Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize isn't mine, and as no money is being made from this story, I can't see how it matters, anyway.

A/N: Okay, this chapter is a bit longer than the ones previous, simply because I needed to cover quite a bit of time. However, no one can complain about how long it took to post after the long delay for the last chapter! I think I did rather well, considering.

This chapter brings us up to late March/early April of 1998. We see some interaction with Mike and his family, more on BKE, some of Amelia and Harry, some of Harry's advanced tutelage, and I also reveal Harry's animagus form. I probably should have cut this to two chappies, but I wanted to get this all out of the way, so I could get closer to the scenes that inspired this fic. :-)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Busy, Busy, Busy

Monday, February 9, 1998 dawned clear and bitingly cold. Harry rushed through his morning routine, intent on dropping by the art supply store before school. He noticed that though he was still rather bruised, the salve the healer at Saint Mungo's gave him deadened any pain and loosened all the stiffness that had built up overnight. As he combed his hair out of his eyes, he debated on going to a barber that afternoon. Hmm… Maybe if I let it grow some, my hair won't be so… untamable. He pulled on his uniform, wondering what had happened to the clothes he'd worn to the concert the night before. He had a vague memory of Jenn handing him a pile of clothes with a comment about how doctors needed to learn how to undress someone without destroying the clothing in the process. He wasn't sure, though. Morphine was a pretty powerful drug, after all. Despite that, however, Harry wasn't even tempted to try it recreationally. He hated not having full control of himself and awareness of his surroundings.

Harry hurried to the kitchen and cobbled together a sandwich from a fried egg, some bacon, and a buttered scone. "Morning, Jenn."

"Good morning," Jenn replied, moving some more bacon from the frying pan to a plate. "Sleep well?"

Harry nodded, mouth full. He swallowed and grabbed his mug off the counter, draining the tea it held in one go. "Yeah. No odd dreams or visions last night. I think it's a remnant of those painkillers the doctors had me on."

Jenn's eyes narrowed, no doubt she was feeling lingering anger at Dudley. "Feeling better?"

"A thousand percent, Jenn. I was a little sore when I got up, but that stuff the healer gave me seems to work really well." Harry hurriedly finished his breakfast.

"In a rush?"

Harry nodded again, "Mmhmm. I forgot to pick up some things I'll need for my 2D art class this afternoon. Thought I'd grab them on the way to school."

"Before you go, I spoke with Andie this morning. She's going to be contacting the police for us to inform them we are definitely pressing charges against your cousin."

Harry nodded, "I figured as much. Keep me posted on what's going on in that quarter, won't you?"

"Of course. Drive safe, Harry. It rained late last night, and then froze when the temperature dropped this morning. It's sure to be awfully slick out."

"Will do," Harry gave Jenn a quick hug and headed for the door.

Jennifer was right – it was really slick out. Harry almost slid right off the front steps. Luckily, the lock on his truck had been in the lee of the wind, and so was ice-free. While waiting for the truck to warm enough for the ice on the windshield to be scraped off, Harry was struck with inspiration. He pulled his wand out of its holster and incanted a warming charm on the windows. They cleared in record time. Harry grinned. Nifty. I'll have to look into finding a spell to make that permanent… He backed out of the drive, very carefully, and slowly made his way to a nearby shopping center. He arrived just as the art store was opening, and hurried inside, grateful that the crew that tended to this particular parking lot had already been out and cleared the majority of the ice away. It only took Harry a few minutes to locate and purchase the art supplies he needed. He also purchased a rather large canvas; it was easily six feet to each side, and was slightly longer than it was wide. He wasn't really sure why, exactly, he'd purchased it, but it had been the only one of that size the store had. If nothing else, he could use it for his final project.

Having finished ahead of schedule at the art store, Harry figured that he had plenty of time to get a few other items on his internal shopping list and still have ample time to get to school. With the sun rising, he noticed that the temperature was rising right alongside it. By the time it was he pulled into the school parking lot, most of the ice on the roads was starting to melt. The ice may be melting, but it's still ruddy cold out. Harry thought as he hurried to his first class of the day.

His classes progressed normally, and Mr. Thatcher – his art instructor – gave Harry permission to store the massive canvas in his supply closet. After school, Harry stopped by the mall and wandered around for a couple of hours. He didn't buy much, and what he did get was mostly some CD's from a music store or some more clothes. He had an early supper in the food court and while he was finishing up his fish and chips, he bumped – literally – into Amelia.

"Hey!" Amelia sounded indignant until she turned to see who had caused her to slosh her drink onto her shoes. "Oh, hi, Harry!" Her scowl brightened to a grin. "Didn't expect to see you here!"

Harry smiled at her, "Me, neither. I mean, seeing you here, not seeing me here, because I know I'm here and how could I see myself here anyway? Unless there was a mirror or something like that – " Realizing he was babbling incoherently, Harry clamped a hand over his mouth in horror. He could tell he was bright red.

Amelia laughed. "Don't worry. I get it. Oh!" She pulled her backpack off and rummaged around in it. "I saved your CD Saturday. Here," she handed the disk to him.

Harry took it with his free hand and mumbled a muffled, "Fnnk oo."

"Huh? You might be a bit more clear if you moved your hand, Harry," Amelia was smiling brightly.

Harry shook his head, "O. Eessr a nt ee a ork ik iss."

Amelia couldn't help it, she broke down into childish giggles. Harry could feel his face brightening from normal red to that bordering-on-fire-engine-red that practically glowed in the dark. "What was that? This time in the Queen's English, if you please."

Harry removed his hand from his mouth. "Sorry. I said thanks about the CD."

"And the rest?" Amelia's eyes were dancing with mirth.

"Oh… I just said that it was easier not to be a dork with my hand up."

Amelia snorted in a very unladylike manner, "That so?"

Harry merely nodded.

"Whatever, Harry," she glanced at her watch. "Yikes! Is it really almost six? I've got to get going! I was supposed to be home a half an hour ago!"

"You should probably go, then," Harry replied. "Don't want you getting into trouble on account of me."

Amelia shrugged, "I don't think this could in any way be your fault. I just stayed too long in that new store that opened up on the second level."

"See you Friday."

"Yeah, see you later, Harry!" She pulled her backpack on and hurried towards the exit. She turned and waived at him before pulling her coat tighter and heading outside.

Harry took a deep breath. Why is it that I always feel like the world's biggest idiot around her? He mentally shrugged in response to his own question. Wonder if anyone else has this problem? Harry gathered his purchases and headed home himself.

Tuesday was a touch warmer than Monday had been, and after he was done with school, Harry went over to Sirius' house. The animagus was going to start showing him how to think strategically. Harry wondered how Sirius would do this – the failed animagus lessons were thick in his thoughts.

"Pup!" Sirius greeted his godson with hot chocolate and a quick hug. "Come on, I've got everything set up in the parlor."

Harry couldn't help but think, 'Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.' He followed Sirius, though, sipping on the coco. He saw that there was a tall stack of games on the coffee table. There were both wizarding and muggle games piled there, including Conqueror's March, Risk, checkers, backgammon, and chess, among others. "What's all this? I thought you were supposed to be teaching me strategy, not playing games?"

Sirius grinned playfully. "That's just it, Pup. All these games are based rather heavily in strategy. You have to think one step ahead of your opponent in order to win. I thought we'd start easy and work our way up to the hard ones. Moony even gave me a list of the games in the order we should play them. When you beat me three games out of five, we'll move on to the next hardest game. They're all out right now because I wanted to let you know what games we would be working with."

"All right… I'm still not convinced, but I'll trust you."

"Good plan," the former Marauder smirked before outlining the objective of all the games that Harry had never heard of before. They started playing about half an hour later. Their first game was called 'mancala,' and involved moving small stones through what looked like a wooden egg crate. It was relatively simple, and Harry easily won, though he'd used the same strategy all three times. Sirius shrugged and said that though he was pretty good at the harder games of strategy, he had never been all that fond of mancala. "Tomorrow, after you're done with school, Remus wants to work with you on apparation for an hour or two, and then he'll take you to Hogwarts for your animagus studies. He also mentioned that Snape said your potion was almost done setting."

Harry grinned and helped Sirius put away the games, "That's good. I wonder what I'll be?"

Sirius shrugged, "I'd hate to guess… I was completely wrong about your house, so I don't think I'd fare much better with this."

"Why not guess? I want to know your reasoning."

Sirius sat the last of the games in their cabinet to the right of the fireplace. "Hmm… Just guessing, I'd say something along the lines of a wild cat of some sort… Maybe a lynx or bobcat. They're really smart, quick, agile, and can be pretty nasty if cornered."

Harry shook his head, "Somehow, I don't see myself as a cat…"

"Well… If you could pick, what would you chose?"

"But you can't pick your own animagus form."

"But if you could, what would you want to be?"

Harry sprawled on the sofa. "Hmm… I don't know… I know I wouldn't want to be an insect – I don't fancy the thought of accidentally getting squished." Sirius chuckled. "But, I wouldn't want to be something really big, either. It strikes me that the practicality of being an elephant animagus is rather… limited. There has to be something that's a nice middle ground… Maybe a dog, like you, or a fox."

"Not that I'm not flattered, but why a dog?"

Harry shrugged, "Because they're common enough that having another 'stray' in the area won't be suspicious, and because – despite common belief – they have excellent senses, even sight. Dogs don't miss much. At least, nothing important." He smirked at his godfather, "Though, how you ended up so oblivious, we'll probably never know!"

Sirius got an indignant look on his face and threw a pillow at Harry, "Hey!"

Harry laughed in response.

Wednesday afternoon, Harry was catching up on some of his muggle homework when his phone rang. A glance at his caller-id showed that it was a restricted number. "Hello?"

"Harry?"

"Yeah… Who's this?"

"Nigel. Listen, you doing anything important this evening?"

Harry grimaced, and it showed in his voice. "Kind of. I've got a ten-page research paper due on Friday for my physics class."

"Oh?" Nigel sounded enthusiastic. "Atomic, astro, or physical?"

Harry snickered, "Sub-atomic."

"Specific topic?"

"The principles of Newtonian gravitational theory as they relate to neutrons."

Harry heard a loud, mocking yawn. "How dull. Examining a topic discussed a trillion times already. Why is it that secondary school never branches out to explore the really interesting topics?"

"Such as?"

"Oh… String theory. The principles of dark matter. Sub-sub-atomic particles like quarks."

"No idea. What did you need?"

"Oh, I just wanted to chat with you about that idea you told me about a while back. If you want, I could come by and help you with that paper."

"Far be it for me to turn down expert help on homework, even though I like the topic. The teachers seem to think that since it's our last year, we should get used to having a workload engineered to bring about as many nervous breakdowns as possible. So… See you in an hour or so?"

Nigel laughed, "Definitely."

Three hours later, Harry was finishing up typing the bibliography for his paper. "What's the MLA style for citing a living person as a reference?"

Nigel shrugged, "No idea. Look it up. That's why the internet is there, you know."

Harry did so, finished entering Nigel as a source, and printed the paper. "Thanks."

"No problem. Anytime. And now, to the really fun stuff. Did you really mean what you said about a magical computer?"

Harry nodded and pulled up the potions program that Jenn had created. "Yeah. This is just one example of why. Professor Snape has tested it out and said that it was most useful. He hasn't said so, but I think he'd be first in line if we could mass-produce this program and have a system that would run it in a magic-heavy area."

Nigel let out a low whistle as he quickly scanned through parts of the program. "This is really a good idea, you know. I always thought the magical world was a bit too wrapped up in themselves. Technology is a wonderful thing."

"When it works."

"True."

"So… What did you decide about working for me?"

Nigel exited the program and looked up at Harry, who was standing near the foot of his bed. "It's an intriguing concept. Why do you think you can make it work when others have tried – and failed – previously?"

Harry took a deep breath and sank onto his bed. "You know – I'm sure – about dark matter, right?"

Nigel nodded, "What's that to do with anything?"

"Well… Science isn't really sure what it is, right?" Nigel nodded. "I think that the muggles are detecting magic and don't know it yet. It's the 'yet' part that has me worried. As it stands, should the muggle world become aware of an entire subculture of people who – in comparison to them – are practically godlike in the power they wield, it would bring about another Dark Age, only this time, I don't think either side would survive."

Nigel agreed thoughtfully. "I know, but what do you propose to do about it? It's not like we can just demand everyone play nice."

Harry chuckled, albeit a little humorlessly, "But we could do just that, Nigel. That's why I don't think that the current world atmosphere is at the right level to just thrust everyone together without so much as an, 'Oh, yeah, there's real magic out there, so beware people carrying little sticks.'"

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not just talking about bringing the wizarding world into the twentieth century?"

"Because I'm not," Harry's expression grew intense and a heretofore unheard level of passion laced his tone. "I'm talking about merging the two cultures, Nigel. It has to be done very carefully, though. The first few steps involve introducing wizards to technology more advanced than the average wireless set. The next couple involve scientifically relating the facts of magic to muggles. Of course, we won't be able to come right out and call it that. It's going to take some research on our part, too. I'm sure that the Human Genome Project will eventually locate the genes responsible for magic-control… Not to mention that we'll have to get involved in politics… If you want in, I can guarantee it'll be worth it. But if not, then I'll understand. This is probably going to take my entire life to pull off."

"You realize that – barring unnatural death – wizards live an average of a hundred and fifty years, don't you?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "I know. I don't care if I spend the next century working towards this goal – I'm going to do it."

Nigel gave Harry a lopsided smile, "You know, I believe you. And… I'm in. I take it you want me to work on the technology side of things, especially since any contacts I once had in the wizarding world are a good twenty years out-of-date?"

"Spot-on. You'll be working with Arthur Weasley and his sons, Fred and George."

"Where? We obviously can't do this here, and I think my garage would be a tad small for what we'll be playing around with."

Harry sighed, "I have no idea, honestly. I was hoping that one of the properties I inherited would work, but most of them are too far away to be practical, and of those that aren't, the remainders are probably not what we're looking for."

"I can look into a location for you," Nigel offered.

Harry looked relieved, "You'd do that?"

"Yeah… I think I've got a pretty good idea what we'll need. Give me a couple of weeks and I'll find us something, even if it's only temporary. What sort of budget are we looking at, and did you want to lease or buy?"

"I'd prefer to own the property, and as to a budget… I don't think that will be a problem. We've got the entire family fortunes of both the Potters and the Blacks backing us."

Nigel's eyes grew wide. "Damn… I should of known that…"

Harry waived it off, "Hell, it isn't like I go about flaunting it."

"True. I take it that Black is in on this, too?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. With you, the total number of folks directly involved is six. Jenn knows my basic plan, and I'm sure that Remus has guessed, but they're not going to be involved on the same level as you and Arthur, Sirius, and me. Fred and George, until I get a better feel for them, won't be told the greater plan, either. They're just going to be working on the techno-magery side of things."

"'Techno-magery'?"

"Well… What else would you call it?"

"Point," Nigel conceded. He glanced at Harry's clock, "Shite, Harry. It's almost ten o'clock. I told Regina I'd meet her for drinks in half an hour."

"Regina?"

"Tall, busty, big blue eyes," Nigel leered. "Absolutely stunning."

"And…?"

"What? She's pretty funny, even if she isn't the sharpest crayon in the box."

Harry sighed, "Whatever flips your switch, Nigel. See you later?"

Nigel nodded, "You bet. I'll be in touch."

The next day, Thursday, Harry had another animagus lesson with Professor McGonagall. His potion had finally finished setting, and he would learn his form that afternoon. Flooing to McGonagall's office directly after getting home from school, he tossed his backpack to the floor with a heavy thud. "Hello, professor. How was your day?"

McGonagall smiled in greeting, "Good afternoon, Potter. It was a day, much like any other. Ginger newt?"

Harry grimaced, "Thanks, but no. I don't think I could eat anything right now… Too nervous."

"I assure you, there is nothing to be nervous about," McGonagall stood and retrieved Harry's flask of animagus potion from her cabinet. Snape had brought it to her over lunch that very afternoon.

"There isn't?" Harry chuckled uneasily. "What if I'm destined to be something relatively useless, like a fish? Or worse yet, plankton. Or what if it's something truly horrid like a cockroach?"

"Mr. Potter?" Minerva's smile was brighter, and she looked to be holding back laughter by force of will alone.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Breathe."

"Yes, ma'am. But what if it really is something like a roach or an earwig or termite or grub or – "

"Mr. Potter!"

Harry blinked and took a deep breath. "Sorry, ma'am."

Professor McGonagall handed Harry the small flask containing the lurid purple potion. "As I said, I can assure you that your worries are all for naught. If you would think back to Volk's book, his entries on the symbolism of specific types of animals, you would realize that you've not got the personality for any of the insects you just mentioned. I also doubt that you would be any sort of water-dwelling animal, as it is not normal for an animagus to have a form to which they would not be comfortable."

Harry relaxed by degrees and soon found himself sitting down across from the professor. They discussed trivial matters for another few moments, then Minerva indicated that he could take the potion at any time. "No time like the present," Harry replied, uncorking the small bottle. He lifted it to his lips and found that it smelled rather like flowers just before they should be thrown out – not unpleasant, but with an undertone of awaiting rancidness. It tasted more like a combination of a dark wine about to decay to vinegar, a flavor not unlike the smell of a summer storm, something hot and peppery, and, oddly enough, watermelon. It tasted better, however, than Stonewall's attempt at Shepherds' Pie, so Harry managed to swallow with a minimum of gagging. He started to ask, "How long before we know?" but only got as far as the second word before he suddenly felt rather dizzy and lightheaded. There was a queer sensation of melting as the room spun and blurred away. Abruptly, everything – internal and external – stopped shifting and solidified.

Colors were brighter, though the shapes of things were blurry, and everything seemed much larger than it should. Harry's thoughts, normally running through his head at about half again the normal speed of a typical teenager, were going much, much faster. His heartbeat and breathing had sped up, too. His hearing didn't seem to be working as it normally did, he was hearing things he knew hadn't been there before, they were much higher-pitched than anything he'd previously heard, and though he could tell that McGonagall was talking, he couldn't quite make out what she was saying.

After a few minutes, which felt inordinately longer to Harry, he shifted back to his normal self. "How… weird."

Minerva had a triumphant smirk on her face. "Well done, Mr. Potter. The next step involves researching your form's biology, habits, habitats, and symbolism. I expect a paper of an appropriate length by our next session, wherein we will start working on achieving the transformation. Will the third of March be acceptable?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, ma'am. May I ask…"

"Oh, I've never yet been wrong about a student's animagus form, though I may not have the precise species or breed down, I've always been right about the type of animal."

"And just what is it?"

She told him, and Harry had to wonder, from what he knew about the animal, just why it suited him.

Friday was one of those days where Harry wished he'd not gotten out of bed. To start things off, he woke up late and barely had time to get dressed and make sure he had all of his homework with him before rushing to school. In his art classes, nothing he did looked right, and he quit a good twenty minutes early for both classes. Mr. Thatcher seemed to understand, and just laughed it off. Lunch was an unmitigated disaster. Harry ended up dumping a bowl of stew down his front and had to disappear to the loo to spell himself clean. Luckily, only a couple of people saw the accident during lunch, and they were all lower years than Harry, so he wasn't forced to face uncomfortable questions about the pristine state of his uniform. After burning a cake in Life Skills, Harry realized that it wasn't just a random string of accidents. The Fates really were out to ruin his day. He had to wonder what they had in store for his date with Amelia that night.

Finally, the bells signaling the end of the school day sounded. Harry, relieved, hurried to his truck and headed home. Remus wanted to go over some advanced Defense theory before he would be released for his evening.

"A major part of Defense Against the Dark Arts that most people tend to overlook is the fact that one need not use the most powerful spells one has access to in order to bring down an enemy," Remus lectured. He was sitting on Sirius' pocket dueling stage. Harry was standing in the snow covered yard, nursing a mug of hot chocolate. "For example, when dueling with someone whose shield charms are weak, usually a simple stunner is enough to bring them down. If they're not bothering to shield at all, you can usually get away with a petrificus or similar binding charm. If they are shielding well, then you'd need to get them to move, as the only shields that move with the caster are those which require a high level of power and concentration to maintain. Once you get your opponent to move beyond the area protected by the shield spell, it should be a relatively simple matter to stun or bind them."

Harry nodded thoughtfully and finished his coco, setting the mug down on a snowy garden table. "If that's so, then why are there more powerful spells than stunners and the like?"

"Partly because there are times when they would be needed – I doubt that any of the Death Eaters or Voldemort would be content to let you 'win,' so-to-speak, with something so simple. Another reason more powerful spells exist is because, when dealing with a non-human opponent, you often need them. The last reason simply has to do with the fact that people like to invent new spells simply to see if they can – not unlike how the muggles enjoy inventing things.

"And now, Harry, some practical work in the theory just discussed. If you would take the other end of the platform? Nothing but the low-level hexes, charms, and curses."

Harry smiled and took his place.

Two hours later, Harry was rather sore – Remus had managed to stupefy him right off the platform, making him land awkwardly across the garden table. The hot shower seemed to help with the aches, though, and when he was done, he hurriedly dressed in some of the clothes he had purchased at the mall. Since he still didn't know where Amelia wanted to go for dinner, he decided on a pair of khaki pants, a dark blue shirt, and a plain black blazer. He tucked a tie in his pocket, just in case, and made sure his wand was accessible, his wallet in his pocket, and his mobile clipped to his belt before hurrying to Jenn to have him fix his hair.

"Take the girl dancing, Harry," she advised, running a comb through his unruly hair.

"What?"

"Dancing, Harry. You know, when there's music and groups of people moving in time to it?"

Harry snorted, "I know that, but… why?"

Jenn shrugged and added something to his hair that reminded Harry of the clear jelly he'd worked with Professor Snape in his potions lessons the week before, though he doubted it was gleaned from jellyfish. At least, he hoped that wasn't the case. "Girls tend to like dancing."

"Do I have to?"

"Quit whining. Yes," Jenn had that stubborn set to her shoulders that Harry knew meant real trouble if he didn't just do as she asked. "If I have to, I'll call her and tell her to make sure you take her out for a proper date. Consider it penance for how poorly the last one turned out, even though it wasn't your fault it ended so badly."

Harry sighed and had to restrain himself from running a hand through the hair that Jenn was working so diligently on. "Okay, okay. I'll take her dancing, if she wants."

"Actually, I hadn't realized the idea was so distasteful to you. Don't you go clubbing with Nigel and Tim every now and then?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I do, but… This is a tad different than that, you know. I mean it's one thing to go to a club with a couple of blokes and have a dance or two with someone you've never met before… If you end up making a fool of yourself, it's not likely you'll ever have to see them again."

Jenn laughed, long and loud. "Oh, Harry! Don't worry so much! I doubt that there's all that much you could do to cause that level of embarrassment!"

Harry rolled his eyes, "You'd be surprised."

Jenn shrugged and replaced the cap on the bottle of goop she'd been using. "Not likely," she replied. "I used to be your age, once upon a time, though you probably doubt it. But, on the upside, your hair's about as presentable as it's going to get. You know, you should consider letting it grow out some, just to keep it from sticking up so much. It'd probably be easier to deal with a ponytail and look reasonably good than to go running about like you'd just inserted your finger in the toaster."

Harry chuckled and thanked Jenn for her help. "I'll be in later, don't know precisely what time."

Jenn waived a hand, "Don't worry about it. Just make sure that if something like what happened last time happens again, it's not the hospital that calls me!"

"Yes, ma'am!" Harry gave her a parody of a military salute and turned to hurry out to Viridian.

Jenn grabbed his shoulder, "Hang on a tic." She rummaged around in her dresser for a moment. "Ah, here it is!" She pulled out a long, thin box. "Give this to her, Harry." She handed him the box.

He opened it to see a small, polished sphere of rose quartz suspended from a length of plain gold chain. His confusion must have shown on his face because Jenn laughed again and explained, "It was given to me a long, long time ago, Harry. And the person who gave it to me wasn't Allen. In fact, I think he'd be quite upset that I even still had it."

"Who gave it to you?"

"A boy I dated for a while shortly before I met Allen. Go ahead and take it, Harry. It really doesn't mean all that much to me, and you should have something to give her."

"I suppose it's a bit late to stop by a store now, anyway." Harry replied, pocketing the necklace and checking the time. "I really ought to get going, else I'll be late."

"Do so," Jenn smiled. "Oh, and Harry?" she called out, just as he was reaching the door. "Have fun." He grinned at her and nodded.

The drive to Amelia's house was both longer and shorter than he remembered… He spent most of the time fretting about what might go wrong, before firmly telling himself not to worry so much about it. Whatever happened would happen and there wasn't anything that worrying was going to do about it.

When he finally arrived at her house, he was ushered inside by her little sister, Charlotte, much as he had the previous time. Patty was waiting in the living room with a man Harry'd not yet met, he assumed he was Amelia's father. Patty smiled and rose to her feet when the exuberant Charlotte offered to take his coat. "It's good to see you're well, Harry."

Harry ducked his head, wondering if all parents of teenaged girls knew precisely what to say to embarrass their daughters' dates. "Thanks, ma'am."

The taller, older version of Amelia chuckled, "'Patty.'"

Harry met her gaze and smiled a little. "Sorry, Patty."

Patricia motioned for Harry to join them properly in the room – he had been lurking in the doorway. "This is my husband, Arnold."

The man sitting on the sofa stood and shook Harry's hand, "Pleasure to meet you, Amelia's told us quite a bit about you." He was likely the tallest man Harry'd ever met, likely around six foot, seven inches or so. Arnold had hair a shade or two darker than the chestnut brown of Patty and Amelia, and it was shot through with grey. His eyes were an intense blue, darker than Amelia's, and Harry realized that the man probably didn't miss much.

"Good to meet you, too, sir." Somehow, Harry didn't think that Mr. White would be asking him to call him 'Arnold' any time soon. All-in-all, Harry felt thoroughly intimidated by him.

"Amelia should be down shortly," Patty said, sitting back down. "Go ahead and have a seat, Harry."

Harry nervously sat on the edge of a floral-print wingback chair, set at an angle to the low sofa. Arnold, who was obviously far more limber than a man his age should have been, seemed to fold in half to return to his own seat on the far end of the sofa. "Amelia tells us you attend Stonewall."

There was a quality to Mr. White's voice that Harry wasn't sure how to identify. He reasoned that it was just a father's prerogative to automatically dislike any boy his daughter brought home. "Yes, sir."

"Any plans on what to do with yourself after you're done with school?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir. I'm planning on going into technological research and development."

Arnold's eyes narrowed. "To my understanding, that requires several years of university study."

Harry nodded. That would normally be the case… And, truth be told, he still did want to go to uni, but he wasn't sure how feasible that particular desire would be, what with Voldemort and all… Out loud, Harry merely replied with another, "Yes, sir."

"What universities were you planning on applying to?"

Now, that wasn't a question he was prepared to answer. Of course, he knew the universities available in the UK, but he also knew that the best technological university programs were all in the US… He didn't want to answer in such a way as to make the man sitting mere feet from him angry. "I honestly don't really know, sir," Harry replied. He decided to stretch the truth a little. "I'm going to be working for a year or two to save up the money to attend uni, so I still have a little while to figure it out. However, a friend of mine went to MIT. It might be nice to go there."

"Working?" The man actually sounded a little shocked. "Where?"

"At Kellerman's Service Shop – the same place I've worked since I was fifteen."

Mr. White nodded thoughtfully. "I thought you looked familiar. Had my car in there about a year and a half ago… You run the computer, don't you?"

Harry smiled, suddenly remembering the man, though he hadn't seemed quite as tall then. "I did, sir, but starting about a year ago, I began getting trained on how to do the repairs."

Amelia seemed to choose that precise moment to make an appearance. Harry was glad; he wasn't sure how many more questions he could have sat through. "Stop pestering Harry, Daddy."

Unlike every other time Harry'd seen Amelia, her hair wasn't pulled into a ponytail. Instead, it was twisted into some elegant formation on the back of her head and held in place by a golden barrette. She was wearing a dark green dress that was sleeveless, but had a high collar, that only emphasized the fact that she was really rather pretty. The dress fell to just above her knees, and Harry noticed that her shoes matched her dress. Just how do girls do that? he wondered. Do they dye their shoes every time they have a date, or do they just make sure to have a pair of shoes every shade of the rainbow? Harry mentally shook his head to derail that train of thought. "You look great, Amelia."

She smiled at him, "Thanks. Let me get my coat, and we can go." She leveled a glare at her father. "Quit interrogating my date, Daddy," she demanded before heading to a coat rack for her white, fluffy coat.

Harry was happy that he'd decided to dress up a bit for this date. He'd said that Amelia could select the restaurant for dinner and he'd pay, but he hadn't expected her to select one of those places where the name was unpronounceable and the menu unreadable. She claimed it was Italian, and that the owner was a friend of her father's – which explained the dirty looks they'd been given by the group of people waiting for tables when they'd been seated almost immediately. He wasn't too sure about the Italian part of the claim, though. He eventually consented to have Amelia order for the both of them.

Harry ended up with some sort of seafood served on pasta with a thick cream sauce. Amelia had had another form of pasta, only hers was stuffed with cheeses and slathered in a slightly different cream sauce. Their conversation drifted over topics as diverse as politics and their favorite classes. Harry found out that Amelia was planning on going into law when she finished school. For dessert, Amelia ordered something Harry couldn't pronounce when he'd tried, but found that he enjoyed immensely. It was a chocolate-and-coffee-flavored confection that Harry thought might be mildly alcoholic, but he wasn't sure, and wasn't going to expose that ignorance by asking. As they were finishing up the sweet, he suddenly remembered the necklace that Jenn had insisted he give Amelia. He took a sip of water while reaching into his pocket and sat the little box on the table. "Here," he said.

Amelia's face lit up, "Ooh… A present? For me?"

Harry returned her grin. "Yeah. I hope you like it."

She made short work of opening the box and exclaimed over the little pendant. "It's positively beautiful! Help me put it on, please, Harry?"

Harry stood and circled the small table to help her with the clasp on the chain before returning to his seat. He noticed that they'd acquired several spectators. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he replied, thinking I wonder why she's making such a big deal out of a silly little bit of rock and some gold chain? Are all girls like this over jewelry?

A short time later, the check arrived and Harry paid. Isn't a hundred and fifty quid a bit much for some crab on noodles? He mentally shrugged and filed 'utterly expensive, unpronounceable, though delicious food' under the mental list he had titled 'Inexplicable Things that Girls Like.' Right above it was 'shiny rocks and gold.' He thought he was beginning to understand why Nigel and Tim had never married.

Once back out at the truck, Harry asked Amelia if she wanted to do anything else. Amelia shrugged in such a way that Harry was positive she really did, but didn't want to say. "A movie?" he suggested. "Dancing? Really, Amelia. Pick something. I'm trying to apologize for last weekend," he motioned to the elastic splint she was wearing on her wrist.

"Oh, you don't need to apologize for that," she smiled a little vaguely. "It's no worse than the time I broke my ankle ice-skating a couple of years ago. Besides, I got a phone call this week from some woman named Andromeda Tonks. She claimed that she's your lawyer?" Harry nodded. "Anyway, she said you're going to be pressing charges against your cousin. Wanted to know if I'd be a witness. Told her yes. But, back to the other topic, I don't really care what we do. It's only eight… I don't want to go home just yet, and I picked where we went for dinner. It's your turn to pick something."

Harry couldn't fault her logic. "Hmm…" He thought back to Jenn's suggestion that he take her dancing. It actually sounded a bit more fun now that he was out and about, and no longer suffering the bout of pre-date nerves. "Come on, get in," he opened the truck door for her. "I think I know what we can do for a couple of hours."

Amelia got a funny look on her face but climbed into the truck. As Harry closed the door, he thought he heard her mutter, "Quit thinking that, he's not Gregory."

He wanted to ask who Gregory was, but decided not to. Instead, he drove to a small club that he, Nigel, and Tim had gone to the previous summer when the Dursleys were on holiday and Harry staying with the cat-obsessed Mrs. Figg. It turned out to be the right decision, as Harry and Amelia had fun and lost all track of time. Neither were all that interested in alcohol, but the band was actually a lot better than most house-bands were given credit for, and when the band wasn't playing, the jukebox was. By the time Harry dropped Amelia off at her house, at about eleven o'clock, Harry was pretty sure he'd spent a good fifty pounds just on soda and bottled water. When he returned home, he found that Jenn and Sirius were sitting up in the lounge, and Remus had obviously fallen asleep reading.

"That can't be comfortable," Harry whispered, indicating the awkward angle at which Remus' neck was bent.

Sirius grinned, "Don't bet on it, Pup. I've seen him sleep in far odder positions. There was this one time when he fell asleep studying… I think we were thirteen or so… Anyway, it was in the library at Hogwarts, and by the time I found him, he had his head pillowed on his hands on the chair, and the rest of him was sprawled across a good twenty books or so on the table."

Harry winced, "Ouch."

Sirius shrugged, "In any case… How'd your date go?"

Jenn looked unnaturally interested in Harry's response. "Um… Fine, I guess. No one ended up in the hospital this time around…" Harry was phenomenally glad that the streak of bad luck seemed to have stopped when he started getting ready for the evening.

"Well, considering your record thus far," Sirius replied, his eyes alight with mischief, "I suppose it ought to be a major accomplishment!"

Harry sighed, "How so?"

"Well… You're now one and one, aren't you? You are going to go out with her again, right?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably."

"If the next one goes as well, then your good dates will finally outnumber the bad ones, which is what any reasonable person should hope for." Sirius sounded as though he were imparting the secret of the universe.

Harry had the feeling that, to Sirius, at least, he was.

"You have done quite well, Bella. I am pleased." Harry mentally sighed, Not another bloody vision!

The witch in question preened under her lord's praise. "Thank you, milord."

"Crouch shall be joining us on the morrow," Voldemort ignored her thanks. "Be sure another room is made ready for him."

"Yes, milord." Bellatrix bowed. "About the information you had me obtain…"

"Do not fret, my Bella. It will be put to good use."

"But when, milord?"

"Soon," the Dark Lord replied.

The vision ended as abruptly as it began and Harry sat up in his bed. "Damnit, I really wish I would either see the whole story, or nothing at all! Or else some new bloody information." he muttered as he grabbed his dream journal to record the latest entry before going back to sleep.

Saturday, the Kellermans were invited to dinner with the Petersons, which they, of course, accepted. Remus and Harry tagged along, and Sirius, too, though he was in Padfoot form. "If we gain anymore people, hon, we're going to need a bigger car," Allen wryly observed as they backed out of the drive. Chad was working with Moody again, though he hadn't yet told Harry any of what they figured out so far.

Mike met them at the door, and Harry could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen. Bea really was a fantastic cook, as long as it was something she had a recipe for. Harry once heard about her attempts at spontaneous cooking… He never wanted to be the one subjected to her little 'experiments,' as Mike had dubbed them. Ashley obviously had heard the front door open, and nearly tripped over herself hurrying down the stairs to greet them. "Harry Harry Harry! Guess what!" Harry caught the four year-old just when it seemed she was going to crash into the floor.

"What?"

"I'm this many now!" She held up four fingers.

"I know. Did you get my present?"

She nodded vigorously, "Yep! Thanks a whole lot, too! I love my Snuffy."

"'Snuffy'?" Harry asked, turning to Mike to explain.

Mike shrugged, "I guess she figured that was as good a name as any for a giant stuffed panda."

"Oh," was Harry's only response.

Ashley squirmed to get down, and when Harry sat her on her feet, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him towards the stairs. "C'm on, Harry! Wanna show you my prezzies!"

With a long suffering glance towards Mike and Remus, Harry followed the little girl up to her room. He swore he heard laughter following him up the stairs, and a comment from Mike about how 'Uncle Harry' should come by more often. About twenty minutes later, after a nearly incomprehensible monologue from Ashley about all the things she'd been given for her birthday, they were called downstairs for dinner. Supper turned out to be roast chicken and dumplings. Ashley spotted Sirius, still in dog form, mere seconds into dinner, and had to be told – no fewer than six times – not to feed him her Brussels sprouts. Harry was wondering just why Sirius was eating them, and, in fact, why he'd tagged along at all if he was just going to be a dog all evening. Harry resolved to ask him later.

Conversation was refreshingly light, and Harry got filled in on all the gossip he'd missed out on by not working the last few weeks.

"At least I can start working again once school's out," Harry commented. "I sort of feel rather like I'm not doing what I'm supposed to, even though I'm getting along well in class."

"What of your… other studies?" Bea asked.

Remus smiled and launched in on a lengthy discussion of how well Harry was getting caught up in his magic. He even shared his OWL scores, which resulted in Bea promising him a proper cake to celebrate. Harry really tried to get her to back down, but there really was no dealing with her when she had a notion stuck in her head – she and Jenn really were alike in that regard.

The evening ended with Harry promising Mike to go bowling again with him, Tim, and Nigel the next weekend.

On the way to the car, Harry's phone rang. I'm popular this week, he thought answering it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Harry. Nigel here."

"Yeah, I know. You're the only person I know who calls me that's got a private number on the caller id. What did you need?"

"Oh, not much. You doing anything tomorrow? I think I found just the place for the business."

Harry shoved Sirius over more so that he could sit in the back seat of the car, "Oh? What did you find? And where?"

"Downtown London. There's a whole building for sale. Priced rather cheep, too. Previous owner was one of those dot-com businesses that went under, they're being forced to sell everything. If we hurry, we ought to be able to walk away with a top-of-the-line mainframe, too."

"Sounds interesting. I take it, you want me to see the location tomorrow?"

"That was the plan."

"I suppose I could do that. I didn't really have any other plans… maybe paint a little, or work a bit more on the Business Plan."

"Well, I'll swing by your place around noonish. The realtor said she'd meet us there at about one. And you don't want to know what I had to do to get her to agree to letting us see the place on a Sunday."

Harry snickered, "You're probably right. Sounds good to me. We'll bring Sirius along, too, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. See you tomorrow."

"You too. Bye." Harry ended the call and realized that not only was Padfoot staring at him, but so were Allen, Jenn, and Remus. "What?"

It was Jenn that broke the silence. "Somehow, I think I speak for all of us that the only thing we could picture was you, about ten years from now, wearing one of those pretentious three-piece suits, and having innumerable unintelligible conversations on a mobile."

"Huh?"

Remus just chuckled as Allen started the car and drove them home.

The building Nigel had located was everything Harry had dreamed of for BKE and more. It was thirty-two stories tall, with three levels of basements, it's own underground station, parking, and more. On the tour, he could almost see the different departments that would be housed there, and the work they would be doing. He could tell that Sirius was envisioning the same things he was. When the realtor – a stunningly ugly woman with bulging brown eyes that had yellows instead of whites and a large, hairy mole right between her eyes – left them for a moment at the end of the lengthy tour, they were in the ex-CEO's office on the topmost floor. Much of the equipment and furniture previously owned by the dot-com company that went belly-up remained. Nigel and Sirius took seats on a chrome-and-leather sofa while Harry perched on the glass topped desk.

"So… What do you think?" Nigel asked a little nervously.

Harry and Sirius exchanged a look and said, simultaneously, "We'll take it."

All three then broke down laughing. "Seriously, this place is almost perfect for what I've got in mind," Harry said. "I'd say I should give you a raise, but I don't think I'm paying you just yet."

Nigel chuckled, "You're not, not yet. However, I did good, yeah?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah. We'll need to have Arthur come in and pick a floor for his and his sons' work, find out what they'll need, and get a contractor to come in and remodel, but yeah. This place is most excellent."

"Glad you think so," the realtor said as she returned from wherever she'd been. "I take it you're interested in purchasing the property?" She addressed her comments to Nigel.

Harry jumped off the desk and strolled over to her, "Yeah, I am."

She blinked at Harry. Then laughed. "Oh, good one, child. I believe I was speaking to your… father?"

Nigel snorted and Sirius outright laughed. "No, Sandra," Nigel said. "Didn't I tell you I was scouting for my employer? Well… believe it or not, this is him." He nodded to Harry.

"But… But… You're just a kid!"

Harry crossed his arms over his chest, "Your point? You think I can't have money, too?"

"But… I can't sell a commercial property to a minor."

"I'm emancipated. I have the cash, I want the building. However, if you persist in this attitude, I may just decide that a different location would better suit my needs after all." Sure, Harry was seventeen, he knew that, but what he said was true; the woman's attitude was really getting on his nerves. Harry turned to Nigel, "Aren't there laws about age-discrimination?"

Nigel shrugged, "Beats me, Harry. You'd have to ask Tonks."

The name seemed to catch 'Sandra's' attention. "Tonks? Theodore Tonks? As in Tonks, Tonks, and Winslow?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah? What's that to you?"

"He's your lawyer?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. I repeat, so?"

She swallowed. "My apologies. Why don't we go back to my office to work out the details?"

Harry honestly had no idea why she was suddenly so amicable, just from the mention of his solicitors' name, but he could guess. "Why don't we do that?" he motioned for the realtor to precede them out of the room.

Sirius paused by Harry's ear before following Nigel, "I think you've been spending entirely too much time around Slytherins, Harry."

"How so?"

"Well… You've got their intimidation down pat."

Harry grinned, "I'll tell Professor Snape you said so." He hurried through the door before Sirius could respond.

It took several hours of negotiations, and before it was over, Harry'd had to call Ted, but by the time that Sirius, Nigel, and Harry sat down to a late lunch/early dinner, Harry was now the new owner of the high-rise. After thoroughly warding the booth they were sitting at for privacy, the three of them spent the next couple of hours discussing various details they would need for BKE, including, but not limited to whether or not they should hire a cleaning service or simply purchase house elves, what sort of security they ought to have, and what types of technology they'd need to start things off. They also realized that they'd need to bring Arthur by at his earliest convenience, and that they'd need to find a magical contractor to ward the floors devoted to solely magical pursuits – among other things. Nigel said that he'd be surprised if they would be able to open their doors earlier than March of 1999, what with all that needed to be done.

The next couple of weeks flew past for Harry, between his magical studies – Remus was finally teaching him how to apparate, as well as more advanced dueling and DADA, and Professor Snape was showing him how to brew irregular potions, of which several magical paints were classified, and researching his animagus form on his own – his normal schoolwork – Nigel had helped him grab the top score in his class on the physics paper – and going out at least once, sometimes twice a week with Amelia, not to mention periodical updates from Ted and Andie about both BKE and Dudley's investigation-and-upcoming-trial, and sporadic reports from Chad, who was currently staying with the ex-auror, Moody. Harry was beyond rushed and couldn't be happier about it. The only thing he really wished was that it was spring, so he could help Jenn with her award-winning roses. He'd wanted to learn her secret ever since he'd met her and seen her garden. He even remembered Valentines' Day, and spent the day with Amelia at a winter carnival where he'd won her a small stuffed bear, and they'd both gotten sick on one of the rides.

February passed into March before Harry felt he'd even gotten used to dating his papers with a '2' for the month. When March arrived, he took all the research he'd gathered about his animagus form and channeled it into a readable paper. He hoped that the almost 2500 words would be what Professor McGonagall had termed 'an appropriate length.' He wasn't going to copy the entire thing out onto parchment, in any case. He knew his handwriting left something to be desired, and had no wish to foist it off on an unsuspecting professor. Harry reread the paper one final time before getting ready to floo to Hogwarts and hand it in.

My Animagus Form

By Harry J. Potter

Scientific Classification:
Kingdom:Animal
Phylum:Chordata
Class:Aves
Order:Apodidae
Family:Trochilidae

Genus: Trochilus

Species: polytmus

Trochiluspolytmus is also known as the Streamertail hummingbird. As the most abundant and widespread bird of Jamaica, this particular bird is identifiable by its bright green plumage. The adult male is hailed as the most spectacular hummingbird, often with two long tail feathers which emit a whirring noise in flight. When lacking streamers, the male is identifiable by his bright green body feathers with a black crown, the lateral feathers of which are slightly elongated to form tufts on the back of his head. The bill of this bird is mostly red. Female Streamertails lack the streamers for which the species is named, and are usually a lighter shade of green, with a white underbelly.

Hummingbirds, in general, are the smallest species of birds currently on the planet, and are indigenous to only the New World; their territories spread from Alaska and northern Canada all the way through the equatorial regions and southward to Venezuela. The smallest – the Bee Hummingbird (often mistaken for an insect) is two and a fourth inches long and seven-tenths of an ounce – to the largest – the Giant Hummingbird is eight and a half inches long and weighs approximately seven ounces. As stated previously, the particular species which forms my animagus self is native to Jamaica, though the Streamertail is by no means the only species of hummingbird native to the Caribbean islands; 18 other species are also found in that region. All told, there are 328 separate species of hummingbird found in the aforementioned regions. The Streamertail hummingbird is also the longest hummingbird, at approximately ten inches, though it is nowhere near the biggest. The majority of his length comes from his two tail feathers, which can be three to five times longer than his actual body.

When compared to other birds, the hummingbird is quite unique. It is the only bird that is capable of active hovering – not just riding thermals – and it is also the only bird that can fly in any direction, including laterally and backwards. The reason for this lies in the hummingbird's distinctive anatomy. Most birds fly holding their bodies parallel to the ground, using chest and shoulder muscles to create lift by flapping their wings through their shoulder – or, in some species, the elbow – joint. Hummingbirds' wings are what would correlate to a human's hands, their flapping to produce lift comes from the wrist joint. What allows for the hovering, lateral, and backward movement is the fact that hummingbirds aren't limited to the standard oval shape of moving their wings. Since their wings flap through their wrists, it allows them to produce a figure-eight motion which can provide lift without forward momentum. Subtle changes in the exact shape of that figure-eight provide directional movement. The wings tend to beat at an average of 53 times per second, with the fastest ever recorded at 80 beats per second (Amethyst Woodstar) and the slowest at 10 to 15 beats per second (Giant Hummingbird.)

The wing joint is not the only inimitable facet of hummingbird anatomy, they manage to score several other highly specialized features. The hummingbird has the largest brain, relative to size, of any other bird, comprising approximately 4.2 percent of its total body weight. They also have, proportionately, the largest hearts of any living animal, accounting for 1.75 to 2.5 percent of its weight. When resting, a hummingbird's heart beats approximately 480 times per minute and can go as high as 1260 beats per minute when excited. A resting hummingbird will also breathe approximately 250 times in a minute. Their lungs include nine internal air sacs connected to their lungs by tubes. These sacs, along with their quick breathing, help to keep the birds from overheating. It is also presumed that these air sacs also help limit the weight of these tiny birds, making for more efficient flight. The average body temperature of a hummingbird is approximately 105 degrees Fahrenheit, or around 40 – 41 degrees Celsius. Hummingbird bones are porous, but some – like the wing and leg bones – are hollow, as most bird bones tend to be. A keel-shaped sternum allows a greater area for attachment of their proportionately large flight muscles. The extremely long 'hand bones' provide support for the primary feathers and enable the hummingbird to beat their wings so rapidly without bending the wing in a direction it shouldn't go. Hummingbird eyes are large and immobile, with both monocular and binocular vision; both eyes will typically outweigh the brain. Despite contrary myth, hummingbirds do indeed have feet, though they don't walk; they perch, and will fly to change their position by so much as a centimeter.

Hummingbirds roost, or sleep, with their necks pulled down, heads out, and bills pointed up in the air; odd, considering most birds sleep with their heads tucked under their wings. Speaking of their wings, again, hummingbirds are known as such due to the humming sound that the flapping of their wings create. Most hummingbirds don't sing, but instead have a series of squeaks; the only species in North America known to sing is the Calypteanna, or Anna's Hummingbird.

Hummingbirds, like most birds also have a crop – a specially modified part of their digestive system that stores food immediately after it is eaten. After filling the crop by either drinking nectar or eating small insects, a hummingbird will rest while the crop slowly releases the food into the rest of the digestive system. It also serves as a 'storage area' for nesting mothers. When feeding her baby birds, she will regurgitate food from the crop – not from the stomach, as is commonly believed. When the crop is about halfway empty, a hummingbird will begin to forage for food once again. Their diet, as previously mentioned, consists of small insects like flies, ants, small beetles, and tiny wasps, as well as nectar and, sometimes, tree sap. The insects are eaten for their protein content, and the nectar for the sugar it contains, allowing the hummingbird the energy to maintain their high metabolisms, and they will feed every fifteen to twenty minutes all day long. Hummingbirds eat half their weight each day, and drink eight times their weight in water. A hovering three to four ounce bird burns 2100 calories per hour.

Their bills and tongues are specifically designed for their diet, as is the case with most birds. Their tongues are disproportionately long in relation to their body-size, and can roll into a straw-like tube for gathering nectar. Unlike most other birds, hummingbirds' bills have a highly pronounced overbite, so-to-speak. The upper bill curves around the sides of the smaller lower bill. When hummingbirds feed, the bill is opened slightly, allowing their tongues to get to the nectar. The bill can only be opened a limited ways, and, aside from nectar-gathering, it is also used for catching insects, preening, gathering nesting material, feeding babies, and attacking rivals.

When courting, a male hummingbird will fly anywhere from 75 to 150 feet into the air, then drop, bill down, until he is within an inch or two of her head. Mating lasts anywhere from three to five seconds, and then the male disappears. Female hummingbirds finish the nest and raise the chicks on their own. Nests are about one to one and a half inches tall and an average of two inches in diameter. They can be made from moss, leaves, thistledown, spider webs, lichen, or bark fibers. Depending on the species, the same female may return to her nesting site from the year before and build a new nest on top of the old one. If this female has been returning to the same nesting site for years, her nest may be several inches high. The average hummingbird lays two eggs, though there have been documented cases of nests found with as many as six eggs, and are normally about a half-inch long. It takes approximately 40 days from the time the eggs are laid until the young are fledged. The mother will feed the baby birds with regurgitated insects and nectar from her crop. The nestlings, themselves, are blind, bald, and have underdeveloped bills at the time of hatching, though they grow quickly. At eight to twelve days after hatching, they will be able to maintain their own body temperature, and at about twenty-one days after hatching, they will fledge. If the weather is too cold, a hummingbird will go into a nearly hibernative state known as torpor. In this state, its body temperature will drop to around 66.5 degrees Fahrenheit (approximately 19 degrees Celsius.) Nesting females won't go into this state, however, otherwise her chicks might die.

Studies of fledgling success, from hatching to full feathering, ranged from 17 percent to 59 percent of the number of eggs laid. Predation accounts for most of the nest mortality. Hummingbird mothers will fearlessly attack hawks, crows, jays, chipmunks, snakes and even wasps in defense of her eggs and young, but not always successfully. Accidents, high winds, cold, heavy rains, and heat, account for the remainder of fledgling deaths. Deaths of adult hummingbirds can be attributed to natural predators, such as hawks, kestrels, large frogs, large fishes, tropical spiders, cats, and praying mantis. Other deaths can come from spider webs, windows, bad sugar mix (someone who has not properly cleaned or mixed the syrup in a hummingbird-feeder,) storms, and weather affecting flower growth or insect populations. Barring these factors, a hummingbird can otherwise expect to live five to ten years or more.

When fully fledged, hummingbirds have more feathers per square inch than any other bird, though they have no down feathers. Hummingbird feathers have two different ways of producing color. One is through the actual pigment of the feather (its melanin content) and the other is called 'structural color,' the iridescence reflecting off the facets of the feather itself; this reflective feature is what causes a hummer's gorget to glitter when one is looking at the bird head-on and to become duller when seeing the same bird from another angle. Curiously, the pigment of hummingbird feathers does not include red or yellow; any markings of these colors on a hummingbird is solely due to the feathers' structural color.

A hummingbird's natural habitat is that of natural or garden areas that provide trees, bushes, flowers rich with nectar, and safe places to roost and nest. Typically they will not be found at seashores, grasslands, or treeless sage areas unless migrating. The Rufous Hummingbird has the longest migration of any hummingbird, more than 5,000 miles a year. It flies from central Mexico to Alaska and back again. Hummingbirds migrate, not in flocks, but solitarily. Males will leave first, followed by females several weeks later. On the south-bound journey, the young leave last, flying alone on their first migration with no adult to guide them.In its migration to Mexico, the tiny Ruby-throated hummingbird, almost unbelievably, tackles crossing the Gulf of Mexico, not bothering to go around. Its cruising speed is about 27 miles an hour, so if conditions are favorable, it can make the transit, non-stop, in around 18 hours; but the passage is a formidable one and it taxes the hummingbird to the limit of its endurance. A head wind, even a mild one, may hamper it so severely that it will never reach the far shore and perish at sea.

Turning from the scientific data available on these remarkable birds to their associated symbolism, I have found that nearly all Native American tribes believed hummingbirds to be associated with beauty, wonder, agility, sweetness, adaptability, intelligence, joy, and thankfulness. Since all hummingbird species are found only in the Western Hemisphere, wizardkind has adopted many of these same beliefs. I have also found that, among the more northern tribes of Native Americans, the hummingbird was seen as a messenger of good news and luck.

Going into more detail, I consulted several guides to Native American Medicine Animal beliefs, and located the following passage online (on my computer):

"If you have hummingbird Medicine, you adapt easily to whatever situation you may find yourself in, and make the most of your new circumstances. You don't waste time looking back and wishing for 'what was' for you are concerned with making the most of 'what is.' Also, you could never become addicted to any artificial stimulants, for you find joy in your own heart. You take great pleasure in spreading joy and love and beauty to all around you, and have the gift of taking that inner joy into new and different surroundings. You have a talent for finding the good in people, and are not put off by a gruff or abrupt exterior, for you know that, if you can only get beyond that tough outside layer, you'll find goodness and beauty inside. You may have a gift for working with flowers, maybe growing them to share with others, or using flower essences for healing; aromatherapy may be your calling. You have high energy and a spirit that must be free. To restrict that wonderful, free, loving energy is to suffer great depressions and feelings of uselessness. Hummingbird must fly free in search of beauty, spreading joy and love to all it touches."

I admit that when I read that passage, I found myself chuckling. As Jenn may tell you, I often have trouble sitting still. I also find a supreme satisfaction in my artwork – though, as I have often mentioned, I am relieved I no longer have to rely solely on it to survive once I leave school. I have also been told several times by my teachers at Stonewall that I seem to trust too easily – I don't mind talking with those kids that most others refuse to go near. Somehow, I just know they aren't as bad as people make them out to be. I also fully admit that I try not to dwell on the past – what's done is done and it can't be undone. I'd much rather deal with the here and now, and what may happen tomorrow, than what I could have or should have done yesterday. The only thing I'm not too sure about is the spreading of 'joy and love,' though I do admit that since showing up at Allen's, my life, at least, has improved tenfold.

After researching these highly intriguing little birds, I must say, in conclusion, that I am happy to be a hummingbird animagus, despite the fact that it's not that practical to be one in England.

The paper also included a bibliography, citing all of the websites where he'd learned the information he presented, and also had several pages of photographs of his specific animagus form, as well as charts of the internal anatomy of hummingbirds in general. Harry nodded and tucked the paper into a plastic folder to keep it organized, and headed to the floo.

Over the Easter holidays, Harry spent a couple of days hanging out with Ron and Hermione in Hogsmeade, as well as working on some important research papers for his muggle classes. The third day of the holiday found Harry beginning occlumency lessons with Professor Snape.

"Now, Potter, the discipline of occlumency is entirely mental; where you have to this point been learning primarily how to duel physically with your magic, occlumency and legilimency are dueling solely with your thoughts," Professor Snape was standing in the Kellerman lounge lecturing Harry on his latest addition to his magical studies.

"Remus said it was also classified as a wandless magic."

Snape nodded, "It is. It is also a touch more difficult to learn than how to cast a wandless charm like lumos or wingardium leviosa. Those merely require force of will and an adequate supply of magical power; nearly anyone higher in power than a squib could learn to cast wandlessly if they so desired. However, the skill of occlumency, and legilimency, as well, requires mental organization – a trait which is deplorably lacking in today's wizarding society – in addition to will and power."

"Mental organization? What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Since legilimency is what occlumency defends against, the easiest way to begin to develop occlumentical barriers is to layer your thoughts and memories in such a way that those thoughts and memories you don't care if your opponent sees are on the topmost level of your consciousness, with each subsequent layer being thoughts that gradually become more sensitive the deeper your opponent probes."

Harry scratched out a couple of notes on a spiral-bound notebook. "I'm sure you're correct, since you've gone through this before in learning and all, but… I had a thought just now – and don't smirk at me. You bloody well know I think. But, if the purpose of occlumency is to… I guess 'misdirect' is the word I'm looking for. Misdirect a legilimency intrusion, wouldn't a chaotic mindset be just as difficult to make sense of? In fact, wouldn't a chaotic mindset be more to the point, since it would confuse a legilimens, rather than provide him or her with an orderly set of memories and thoughts to sift through?"

Snape nodded, "That is a point to consider, however, it only works on specific individuals – primarily those who have what muggle psychologists have termed 'Asbergers Syndrome;' such people think solely in pictures and emotions, and have to 'translate' what they're thinking into words. This is not an indicator of intelligence, by any means, simply how some people think. Since they are constantly thinking thus, it is far easier for them to maintain a constant 'chaotic mindset,' as you put it. The majority of people, though, think not only in pictures and emotions, but words, as well, so layering ones' thoughts and memories is the better solution."

"Makes sense, I suppose," Harry replied, noting the professor's answer.

"To continue with your lesson, I understand you are familiar with meditation?"

Harry nodded, "A bit, yeah. I learned about it a couple of years ago when I had to do a report on eastern religions, and found it useful to… pass time." Harry, though he got along with Snape a far sight better than Sirius or even Remus did, wasn't about to go into the abuse he suffered at the Dursleys'.

"Somehow, I cannot imagine you using meditation simply to 'pass time.'"

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You were saying about meditation?"

"Yes, yes. Meditation is a similar mental discipline which can be used in conjunction with occlumency to great effect. Meditative trance is usually the easiest way to sift through your memories and thoughts in order to organize them effectively."

Harry smiled a little, "And here I thought it was simply an easy way to memorize all those dates from history class."

"Meditative trances to enhance memory are useful, though most wizards prefer to use a memory-enhancing potion or spell to achieve similar results. As could be inferred from my earlier comment about mental organization, most wizards simply do not have the patience to learn mental discipline of any sort."

Harry decided not to mention anything about the concentration-enhancing charm Hermione had taught him. Instead, he pointed out, "Remus mentioned something about having a mental image protect your thoughts. What was he talking about?"

"That is one of the most advanced levels of occlumency – with work, you should reach that level. The image – usually several different ones – are layered on top of and throughout the sediment of your thoughts and memories, with a master image housing it all."

Harry's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't think I quite understand what you're trying to say, sir."

"Working from the legilimens' point of view, using myself as an example, the first thing that he or she would see upon trying to enter my mind is an exact replica of my personal potions' laboratory. Housed within this image, though, are several smaller images, protected within the whole. You have seen, I assume, the paintings that on first glance appear to be one thing, like a vase, but upon closer inspection, may reveal two faces?" Harry nodded. "It's similar to that. The legilimens, in searching for information, would then look to the obvious places in which my memories and thoughts would be stored. Care to hazard a guess?"

Harry thought for a moment, "I think I understand… The legilimens would probably start with the desk or bookstand, thinking that the most useful information would be there, but you've layered your memories in something else… The ingredient shelves, perhaps? Or maybe in cauldrons."

"Good guess, and a logical, though inaccurate, conclusion. No doubt most legilimens would indeed look to those four areas first, and I do layer memories in those images, but only those which I wish to be seen. Other images within the greater image of the lab are layered with the memories I don't wish seen. For example, scenes from my time at Hogwarts are layered into the walls, and my personal thoughts about particular things in my life may be layered either in the countertops or even something completely random, such as a pen on the desk or within an inkwell."

Nodding, Harry smiled a little in understanding. "All right, I think I understand now. You use a complex image to represent the mind as a whole, and each thing in that image can be layered with thoughts and memories. I suppose if one were to legilimize you and actually inspected, let's say an ingredient jar, not only would they get the surface thoughts you want them to see, but underneath it would no doubt be an image of the ingredient, itself. Behind that image, more memories or thoughts of a slightly more sensitive nature. Right?"

Professor Snape nodded. This was yet another example of why, despite the bets flying about the Order to the contrary, he actually quite liked working with Potter; he actually thought, rather than merely reacted. He would be the first to admit that he'd had his moments trying to force the boy into the same mold as James Potter, but those were primarily when he first started working with the boy. Since he'd gotten to know him over the months of potions lessons, he'd found that the only thing Harry had in common with his father was his physical appearance, and even that was superficial at best. The way he held himself, his gestures, his manner – that was all uniquely Harry. "Precisely. You, however, will need to select a relatively simple image to begin with, once you've organized your mind, and build outward from there. The first image I began to work with was an empty flask. From that, the entire lab was built."

"Start small – check. 'Rome wasn't built in a day' and all that… Just out of curiosity, sir, how long did it take you to build up your occlumency skill to the point it is now?"

Severus thought back to when he learned. "I had lessons in the basics from the time I started showing magic, at my mother's insistence. I think I was five or six… But I wasn't actively tutored in the art until much later. If you're asking how long I believe it will take you to build such protections, I would estimate roughly four to six weeks, depending on how much practice you give it, and how often my schedule permits me to instruct you."

"Thanks, sir."

"Now, to begin today's lesson, I want you to enter a meditative trance. Don't go into your thoughts or memories at this time, merely clear your mind. I want you to have a feel for what it's like to have someone else in your mind. You may remove me from your mind however you see fit, be that mentally or with your wand."

Harry sat his notebook to the side, "Should I stand or sit?"

"It is up to you."

"Hmm…" Harry replied, getting to his feet. "If this is going to be as difficult as I think, I ought to stand. Maybe move some of the furniture out of the way." He pulled out his wand and spelled the furniture to move itself to the walls. He took a deep breath and met his professor's gaze. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

"Indeed."

A/N2: Sorry if it seemed as though I were rushing things in this chappie, but… I didn't really see the need to go into excruciating detail on his studies, which is primarily what was going on during this time. I also apologize if it's information-overload. Imagine what it was like for me! I had to listen to the muse babble on incoherently for simply ages before I could filter it into a quasi-readable format! In any case, I'm sorry for the lack of Chad in this chapter, as well as not going into detail on some things, like Harry's visit with Ron and Hermione, but nothing important happened there. As to Chad, well… he and Moody are still working on things. When something happens in that quadrant, I'll let you know. Also, for those of you who are chomping at the bit for some Voldie action, don't despair! It's in the next chapter. I promise. I'm also planning on dealing with Amelia in the next chapter, too, and yes, the two events are related, but I'm not planning on killing her off. I may need her later.

OH! Before I forget, to everyone who hopes I'm not going to let Ginny sit and rot, I do have plans for her. I swear! She will eventually show up in person in this story. I think I ought to warn you now, though, (snicker… now that you're twenty-whatever chapters into it and can't back out) this is going to be a very long story. I have notes for things to happen well into Harry's thirties. This story isn't just about Harry and the Dark Lord; it's about Harry's life – hence the addition of a love-interest, even though this isn't a romance. I have it as 'general' for a reason, it really covers too many specific genres to be considered just a 'romance' or just an 'action/adventure' or even an 'angst/drama' or 'comedy/horror.'

I love all my reviews and all my reviewers. Thanks, everyone, for your continued support of the fic.