Disclaimer: The following characters, settings and referenced events are, and always will be, the property of J K Rowling.

– CHAPTER TWELVE –

Trials and Errors

Harry didn't make it to Gryffindor Tower. As he walked past the end of the corridor leading to the Room of Requirement, he stopped and took a few steps back. He gazed towards the tapestry of dancing trolls. He hadn't retrieved Snape's book yet. And he was supposed to be having a class with Slughorn tomorrow …

Glancing in every direction (including up) to make sure nobody was watching, Harry turned down the corridor.

I need to find the book I hid … I need to find the book I hid … I need to find the book I hid … As Harry walked past the blank wall for a third time, a door suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The door to the Room of Requirement. With another glance left and right, he ducked inside.

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Harry let his eyes roam over the cathedral-sized city of furniture, books and odds and ends, most of which had definitely seen better days, stretching before him. Relief washed over him. He was in the right Room. He had been so scared it wouldn't work somehow.

His relief was short-lived though as a new doubt began to creep in: would he be able to find his hiding place in the centuries of trash and treasure piled either side of countless streets and laneways. The doubt strengthened as he explored because nothing looked familiar. He had passed niggling panic by the time he found what he was looking for: an old bust wearing a wig and a tiara.

The relief returned as Harry opened the cupboard which the ridiculous-looking bust was perched on. Reaching behind a cage containing a five-legged skeleton, his hands scraped through the dust, finally clasping around a hard rectangular book-shaped object.

Harry allowed a grin to spread across his face as he brushed a thin layer of dust from the cover, revealing the title Advanced Potion-Making. He flicked through the book just to be sure and wasn't disappointed to find every page graffitied with Snape's handwriting.

Storing the book safely in his robes, he headed back towards the entrance, past potion bottles, cloaks, glistening gems, turned right at a wardrobe –

Harry pulled up and looked back at the dusty cupboard. Walking around it he examined every inch, making certain he wasn't mistaken. He'd look a right idiot otherwise and Slughorn, for one, would never let him forget it. Though not malevolently nasty like Snape, he was still Head of Slytherin and so took delight in the failures of others, basking in the reflected glory that he was smarter than them.

Once he was satisfied, Harry gave his wand a swish and flick and the large cupboard floated into the air.

'Where have you been? Capsworth said you finished ages –' Ron broke off as the cabinet turned the corner behind Harry. 'Why on earth is a wardrobe following you?'

'I'm taking it to the staff room.' Harry walked past Ron, the cupboard trailing after him.

Ron clearly didn't think this even came close to explaining things but Harry didn't have time to go into it any further. He didn't even really care if Ron followed him or not. All that mattered was getting the cabinet to McGonagall and Flitwick.

Because it was late, they managed to avoid running into anyone until the fourth floor where they stumbled upon Filch out and about on his nightly prowl of the corridors, his mangy cat, Mrs Norris, peeping out from behind his rheumatic legs. The cabinet stumped him for only two seconds. His malicious glee at finding students out of bed multiplied tenfold at the discovery of them stealing school property. Despite Harry and Ron's protests ('Read the badge – Head Boy!'), Filch would not be swayed and proceeded to drag them off to his office, no easy task when Harry broke off his spell and the caretaker was forced to either lug the cabinet to his office himself or risk losing incriminating evidence.

Drawn by the commotion which ensued (Filch was certainly not happy that Harry and Ron were able to resist his efforts to force them to carry the cabinet), a little floating wide-mouthed man put in an appearance just before they reached Filch's den.

'Ooh! Potter's in trouble, Potter's in trouble,' sang Peeves the poltergeist roguishly, twisting around a nearby chandelier. 'Seventh-years stealing cupboards; the headmistress really should be told.' He grinned evilly at them.

'No!' snapped Filch bossily, but with a note of panic as well. 'The headmistress is a very busy woman. That's why I work here – to take care of matters which she doesn't have time to see to.' He continued to drag the cabinet a few more inches as if that settled the matter.

'Please, Peeves.' Harry tried to sound as desperate as he could. 'Don't tell McGonagall. You'll get us in even more trouble.' He ignored both Ron and Filch's dropped jaws and put as much horror onto his face as he could muster.

Peeves glanced from Filch's smug face to Harry's fearful one. His face split in the most mischievously evil grin Harry had ever seen then, with a loud cackle, he went whizzing past them down the corridor.

Filch stared disgruntledly after him. 'Well, don't think the headmistress will be able to rescue you,' he snapped at Harry and Ron. 'You two have been getting away with murder for far too long and it's high time you got your just desserts. Professor Dumbledore isn't around any more to protect you,' he grunted as he moved the cabinet a little further.

'Why did you do that?' Ron whispered to Harry. 'McGonagall'll make things worse.'

'No, she won't.' Harry made sure Filch was looking the other way before risking a grin. 'You'll see. Trust me.'

When they finally reached Filch's office, the old Squib spent several minutes catching his breath, his crusty wheezes the only sound as Harry and Ron backed into chairs.

'Who told you to sit down,' snapped Filch, his bloodshot eyes full of hatred. Slumping tiredly into the chair behind his desk, he reached for a quill.

'Names: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley. Crime: steal –'

A knock interrupted him, heralding the arrival of a stern-faced Professor McGonagall. Filch struggled to his rheumatic feet as she entered.

'I'm sorry you had to come all the way down here, Headmistress,' he wheezed apologetically. 'I'm quite capable of handling this without your help. I told Peeves there was no need to disturb you. Interfering little …' he muttered bitterly under his breath.

McGonagall overlooked his comments about Peeves 'And what exactly is it that you are handling here, Argus?' Her eyes swept the office, taking in Harry and Ron as well as the cupboard standing freely in the centre of the room.

Filch puffed up defensively like a plimpy. 'I caught these students roaming through the corridors after curfew, stealing school property. I was just writing up the details of their crime when you came in.'

'And what school property have they been stealing, Mr Filch?' McGonagall cast her eyes around the room, trying to notice the misappropriated item but the only thing which she could find which didn't seem to belong was the cupboard. Her puzzlement grew to outright confusion when Filch confirmed her reluctant suspicion. She sighed heavily.

'I am probably going to regret asking this, Potter, but where did that wardrobe come from and why were the two of you stealing it?'

'We didn't steal it, Professor,' Harry tried hard to keep from grinning. 'I did.' ('Ha! I told you,' cried Filch triumphantly) 'I found it in the Room of Requirement. Ron met me as I was taking it to the staff room and then Mr Filch ran into us and dragged us here.'

McGonagall closed her eyes and looked like she was praying for patience. 'And why were you bringing it to the staff room?'

'I wanted you and Professor Flitwick to check it out. You might have me teaching Defence but this is a bit beyond me. You two were the only ones I knew I could trust to properly destroy Malfoy's Vanishing Cabinet that he brought those Death Eaters in with the night Professor Dumbledore died. I couldn't give it to the Ministry to take care of; they'd only botch things up.'

Harry knew he had achieved maximum shock value. Both Ron and McGonagall had shouted 'What?' and Filch gave an extremely loud cry of terror and pressed himself against the wall behind his desk, his eyes larger than saucepan lids as he stared at the cabinet as though it was going to spew forth more Death Eaters any second. McGonagall glanced from the cabinet to Harry, aghast.

'How on earth did you manage to get it? We've been trying for nearly two months but haven't been able to find it.'

'That's because you didn't know just what it was you were looking for.'

'And you did?'

'Yes.' Harry thought it best not to reveal that he had actually been looking for Snape's book. It would only invite more questions, none of which he was prepared to answer. 'So, will you and Flitwick be able to handle it?' He nodded towards the cabinet, forcing McGonagall to focus on the matter of its destruction rather than Harry's non-existent explanation.

A little of McGonagall's normal bearing returned. 'Yes … yes, Filius and I should be able to see to things without … without too much difficulty.' She bit her lip in a rare display of uncertainty. 'I suppose it would be proper to inform the Minister … after all, he did request to be kept updated …' She seemed to be thinking out loud.

'But did he actually say he wanted you to tell him the instant you found it or just that it had been found?'

McGonagall dragged herself from her introspection to gaze at Ron. 'Explain what you mean, Weasley.'

'Well, it's late, isn't it?' said Ron. 'And it's a very long way to come. Plus, he'd probably want to bring a whole heap of Aurors or something with him. It seems rather silly getting everybody out of bed for something which isn't even an immediate emergency, doesn't it? Tomorrow morning is plenty soon enough.'

Harry could tell that McGonagall was being swayed.

'And, of course, it would only be natural to make sure the cabinet didn't exist anymore by then. You don't know for certain that Voldemort won't send some Death Eaters through it tonight. I know Greyback would love another go at all the kids here. You have to protect the students in your care at any cost. You would only be making sure they were safe.' Harry braved a grin of encouragement and was certain he saw McGonagall's mouth twitch ever so slightly.

'Mr Filch,' (Filch was still eyeing the Vanishing Cabinet with fear). 'Could you please ask Professor Flitwick to meet me in the staff room at his earliest convenience?'

Filch looked most unhappy at this request; it would require that he move closer to the offending piece of carpentry in order to exit the office as well as deny him the chance to mete out any punishment.

'Now, if you wouldn't mind,' McGonagall said sternly.

Filch clearly did mind but obviously wasn't prepared to disobey his employer. Pressed against the wall (and muttering under his breath), he slowly edged his way around the room until he finally reached the relative safety of the corridor. They heard his footsteps hurrying away as fast as his rheumatism would allow, trying to put as much distance between himself and the deadly cupboard.

McGonagall turned to Harry and Ron. 'I trust you two are capable of returning to Gryffindor Tower without stumbling upon any other errant pieces of furniture?'

Harry and Ron both nodded as she removed her wand and made the Vanishing Cabinet rise into the air.

'Then I would advise you both to get yourselves to bed before Mr Filch can try to apprehend you for any more transgressions.'

'But we didn't –'

'Goodnight, Mr Weasley.'

It was just after three o'clock in the morning when Harry woke with a start. He wondered, for a moment, what had woken him, then he heard strange fizzing, popping sounds and noticed a faint green light on the ceiling. Unable to identify the source of either, he got up and went to the window.

Hagrid was tossing pieces of broken timber onto a large bonfire in front of his hut, causing the fire to give an extremely loud bang as it exploded in a burst of dark purple flames, casting a sinister light over the grounds. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick and Capsworth were stationed around the bonfire's perimeter, well back out of its reach, waving their wands in intricately complicated patterns, making the fire die back down to green although it did keep popping with small bursts, the wood fizzing and bubbling in the flames like baking soda in water.

A part of Harry felt guilty that, as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he should have been the one to destroy the Vanishing Cabinet and he told Capsworth so over breakfast later that morning.

'Don't worry about it, Harry,' she assured him. 'As you told Minerva, you had never come across anything like this before. The Abdo Adamantis Charm is difficult to perform at the best of times, even by fully qualified wizards. Only those with plenty of experience, like Filius, are able to cast it without doing more harm than they are trying to undo.'

'But it was still my subject –'

'No, it wasn't. That Vanishing Cabinet wasn't an item of Dark magic, it was a joke object; it would have fitted in quite well in Ron's brothers' shop.'

Harry had to admit this much was true. It wasn't the cabinet's fault that its twin was in a location which made it easily accessible to Dark wizards; it had merely been developed to Vanish between its two halves. Quite amusing really, as Fred and George demonstrated when they forced a Slytherin student into it during their seventh year. The guilty knot began to loosen itself as Professor Capsworth continued.

'Believe me, Harry, your original instincts were spot on; this matter definitely came under the heading "Charms", not "Defence". You would deny Filius the opportunity to do his bit in all of this, would you?' Her eyes twinkled at him a moment, then she turned to accept a tray of kippers from Professor Flitwick, whose beaming smile seemed to split his small face in two.

x

'I met one of your students.'

The following Saturday night found Harry in the drawing room of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, about to have his first Transfigurations tutorial with Dumbledore.

The former headmaster glanced up, his brows raised. 'One of my students?'

Harry nodded.

'Who?' Dumbledore gazed at Harry, curious.

'Patricia Capsworth.'

'Oh, so you've met Patricia, have you?' The silver moustache stretched into a delighted grin. 'I wasn't aware Minerva had managed to lure her away from the Ministry. As I understood, she was doing her best to stop the Minister bullying innocent victims in his quest to be seen to be doing something about Lord Voldemort.'

'She was certainly doing that,' Harry said. 'If it hadn't been for her, Ron, Hermione, Mrs Figg and I would currently be locked up in Azkaban.'

'Remus mentioned that you had a little run-in with the Ministry over the summer, but he was rather light on details.' He leant back in his chair. Harry took this as an invitation to start describing everything which had passed before the Wizengamot.

'They do say revenge is sweetest when served up cold.' Dumbledore wiped a tear from his eye. 'That was better than even I could have come up with. Please be certain to tell Miss Granger that I applaud her choice of reward for you having a roof over your head all these years.' The still very misty eyes twinkled.

Harry thought 'reward' was an odd way of viewing what Hermione had done to the Dursleys, but at least Dumbledore wasn't mad about what was, essentially, Muggle-baiting.

Because of his schedule, they had decided that Harry would stay at Hogwarts during the week and sneak down to London on the weekends. Stanwick Fulstrum had only bothered to show up for one tutorial, and had only stayed long enough to give Harry another earful of bitterness and disdain and to tell him that, as such a fine, accomplished Auror, he would be doing the law-abiding wizarding community a favour by refusing to teach Harry at all, thus ensuring that he failed his NEWT and never became an Auror himself.

When McGonagall had learned of Fulstrum's resignation as Harry's tutor, she had been in a quandary as to what to do. She had not been at all keen to just let it slide but, as Harry pointed out, he had managed to get Outstanding on his OWL, despite having been taught properly for only one of the five years leading up to that exam, including two when he had to teach himself: fourth year when the Triwizard rules had banned him from asking any teachers for help, and fifth year when Umbridge had imposed a ban on him learning.

He even showed McGonagall the set of books which had been his bible for the past year and a half. Even though Defence Against the Dark Arts wasn't her area of expertise, she could tell they were extremely useful and would serve Harry very well.

'And I have managed to get some pretty impressive experience under my belt which nobody else has. How many times have Fulstrum or Scrimgeour gone up against Voldemort?'

Despite McGonagall wanting to rework Harry's timetable now that he had an extra night free, Harry convinced her to let him use the spare hours to catch up on homework and correction. After all, he was going to need every second he could scrounge.

Since Harry wanted to be an Auror, Dumbledore had decided that Remus, Snape and he would augment Harry's studies in Defence, Potions and Transfigurations to ensure he got Outstanding for those three NEWTs at least by commencing his intensive summer studies ten months early.

Dumbledore's idea of Transfigurations rather took Harry by surprise. Feeling that Patricia Capsworth was doing an excellent job with Harry's tuition (which Harry was inclined to agree with), he opted instead to spend their classes only lightly touching on what Harry had learnt on the previous Monday, reinforcing his technique and mastery, and then concentrating on something which Harry would have thought would come more under the heading of Charms. Picking up where Snape had left off, Dumbledore started to teach him both Occlumency and Legilimency.

For the Defence tutes, Lupin claimed to be at a loss as to just what it was Dumbledore wanted him to teach Harry.

'Why, what don't I know?' he asked when told he would be having classes with Harry, tossing Harry a mischievous wink.

The only problem was Potions.

Knowing that Harry had his precious copy of Advanced Potion-Making, there was no way Snape would tolerate the situation remaining that way. The trouble was, Harry hadn't managed to copy all of Snape's notes yet.

And not just the brewing corrections. Hidden from Hermione, he was busily writing out all of Snape's hexes as well. Even though Harry now knew that the Half-Blood Prince was Snape, it didn't put him off believing in what was in that book. If anything, it strengthened it. No matter how grudgingly, Harry couldn't deny that Snape definitely knew his subject. Both of them. Hermione might complain, but Harry was determined to get every advantage he could, and if only one of Snape's jinxes saved him in his battle against Voldemort, then it was worth working for that advantage.

He had ordered a new copy from Flourish and Blotts, but it would probably still be a couple more weeks coming. This wasn't a problem in Slughorn's class because the self-indulgent teacher refused to believe Harry's prowess was the result of anything other than natural talent inherited from his mother.

Snape, however, suffered no such delusions.

Wondering what the disgraced professor's reaction would be to Harry borrowing Ron's copy of the set textbook, Harry dreaded facing up to his first private Potions tutorial.

'Is the … audience …' Snape's lip curled, 'absolutely necessary, Headmaster?'

'Oh, I'm not an audience, Severus,' Dumbledore's pale blue eyes twinkled. 'I am a student.'

Snape frowned as he dragged his eyes away from Lupin. 'You wish me to teach you?'

'I wish for you to teach all three of us.' The moustache twitched. 'Harry, of course, can use extra tutelage to improve upon what Horace is teaching him. I may have done well in Potions when I was at school, but that was many, many years ago. I certainly haven't brewed anything for a very long time and am extremely out of practice.

'And Lupin?' The dark eyes slid back to again bore through Remus, who gazed back mildly.

'As you know, Severus, I have never been much of a potion brewer … everybody has a weakness of some kind …' (Harry suspected that Snape didn't consider that he had any weaknesses) 'and, while it has been very kind of you to make the Wolfsbane Potion for me, I can't rely on you to keep it up forever. It wouldn't be fair to you; you do have your own life, after all. No, it is high time I started to take responsibility for my own welfare and the first step is learning to successfully brew complex potions. And for that, I need an extremely competent teacher, one who can do a much better job than Professor Slughorn did when we were young.'

Snape narrowed his eyes, suspicious of Lupin's praise, but unable to do anything about it because of Dumbledore's presence.

'Shall we get on with the lesson, then?' Dumbledore was watching both men carefully, only the slightest crease added to his wrinkled brow.

Snape's lips pressed together more tightly and Harry suspected that he was biting his tongue to stop himself saying exactly what he thought of the idea of teaching Harry in front of witnesses. He doubted that Lupin's presence would have put an end to Snape's bullying, but with Dumbledore there to also watch proceedings, Harry felt that he might finally be taught properly.

x

By the middle of the third week, notices had begun to appear on the board in the Gryffindor common room announcing that Quidditch trials would be held on the following Saturday at ten a.m. They drew a lot of interest.

'Why have you said first-years can try out?' asked Ron as he headed down to breakfast with Harry and Hermione. 'It's not like they'll be able to play. Dumbledore might have had no problems, but McGonagall, no way.'

Harry frowned at this comment. 'Who do you think talked Dumbledore into bending the first-year rule for me in the first place?' he said. 'Don't worry about it, Ron. Just be there and make sure you play your heart out. They're going to need to know what they'll be up against.'

Ron glanced uncertainly at Hermione but, as she had never understood Quidditch like they had, she just shrugged and followed Harry into the Great Hall.

On Saturday, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny headed down to the Quidditch pitch at nine o'clock to get everything set up for when hopefuls would start arriving in an hour, only to find, as they approached the stadium, that the hopefuls were already there.

'What –?' Ron gaped at the half-full stands. 'You did say ten o'clock, didn't you?'

Harry nodded numbly.

'How many of them are actually in Gryffindor, do you think?' Ginny, at least, seemed to be amused that half the school had shown up.

'What – oh, of course,' said Harry, remembering last year's debacle. He pulled out his wand, a determined look on his face, and marched into the arena.

'Sonorus.'

As the general din died down to silence, every head turned to face this newcomer into their midst. Harry could see very few Gryffindor badges amongst the throng.

'CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE?' shouted Harry, making everybody jump, including himself. 'Sorry.' He grinned sheepishly. 'I've never used that charm before. Apparently you don't need to shout.' He cleared his throat. 'Well, now that I do have your attention, could everybody who is not in Gryffindor please leave. I will not be considering players from other houses, and anyone who stays will be wasting both your time and mine as well as losing points for your house. So, if you want Gryffindor to be very much in the lead for the House Cup, by all means, stay. Otherwise, go. Now!'

He gazed up at the countless faces glaring mutinously down at him. Harry remained unmoved and slowly, still throwing murderous looks in his direction, the students who had no right being there dragged themselves back up to the castle.

Harry glanced around at the remaining students. It still looked like most of Gryffindor house had turned up to try out. The only ones who didn't seem to be present were the rest of the actual Gryffindor team … and they wouldn't arrive for nearly an hour.

'OK, everybody come down here.' Harry waited for the prospective team members to climb down out of the stands. Once they were gathered around him, he started by getting them to fly up, down and around the pitch in groups of five, as well as follow Ginny through a series of complex moves, noting who had excellent balance, maneuverability and co-ordination. By the time ten o'clock came around, he had come up with roughly a dozen names which might fit what he wanted.

'You sure you're after a new Chaser?' Ron ran an eye over the list Harry had completed. 'It looks more like you're trying out a whole new team.'

'I am.'

As Ron stared at him in horrified shock, Harry wandered over to the middle of the pitch and waved the students down to break the news of who hadn't made it through to the next round. When he got back to Ron, he found the entire team lined up, defiant looks on their faces.

'What's this Ron says about you wanting to give us the boot?' Ritchie Cootes was gripping his broom so tightly, Harry was surprised the wood didn't splinter.

'Didn't we do a good enough job winning the Cup last year? Demelza Robins sounded very indignant.

'Without you,' Ron pointed out.

Harry held his hands up to stop the onrush.

'If you are quite finished?' He waited for his irate teammates to fall into a sullen silence. 'I am not replacing you, no matter how much you may deserve it with your behaviour just now.'

The faces grew darker.

'What I'm doing is setting up a reserve.'

Ron had been about to start protesting again but stopped in the middle of the first word. 'Then– … a … what?'

'A reserve,' Harry said dryly. 'To readily step into any of our places in the event of illness or injury (and we've had plenty of those over the years), they'll give us something to practise against during training, and they'll be getting trained up themselves, ready to take over from us as we leave. That's why I said first-years were allowed to try out; of all of us, they're the ones who'll be here the longest.' Harry gazed around at his team-mates. 'So, is your captain a genius, or what?' He waited for the accolades.

The team responded by bursting out laughing.

'It might be a clever idea, mate, but a genius, you're not.' Ron clapped Harry on the back, still laughing. 'Come on, you lot,' he called to the others. 'Let's see what this bunch have got in them.'

It was one of the hardest practices Harry had ever been involved in in seven years of doing this. He thought it might even top the rigorous sessions Oliver Wood had dragged him through four years before, but it was worth it. By the time they had finished, not only did he have a replacement Chaser in fifth-year Tania Whiteman, but also his hoped-for Reserve team, consisting of a third year, two second-years and four firsts.

Harry was especially pleased with the discovery of Luke Pole, a Muggle-born who was a natural on a broom. He also had extremely sharp eyes and reflexes and had caught eighteen out of twenty of the golf balls Harry had painted gold … while flying into the sun. Harry had only managed fifteen.

It was just a pity that he was only a first-year. He would have been perfect to stand in for Harry if the search for Voldemort's Horcruxes made him miss a game. While Dumbledore had had no problems bending the first-year rule, Harry couldn't see McGonagall being as accommodating, especially in the face of his refusal to tell her what he was doing about Voldemort.

But next year …

x

Holding the Quidditch trials heralded a great decrease in Harry's non-existent spare time. What with teaching during the day, tutorials in the evenings, marking homework late into the nights, Quidditch practice on Saturdays and private classes in London on Saturday and Sunday nights, as well as cramming his own homework into the very few minutes in between (fortunately, Dumbledore had stopped Snape adding to the workload), he received a rather unpleasant surprise when he woke up a week before Halloween and realised the first term was already half over. And the shocks didn't stop there as he discovered when he got down to breakfast.

'Oh no!'

'What?' Ron jumped at the horror in Hermione's voice, spilling pumpkin juice down the front of his robes.

As his friend tried to mop himself clean, Harry watched Hermione with an increasing sense of trepidation. She was staring at The Daily Prophet in shock, her face as white as the tablecloth in front of her.

'Hermione, what is it?'

For reply, she gave one loud sob, then dropped the paper and ran, crying, from the Great Hall. Harry and Ron exchanged puzzled looks as Harry picked up the abandoned paper. He didn't have to search very far to find the cause of her distress. It was emblazoned all over the front page, in letters as dark as the news they were conveying.

Viktor Krum was dead.

'She's all upset because that pompous –'

Harry reached up and grabbed Ron's shoulder, dragging him back down to his seat. 'That's why you couldn't get an autograph quick enough.'

'But she –'

'Would you be upset if Lavender Brown was murdered?' Harry asked.

'What?'

'Hermione used to go with him. She may not be in love with him anymore, but she probably still likes him as a friend; after all, they didn't split up because of a fight. And considering how sudden and unexpected this is, I would say she has every right to be shocked and upset, wouldn't you?' He turned his attention back to the newspaper, Ron scowling in the background. Silence passed between them for several minutes as Harry started devouring every word detailing the circumstances surrounding Krum's death.

'So, how did he die?' Ron asked, his curiosity eventually winning over his jealousy.

'How are most people dying these days?' Harry asked quietly.

'But why him?'

'I don't know. Maybe they tried to get him to be a Death Eater and he refused.'

'But why would he refuse? He went to Durmstrang, after all.'

Harry looked up. 'What does that have to do with it?'

'Well, Karkaroff taught him.'

'So that automatically makes him evil, does it?' Harry's shock started to turn to anger. 'He wasn't evil. He was an athlete, probably the best Seeker in the world. Besides, he was too busy to be a Death Eater. According to this, as well as playing for Bulgaria in the European Cup preliminaries, he's been meeting with other member nations to talk about setting up a European Junior League.

'Besides,' Harry continued, 'I'd have thought he would be too high profile for Voldemort. Being the star he is … was … he was always being watched – by the media, his fans, that sort of thing. It would be too easy to notice anything out of the ordinary. No. This is something else, I think.'

'You think?'

'Mmm. It's just a … a … feeling, I guess. I can't explain it any other way.'

'You haven't been taking lessons from Professor Trelawney, have you?' Ron started to lean away from Harry, as if he thought he might catch something.

'You know, you really should be comforting Hermione rather than badgering me.' Harry wasn't happy about the jibe about Professor Trelawney.

'What's wrong with you? I was just –'

'Ron, I don't mean to sound rude,' Harry interrupted, knowing he was being just that, 'but I don't want to hear it, OK. I just want to be alone so I can think and see if I can work out what my feeling about all this is. And you need to find your girlfriend. And remember that, Ron; she's your girlfriend. She hasn't seen Krum in over two years.'

For a minute, Harry thought Ron was going to blow up at him (his ears were turning red very quickly) but, instead, he jumped up angrily and stormed from the Hall; Harry saw him leaping up the marble staircase three steps at a time.

There was only one topic of conversation for the rest of the day. Everywhere Harry went, Krum's name was constantly on people's lips – in the bathroom, common room and corridors. He even had to threaten a group of girls at the back of a fourth-year class with lost points to get them to unglue their heads from each other and concentrate on the lesson.

McGonagall pulled Harry aside during the morning break and asked him if he knew where Ron and Hermione were as they had both been missing all morning. Harry told her about Hermione's distress and said that Ron was probably with her, trying to comfort her (or at least he hoped that was the case).

Then, just as Harry was about to enter the Great Hall for lunch, Pansy Parkinson came through the front doors (no doubt from a Herbology lesson), and suddenly shouted across the Entrance Hall, 'Hey, Potter. Are you trying to bump off everybody who knows you cheated to win the Triwizard? First Cedric Diggory, now Victor Krum. Or were you just jealous because he sat with us rather than at the smelly Gryffindor table?'

The other Slytherins from the Herbology class, who were milling about just inside the massive oak doors, shrieked with laughter.

'Pretty stupid thing to say, Parkinson.' Ginny had come up behind Harry and was glaring at the Slytherins. 'Calling a teacher a murderer. They can take points off.'

'He's not my teacher.' Pansy's nose screwed up like she was smelling something bad as she glanced across at Ginny.

'But I can still take off points,' Harry informed her.

'Now, now, Harry,' a jovial voice said from Harry's right; looking across, he saw Slughorn watching from the door leading down to the dungeons, 'there's no need for points to be deducted. Miss Parkinson was merely asking a question relating to a self-held opinion. She has done nothing which warrants any punishment.'

'Huh?' Harry didn't have a clue what the well-rounded professor had just said and, judging by the Slytherins' faces, neither did they.

'Well, if it's OK for students to ask questions relating to self-held opinions, then you won't be able to take off points for this.' Ginny glared straight at Parkinson.

'Tell me, how's your pathetic, weak, dumb Death Eater boyfriend enjoying Azkaban?'

A collective hiss spread through the Slytherins, and even Slughorn gave a small squawk.

'Draco's not pathetic, weak and dumb!' Pansy Parkinson was glaring dangerously at Ginny; with a teacher in full view she wasn't stupid enough to go for her wand, even if he was Head of her House.

'Yes he is!' Ginny glared back. 'He was too weak to kill Dumbledore even though You-Know-Who had ordered him to, he was always bawling on Moaning Myrtle's shoulder because You-Know-Who was going to kill him if he didn't hurry up and do it, and when he kidnapped Harry, he still couldn't get it right and got himself caught when he went back for Harry's wand. So yeah, I'd say that makes him really dumb.'

A suit of armour at the top of the stairs started laughing and Pansy Parkinson finally lost control, blasting the amused pile of scrap metal. The crash brought everybody running from the Great Hall.

Filch also appeared out of nowhere. He stared, livid, at the remains of the heap of rust he had probably spent several hours trying to polish to a gleaming shine. He rounded on everybody, boiling with rage. His eyes fell on Harry.

'I should have known you would have something to do with this, Potter,' he almost screamed, his voice cracking. Harry hadn't seen him this upset since Mrs Norris had been Petrified by a Basilisk during Harry's second year.

Perhaps it was the potential threat of harm to his star pupil, but Slughorn made a fatal error which the previous Head of Slytherin never would have. 'Actually, Mr Filch, it was Miss Parkinson who –'

The rest of his words were drowned out by an explosion of sound as Filch gave an angry roar and began throwing broken pieces of armour at Malfoy's former girlfriend, hitting several other Slytherins as well, as the watching crowd of students cheered. Pansy Parkinson threw her hands above her head and ran screaming back outside to the grounds.

Giving chase, Filch had just reached the front doors when they slammed in his face. McGonagall had finally arrived.

'I hope there is a good reason why two teachers allowed such utter chaos to break out without stopping it.'

Having taken several minutes to restore calm, McGonagall had then dragged what she viewed as the culprits up to her office. Now Harry, Ginny, Slughorn and Filch were all lined up in front of her desk like a row of prisoners facing a firing squad.

'Potter made –'

'I said I would like my teachers to explain themselves, Mr Filch.' McGonagall cut the bitter caretaker off before he could get into his stride. Her nostrils flared as she glared up at Harry. 'You first, Potter.'

Feeling like everybody was watching him although every face was focused on McGonagall, Harry described what had happened downstairs. When the headmistress found out that Slughorn had dismissed Pansy's insult as 'a question relating to a self-held opinion', the grim eyes widened in disbelief, though, when Harry repeated what Ginny had then said to Parkinson, her mouth twitched ever so slightly.

'So why was Mr Filch throwing a suit of armour at Miss Parkinson?'

'It started laughing at what Ginny said and Pansy blasted it to teach it a lesson. Mr Filch wasn't real thrilled,' said Harry.

McGonagall gazed up at Slughorn. 'So am I to understand, from what Potter has just said, that you witnessed the entire exchange from the beginning, Professor?'

'Yes, Professor.'

'And did you indeed say that Harry was not to deduct points for Miss Parkinson's comments because it related to a self-held opinion?'

'Oh yes, Headmistress.' Harry couldn't understand why Slughorn was beaming proudly; he was possibly about to be fired for lack of discipline and gross stupidity.

McGonagall continued to glare at him as if weighing up her options. After several moments, she dragged her eyes back to the others.

'Because Professor Slughorn basically gave you permission to be insulting to another student, Weasley, I shall not take off any points for your behaviour, but you are not to ask any further questions concerning your opinions again or you shall not find me so lenient. Miss Parkinson, on the other hand, had received no such prior permission, so she shall lose twenty points for her house to discourage any other students from thinking they now have free rein to hurl insults from one end of the school to the other. Potter, despite Mr Filch's belief to the contrary, if what you have said is true, then you actually played no part in any of this other than being the unwilling victim of Miss Parkinson's attack, so you do not require any warning or punishment to discourage a repeat of today's events.

'Mr Filch,' (the caretaker's jaw had dropped when he realised Harry was going to get off scot-free) 'if I find you physically attacking any of my students again, no matter what the provocation, I shall have to seriously consider reviewing your contract here.'

Filch sputtered in shock at what was, in effect, a threat of dismissal.

'And Professor Slughorn, how you could encourage students to indiscriminately attack each other verbally, I do not know. A teacher of your experience should certainly know better. I do not believe this has ever happened in the history of Hogwarts, but I feel the only way to ensure you never act so stupidly again is to issue you with detention. Please report to this office at eight o'clock this evening to serve your punishment.

'That will be all, thank you.'

Understanding themselves to be dismissed, Harry and Ginny crossed to the door as quickly as they dared without looking like they were desperate to get out of there, leaving Filch and Slughorn still staring at McGonagall in shock.

x

'Nothing!'

Ron slammed Ancient Magical Artifacts and their Properties shut, raising a small cloud of dust. 'This is ridiculous. We're never going to find a picture of that stupid bird.'

A week later, the three friends could be found grabbing a few minutes in the library before the Halloween feast, trying to find some kind of reference which would confirm whether or not the gold bird which had attacked Ron in Borgin and Burkes was a potential heirloom. Unhappy at their lack of progress, Ron scowled at the almost-empty library which had failed to yield the information they sought.

Hermione sighed as she slowly turned the pages of Wizarding Dynasties of the Dark Ages. 'You're probably right, Ron. I can't even find mention of the cup or sword. This lot certainly knew how to keep things very close to their chests. I just wish there was some other way we could know for sure if we're even on the right track.'

'I can't see how we're not,' said Harry, keeping his voice low; Madam Pince was only two rows away. 'All of the items, and even the deaths, are significant and have a strong connection to some aspect of Voldemort and his life.'

'Except the last one,' Ron pointed out. 'A caretaker isn't what you'd call a particularly significant bloke. Just some old codger who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A bit like Myrtle.'

'Myrtle was a Hogwarts student, Ron,' said Hermione.

'And she was Muggle-born,' added Harry. 'Voldemort was continuing Slytherin's work getting rid of so-called unworthy students.'

'Anyway, Ron.' Hermione started packing up their books. 'The sixth one hadn't been meant to be made then, it was supposed to have been made when he killed Harry.'

'Except Harry didn't die, did he? All he got was a scar. You-Know-Who was the one who nearly died. Not what you'd call a real successful night.'

'He successfully killed my parents,' Harry said quietly.

Ron went bright red and began stammering, 'I didn't … I didn't mean …'

'It's OK, Ron.' Harry searched for a change of subject, anything to get them off the topic of death. 'You ready to go down to the Great Hall?' He glanced at Hermione.

'Hermione?'

Probably to hide his embarrassment, Ron had dived under the table and was busily forcing books into his bag, so he didn't notice anything, but Harry knew immediately that something was wrong. Hermione was sitting opposite him, staring at him but not focused on him, a slightly glazed look in her eyes. Then, before his eyes, she seemed to come out of her trance as a look of absolute horror spread across her face.

'Hermione?' Harry reached across and touched her hand, causing her to start.

'What?' she fairly squeaked. Harry could hear footsteps hurrying around the bookshelves. 'I'm fine.' Hermione brought her voice back down to normal and tossed the last of the books into her bag just as Ron resurfaced.

'Are you two coming?' Ron was still oblivious to the fact that anything had happened.

Hermione blinked. 'Where?'

'The feast, of course. Honestly, you'd stay in here all night if you had the chance.'

Behind Ron, Harry saw Madam Pince bearing down on them at high speed.

'We're coming.' Harry grabbed Hermione's arm and steered her towards the door, sneaking surreptitious glances at her. He thought she still seemed distracted, almost to the point of preoccupation, and wondered what was going on.

They were almost to the Great Hall when she finally began to fight against his grip and tried to hold him back.

'Harry,' she whispered, 'can I please borrow your Cloak?'

Harry stopped. 'Sure,' he replied slowly; Hermione's expression looked almost panicky. 'But tell me why first.'

'I need to speak to someone. Now.'

'And you need to be invisible to talk to them?'

'No!' She glanced around nervously as the last stragglers pushed past them, heading to the feast. 'I need to be invisible to get past the gates so I can Apparate to London.'

London?

'You won't get past the gates,' Harry told her. 'The protective wards can only be lifted by McGonagall. Anyway, you don't need to go all the way to London if you want to speak to a certain person.' He held her gaze a moment to telegraph that he meant Dumbledore. 'You can send a message via the portrait in my office.'

'What?' Hermione broke off gnawing at one of her fingernails. (Harry had never seen her do that before.) 'Um … no … I don't think that will be enough. I really need to speak to them face to face. Are you sure I can't get past the gate?'

'Positive. However, there's another way. Come with me.'

Ron had finally realised that he had left them several yards behind and was starting to backtrack when Harry and Hermione not only caught up, but rushed past him.

'Where are you two going? What about the feast?' he called, rather desperately.

'We'll be back soon,' Hermione called as they almost ran towards the front doors.

'Save us some pumpkin pie,' Harry added as he pulled the doors closed behind him.

'Harry, why are we heading towards Dumbledore's tomb?' Hermione trustingly allowed Harry to lead her across the grounds.

'You'll see.' Harry squinted through the darkness, guided by the white marble beacon on the shores of the lake. When they finally reached the tomb, he removed the ring from his right hand and slotted it into the eye socket.

Hermione traced her fingers along the outline of the phoenix. 'I never noticed this before.'

'Have you been back here since the funeral?' Harry took his wand out.

'Well, no; there didn't seem any point since it's empty.' She finally noticed what Harry was doing.

'It's a Portkey,' he explained, touching the crimson eye.

'Actually,' Hermione bit her lip nervously. 'I was wanting to speak to him alone. You don't mind, do you?' she glanced at Harry uncertainly.

'Oh, OK. I'll wait here for you then.' He watched Hermione closely as she pressed her own wand against the ring, but she wasn't giving anything away. 'You need to say –'

'I know how to activate a Portkey, Harry; Flitwick taught us in Charms two days ago.'

'So I heard,' Harry said dryly. Seamus Finnigan's attempt hadn't exactly been an unqualified success. Instead of Porting from one side of the Charms classroom to the other, he had instead wound up in the middle of one of Harry's Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, landing on top of two first-year Slytherins who had wasted no time testing their new skills on him. The only good thing about it was that Harry finally had a good reason to take points off Slytherin and not have McGonagall or Slughorn try to restore them. Flitwick was still trying to work out how Seamus had breached the school's Portation barriers.

'Anyway,' Harry continued, 'this one works a little differently. Instead of "one, two, three", you have to say. "Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak."'

Harry knew Hermione's mind was elsewhere when she didn't gasp and promptly launch into a recollection of their first night at Hogwarts. Still a little worried about what was really going on, he watched with a certain amount of curiosity as Hermione dutifully recited Dumbledore's 'few words'. He had never actually watched someone else disappear by Portkey, having always been travelling with the Portkey himself, and was a little disappointed when she merely vanished as simply and smoothly as a blink. After all, there was nothing simple or smooth about the whirlwind of colours and sound which was the journey.

Wondering if he was being a little irreverent, Harry sat down on the tomb and waited for Hermione's return.

x

'And just what have you two been up to?'

Harry and Hermione pulled up just inside the front doors. Turning, they saw Filch leaning against the wall beside the door, Mrs Norris cradled in his arms.

'The feast started half an hour ago so, like I said, what have you been doing?'

'We were at Professor Dumbledore's tomb,' said Hermione, quite unashamedly. Harry shot her a nervous glance; she wasn't about to blurt out about the Portkey, was she?

''Ey?' Filch had clearly not expected an upfront answer. Students usually tried to dodge his interrogations, so this approach threw him momentarily.

'This is Halloween,' Hermione continued, 'and according to tradition, this is the one night of the year when the wall dividing the worlds of the living and the dead is at its weakest point. That's why ghosts roam more prevalently on this night. But it also means that living people can send messages to the other side more easily too. And that's what we were doing. We wanted to let Professor Dumbledore know how the battle against Lord Voldemort –' (Filch fairly jumped, almost dropping Mrs Norris) '– was going, and also that we miss him.' She said all this very quickly, leaving Filch looking like he had been left behind at the start.

Filch's eyes narrowed suspiciously as they darted from Hermione across to Harry, as if trying to find confirmation of what he had just heard or, at the very least, a translation. Harry tried very hard not to look guilty as the bloodshot eyes bored through him.

'You haven't been trying to send messages to Dumbledore,' he croaked, pleased with himself for seeing through them. Harry's insides plummeted. 'You've been making whoopee!'

Filch allowed Mrs Norris to leap out of his arms onto the floor so he could grasp both Harry and Hermione's arms in a vice-like grip and proceeded to drag them back outside.

Harry only wondered for a moment where they were going; mostly, he was struggling not to laugh, and he could tell Hermione was in the same boat. Making whoopee?

A couple of minutes later, Harry's mirth abated enough to register surprise as Filch banged on the door of Hagrid's hut.

'Back, Fang, back!' Hagrid yelled over the sudden noise of Fang trying to knock the door down, barking loudly all the while. A moment later, Hagrid opened the door, blocking the gap with his body to keep his giant boarhound from escaping. He gazed from Filch, leering evilly, to Harry and Hermione, shaking with suppressed laughter at the end of each of Filch's arms.

'Why aren' you lo' at the feast?'

'You're their Head of House, so I brought 'em to you for punishment,' announced Filch.

'Punishment?' Hagrid had no idea what was going on.

'These students have been outside without permission,' gloated Filch. 'Making whoopee,' he added impressively.

Both Harry and Hermione collapsed against Filch, almost knocking him over, tears streaming down their cheeks as they tried to choke back gales of laughter. Filch released their arms and grabbed a fistful each of their hair (they protested in pain, but still couldn't stop laughing), almost throwing them at Hagrid.

'The headmistress says Heads of House are to deal with students' crimes now, not me.' He scowled bitterly. 'So deal with them!'

Hagrid still stared at them stupidly.

'Punish them. They need to be punished!' Filch was almost screaming.

Hagrid gaped from Filch to Harry and Hermione (still laughing) and the Knut finally seemed to drop. He pulled himself up to his full (and massive) height.

'Righ'! You two, in here.' He roughly jerked Harry and Hermione through the doorway. 'An' you,' he glared angrily at Filch, 'can clear off!'

'I want to see 'em get –'

The door slammed in Filch's face.

Both Harry and Hermione had settled themselves down at the table and were making gulping noises trying to get themselves back under control as Hagrid turned to face them.

'Now.' He heaved himself into his armchair with a thump. 'Wha' was tha' Squib on abou' the two of yeh gettin' up ter stuff yeh shouldn'?'

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks and promptly collapsed in fits of laughter again.

Hagrid gazed from one to the other and back several times, his anger mounting each time his head turned.

'Harry, wha' were yer thinkin'. Yer should know better. Teachers aren' allowed ter ge' involved with students. Professor McGonagall won' like it.'

Harry tried to remind Hagrid that he wasn't really a teacher, but he couldn't seem to be able to draw breath sufficiently to give his voice volume.

'An' yeh, Hermione.' Hagrid's voice changed from anger to disappointment so quickly, Harry almost choked, wincing as his side hurt. 'I though' yeh liked Ron?'

'I – I do, Hagrid,' Hermione gasped as she tried to sit up.

'Then what have yeh bin doin' with Harry?'

'Nothing, Hagrid, honestly.' Harry pressed a hand against his ribs. 'We just visited Dumbledore's tomb and Filch caught us on the way back in. You know what he's like – if you're not as miserable as him then you must have been up to something.'

'He's just jealous, Hagrid.' Hermione screwed her face up against the pain in her ribs. 'He's never even held hands with a girl so anything remotely romantic is a crime in his eyes.'

'So yeh were doin' somethin' with Harry?' Hagrid still looked disappointed.

'No!' Hermione winced again. 'But Filch wouldn't believe that.'

'Like you said, Hagrid,' Harry tried to draw calming breaths and hiccoughed, 'Hermione likes Ron. And I'm not going to let any girl get close to me until after Voldemort is dead –' ('Don' say tha' name!') '– so why on earth would Hermione and I be,' (he gasped for breath) 'making whoopee?'

Both Harry and Hermione dissolved in fits of laughter again, though now it was punctuated by small yelps as their protesting muscles made themselves felt. Even Hagrid's face reddened and his tangled beard shook as he chuckled.

'No one's called it tha' since I were a lad.'