear the hurt in her voice. "Have I given you any reason to think otherwise? God knows why you would have even started the DA up this way if you weren't going to believe that at least I would stay with you."

Harry conceded her point, but could not dismiss the worry he felt for each and everyone one of his friends, and her especially.

"I…" he trailed off, not sure what to say.

Hermione moved in a little closer. The rate of their breathing quickened. The change, however, went unnoticed.

"Harry," she said evenly, quietly, staring him deep in the eyes. Harry, taken aback by the entire movement and situation didn't make to move or relinquish her hold on him. "I'm making this clear to you now, okay?"

Harry nodded, swallowing, the conviction in her voice and her proximity doing funny things to his head.

"I am joining you when you leave Hogwarts, Harry," Hermione said with all the conviction she had in her. "I may not like some of the things we have to do, but Horcruxes or not, I will support you and stand by you until you've ended this once and for all. I promise."

A long silence ensued. Harry was searching Hermione's face, searching for something he didn't quite understand himself. Perhaps it was some sort of visible sign that would dismiss her words as false, perhaps the opposite. Hermione held his gaze unflinchingly, almost challengingly.

After an age, Harry let out a small but genuine smile.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, allowing herself to blink at last. She relaxed and smiled slightly at Harry, happy with the result. Honestly, she had been expecting more resistance. Then again, Harry now had grasped the importance of not doing everything on his own. The DA wouldn't exist otherwise.

She wiped away moisture in her eyes that Hermione would only admit to being there because they were open so long.

"Oh, Harry," she whispered, brushing the last of the moisture aside, and, to his surprise, reached out and enveloped him in a hug. "Don't ever doubt it."

His reactions a bit behind due to reasons undecipherable by his mind, Harry belatedly raised his own hands and hugged back. It was a light hold, similar to those he had shared with other females in his life and, Harry couldn't help but think, did not do justice to the moment.

He pulled her closer, nestling his head on her shoulder and hers on his a moment later, after her surprise wore off. Her hair tickled at his face. Harry realized in their years of friendship that they'd never been this close before.

He ignored the tickling, however, and closed his mind off to any outside forces or disruptions, concentrating solely on the sounds of his friend's breathing and the surprisingly addictive feel of her body against his. Partly unconsciously and partly not, he pulled her in a little tighter, savouring the moment, the feeling.

Harry unconsciously craved this kind of contact. He did not have it as he grew up, no memory of a mother's touch. The gentleness of a feminine touch, something that Hermione was providing, was something he desired, even if his conscious mind didn't understand that. So he wanted this to continue, he wanted it not to end.

Hermione let out a gasp at the strength Harry exhibited but did not complain. If anything, she tightened her own hold for her own reasons. Perhaps she was fearful that if he let go, he would disappear, that the moment would end. Perhaps not.

The two of them had not shared many moments since the school year had started. That night had cost them almost an entire term of close friendship because of Ginny, her ambitions and her jealousy. It was as if all those missed moments they should have had were poured into this one, sole moment of sworn loyalty and friendship.

Hermione's conviction, her promise to stay with him through everything, though it would destroy her own dreams of being Head Girl and becoming the best student Hogwarts had had in many years, meant more than anything to Harry. Hermione, who had stayed with him through their troubled beginnings, their tumultuous adventures, near death experiences, mass murderers, rigged tournaments, his own attitude problems, and spell induced dilemmas, would continue to stick with him in these final, undoubtedly harsh and dangerous, steps toward the end. Consequences be damned. She would stay with him.

"Thank you," Harry leaned back and whispered in her ear.

Hermione raised her own head and faced him side-on, a hand reaching out and stroking Harry's cheek gently. She looked tired, but one of the happiest smiles he had ever seen on her face was there for him and him alone. "You're a prat for thinking otherwise," she said softly.

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt he didn't deserve this loyalty; felt he didn't deserve this friendship. She was sacrificing so much for him. And what could he do for her in return? Make sure she wasn't brutally murdered?

His thoughts were halted when Hermione began stroking his cheek again. It felt so soft, so gentle, and so nice... if time would just stop for him; let him savor this moment a little longer….

A rather loud and phony cough interrupted the moment. Harry and Hermione jumped at the sound, releasing each other, and Hermione, who had leant forward to embrace Harry, found herself ungracefully scrambling to sit back up, after overbalancing and crashing into Harry and then his bed.

The Silencing Charm that Harry always put up was brought down once Harry helped Hermione to sit up, blushing something amazing, and gathered his wand.

"Neville," Harry acknowledged.

"Harry, Hermione." Neville nodded to them both seriously, though poorly concealed was his interest in what had just transpired between two of his best friends.

"Don't even think it," Harry warned him, getting to his feet, seeing his roommate's interest. Just what he needed was more rumours about him. They were always fun.

"Hey, I saw nothing untoward, Harry." Neville raised his palms defensively.

Hermione stood up and fixed her own robes, an act that was probably a little suspicious in itself. She didn't meet Neville's eyes as she bid Harry a hurried farewell and left the room quickly.

Once the sound of her footsteps had disappeared Neville's will gave out and he sent Harry a large grin.

"So… are you and Hermione…?"

Harry sighed, expecting it but not disliking it any less.

"So… are you and Katie…?" countered Harry deftly, fixing his ruffled bed with a quick wave of his wand and then pocketing it, facing his roommate, ignoring the surprisingly strong hardness beneath his robes. The things women were doing to him these days…

Neville blushed a blush that could have rivalled Hermione's had she stayed.

"You'll understand later tonight, Neville," Harry explained. "After dinner, I have something to tell you all."

Neville cocked an unconvinced eyebrow, but quickly sobered, sensing the seriousness of the situation. He was glad for it, admittedly, and left the stammered excuses he was coming up with about his… whatever it was… with Katie, in his head.

"Got it," replied Neville, who promptly went to his bed, found the book he had originally come up for and returned to the stairwell and the common room.

Harry sighed and lay back down on his bed once he was alone again. He removed his glasses and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes, trying not to imagine what would have happened if he and Hermione had not been interrupted, for that would not help his condition.

Things had just gotten so much more complicated.

And he wasn't only thinking of the Horcruxes.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Harry stood still, wand raised, prepared for his next attempt at parrying.

Flitwick, ever patient, stood at the opposite of the room again.

"Ready, Harry?"

Brow furrowed in response, Harry tensed and gave a curt nod to his Charms Professor.

Instantly Flitwick's wand started into action, a quick, well practiced flick the movement.

Harry, concentrating strongly on the spell rocketing towards him, waited until the right moment and sent a slither of magic through his wand. He pictured invisible threads of magic reaching out and latching onto the oncoming spell. With the movement of his wand, Harry redirected the spell off course.

The spell whizzed past Harry's right shoulder, ruffling his robes, and connected with the wall behind him, dissipating instantly as the protections the castle had absorbed the damage.

Flitwick jumped on the spot and began applauding.

"Very good, Harry!" squeaked the Professor.

"Again," Harry ordered forcefully. He had not relaxed or moved from his position, except to bring his wand back in front of him.

Flitwick quieted almost abruptly. His demeanor changed, regarding his student seriously and, seeing something, he nodded, raising his wand again.

The same thing occurred.

Harry's magic expelled from his wand and barely redirected the spell past his right shoulder.

"Again."

This time, Flitwick cast an Impedimenta Hex. Harry did not visibly react to the change in routine, continuing to stay focused on the spell fired at him.

His magic expelled from his wand in the same fashion, the imagined threads latching onto the oncoming spell, and was redirected to the side once more.

Flitwick, without waiting for the order, cast again, and again and again, faster and faster. Harry was forced to move when he took too long to parry. He was no longer allowed the same amount of time to concentrate on each particular spell. In a real duel, this is more what it would be like. Spell after spell, no convenient pauses to re-gather himself. He had to be alert, on the move, be able to cast as easily as he breathed.

The walls of Hogwarts received a beating over the next three minutes. Over fifty spells collided with the wall behind Harry, who had kept moving from start to finish. His robes were smouldering, several spells having burnt through bits of the fabric on one the few occasions he had not been quick enough on his feet or with his wand. One had grazed his skin slightly, leaving a small but minor cut.

"That is enough, I believe, for tonight, Harry," Flitwick announced in a voice that brokered no argument. Harry nodded; panting from the concentration and physical exertion the evening had taken out of him, and fell to his knees, wand dropping at his side.

He let out a relieved laugh.

He finally got it.

Harry remained on the ground for a several minutes catching his breath and smiling to himself. It looked like he didn't need to bother Hermione into helping him learn parrying into the early hours of the morning, like he had with the Summoning Charm so long ago.

Thinking of her… he wasn't sure what to make of their newest situation. Was it only he who had felt something more, as if it had more substance than ever before, to their embrace? Or was he reading too much into it? He had the same reaction to Padma, had the same reaction to Fleur… though she perhaps wasn't the best example.

Harry sat back up and shook his head clear. He had to meet the group. The first meeting since…

Considering everything, the meeting was a success, yet…

They started with twelve. Now they had eleven.

-x-x-x-x-x-

A/N: I originally intended to have the DA meeting scene in this chapter too, but this felt long enough at nearly fifteen thousand words. That, and this serves as a better cliff-hanger than the practically non-existent one that would occur otherwise. It also means that the next chapter won't be so visibly shorter in comparison to the previous two.

Slughorn trading the memory for the large monetary value of Basilisk products is hardly original, but after watching Chamber of Secrets earlier in the evening when I originally wrote this scene (the scene in the Chamber is one of my favourites from the movies), it felt right to do that. Playing on the man's greed is what JK did, anyway. Just with an Acromantula rather than the Basilisk.

On the subject of Horcruxes, I plan to have them in different locales (might have been mentioned); in case you couldn't tell by Harry having the locket but not realizing it. I do ask if there are any fics around that contain well done Horcrux defenses as I expect Voldemort would use his darkest and most secret magics to protect his own 'precious'.