Harry yawned mightily as he dashed up the final few stairs to the seventh floor, silently cursing Hermione. When he had arrived back in the common room the previous evening following his meeting with Dumbledore, half of the house had swarmed him. His deflections and half answers seemed to do nothing more than encourage them, and it wasn't until Hermione stepped in and threatened to begin docking House points that the crowd finally thinned out and left him alone with Ron, Neville and Hermione. He had spent the next hour regaling them with what had happened in Dumbledore's office, and all three were elated to hear that not only would Harry not be expelled, but he would be given private lessons.

The rest of the evening had been relatively uneventful, but it had been marred slightly by the fact that Ginny was nowhere to be seen. Harry had felt saddened, and even a little hurt by this. After what had happened he had expected her to at least drop by to see how he was doing, or if he was even still a student at Hogwarts. He even thought about asking Ron where she was, but at the last moment had thought better of it, closing his mouth before the question even formed. This didn't seem to stop Hermione from spitting him with a knowing look.

The next day was not nearly as terrible as the last, but that certainly didn't make it a pleasant experience. Despite turning in at an early hour, he hadn't had much sleep. While nightmares of the normal variety were much more pleasant to endure than the tortuous visions of Voldemort, that didn't make them any easier to sleep through and he had gone to breakfast with his friends feeling more tired than when he had laid down. Then from the moment he had entered the Great Hall, a hush had descended over the room. The Slytherins were all glaring at him with open hatred, whilst the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs cringed away from him in fear. It had been his second year all over again and he had nearly turned and stormed out until a hand fell onto his shoulder. He had half turned, expecting to see Hermione but instead it was Neville, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"You can't let them get to you," he had said quietly, a plea evident in his voice. Harry hesitated, his eyes darting between Neville, Hermione, who looked hopeful, and Ron, who just looked hungry. Finally he had simply nodded and turned around again, following his friends to the end of the Gryffindor table where they sat and enjoyed the quietest breakfast that Hogwarts had ever seen.

As soon as he reached his first class of the day however, he realized that he would rather have stayed in the Great Hall. Within half an hour he was debating furiously with himself whether or not a person could actually die of boredom. While the rest of the class worked at the transfiguration assignment that Professor McGonagall had set them, he spent his time reading the lesson in his book over and over, and had even read ahead a few chapters by the time the lesson finally, blessedly ended. McGonagall had looked sympathetic, but he knew better than to think that meant she would ignore the Headmaster's orders.

In every class it was the same; the rest of the students learned new spells and practiced magic and Harry took notes and read. The boredom, combined with his lack of sleep eventually began to wear on him to the point where he was nearly asleep on his feet. It wasn't until he nodded off in the middle of, and nearly fell into, one of Professor Sprout's planters that he finally let Hermione convince him that he would need sleep before he met with Moody. After extracting a promise from her that she would personally wake him half an hour before their meeting, he had left the greenhouse - Herbology being the last lesson of the afternoon - and retreated to his dormitory. He was asleep before his head had even touched the pillow.

He had awoken what seemed like moments later however to Hermione roughly shaking him.

"Please Harry, wake up!"

Gingerly he shook his head and sat up, blinking his eyes to adjust to the dim orange glow that crept in through the dormitory window.

"Hey Hermione, is it time already?"

Hermione shook her head guiltily.

"I'm so sorry Harry, but Ron and Neville wanted to go and play exploding snap with Dean and Seamus, so I went to the library by myself and I started reading and just sort of…lost track of time."

"So what time is it?" he asked hesitantly, almost afraid of the answer.

"Nearly half past."

Anything else she might have said was lost in the mad scramble he made from his bed, grabbing his bag and sprinting as fast as his legs would carry him through the common room and out into the marble hallways, making his way to the seventh floor. Which brought him right back to the present, cursing Hermione silently while taking in deep gulps of air while the door to the room of requirement appeared before his eyes. Bracing himself, he stepped inside.

"You're late." That was the first thing Harry heard as he stepped out of the corridor and into the brightly lit room, easily five times as large as it had been during the largest DA meeting they had ever had and sparsely furnished. To one side there were a set of small wooden dummies and on the other he saw a series of shelves, stocked with various potions and, to his surprise, bandages. That was all he had time to notice before he locked eyes with the imposing figure of Mad-Eye Moody.

"I'm sorry sir, I fell asleep and my friend was supposed to-"

"Don't care," Moody interrupted, his voice hard as steel. "You were supposed to be here at six thirty, you're six minutes late. For every minute of my time that you waste boy, I'm going to take ten of yours, is that understood?" Harry bristled. He thought Moody was being completely unreasonable. After all it was only a few minutes and it wasn't as if he had-

"Stupefy!"

Harry reacted instinctively, ducking slightly as he spun to his left, narrowly missing the speeding surge of magic and removing his own wand from the pocket of his jeans in the process. Another spell was shouted, and this time Harry responded with one of his own, shouting a hurried "Protego!"His wand hummed, emitting an opaque shield and that caught the spell full on and Harry grinned as it dissipated harmlessly. His grin disappeared as he lowered his shield and was immediately hit by a jet of red light, one that he had not heard being cast. It slammed into his shoulder like a hammer blow, spinning him around and sending his wand flying from his hand and into the waiting grasp of Moody.

"Not bad boy," Moody growled, a smirk evident on his face. "It sure as hell wasn't good, but it wasn't bad either."

Harry groaned loudly as he slowly collected himself up off of the floor, trying not to wince at the ache he felt in his shoulder.

"What was that about?" he asked gruffly, struggling to keep the anger out of his voice.

"Just needed to see what I have to work with," Moody replied casually, tossing Harry's wand back at him. "Don't forget that I'm not the man who taught you Defense Against the Dark Arts two years ago; I don't know a damn thing about you. At least I know now that you aren't completely useless. You're a damned far sight away from a fully trained hit-wizard or Auror though boy, and you'd do well to remember that." The Aurors scarred face furrowed for a moment in concentration, and two hard backed wooden chairs appeared between them. Moody sat down, gesturing at the other chair situated across from him, "Sit." Harry did as he was told, but did nothing this time to hide the boiling anger rising up into his features.

"Oh, get over yourself Potter," Moody said with a roll of his eyes, "or are you as stuck up as Snape is always claiming? Do you think a Death Eater is going to listen to you pout about how unfair it was of him to beat you? Despite not knowing you personally, I am very aware of the things you've accomplished since you came to Hogwarts. Albus has been most forthcoming in that regard." Harry couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that.

"Yes, I take it you've had some trouble with getting him to give up his secrets yourself. But you haven't known the man for over fifty years. You don't know where the bodies are buried." He said it in a flat tone, devoid of any emotion, but Harry still felt a chill run down his spine. He didn't think that Moody was speaking metaphorically. "Now, I've been asked to train you in dueling and battle tactics to help you defend yourself against Voldemort's followers, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I gave you the same test I gave every Auror candidate I've ever trained, no more and no less. If you're going to act like a baby that's wet it's nappies every time you get knocked on your arse then I might as well just leave now and save myself the headache, because believe me when I tell you that if you train with me, you're going to be spending a lot of time down there. I don't demand perfection; at least not at first. But I do demand effort. If you ever walk in here and give me anything less than everything you have, I'm walking out and I'm not coming back. When you are with me you are going to sweat, you are going to bleed, and you will swear on everything you love that you hate my guts. But in the end you will be ready, that I can promise you."

Moody slowly sat back and pulled a dull gold pocket watch from a front pocket, checking the time. All the while he kept his magical eye trained on Harry, watching as his face transformed dramatically, from anger, to embarrassment, back to anger, recognition and then finally he saw what he was looking for. Determination.

"Good," he said with an empty smile, "then let's get started."

I hate this man, I hate this man, I hate this man…

Harry repeated the words in his head like a mantra as he ran, his arms pumping furiously as sweat streamed down his face like a waterfall, stinging his eyes. He had been running for nearly thirty minutes straight now and Moody had only let him stop to breathe twice. Both times he had gotten thirty seconds of gulping down sweet glorious air, only to realize that stopping actually made him realize how badly his calves burned. He had come to dislike the stopping almost as much as the running. Almost.

"Stop," Moody ordered casually as Harry passed him for the seventh time. The teen wizard immediately came to a stop and sat down quickly, nearly collapsing on weak, shaky legs that didn't seem to want to support him any longer. He flopped backwards, his chest heaving as he drank in quick, gasping breaths. "Sit up," Moody ordered as he came up to stand beside him. Reluctantly, Harry complied, groaning as he pulled himself to a seated position. "Breathe in slowly, deep breaths." Easy for you to say, Harry thought darkly, feeling an intense desire to hex the aged Auror. He did as he was told however, and he was surprised to find that Moody's advice actually worked and the pounding in his chest and head eased as large quantities of oxygen flooded into his body.

"Legs straight now," Moody said next, "reach out and grab your toes." Harry was confused, but again did as he was told, stretching out and grabbing a hold of his trainers. "You should do this any time you do any running; otherwise you'll be creakier than old Albus by the next morning." While Harry continued to stretch his aching muscles, Moody summoned his chair from across the room and sat himself down next to him. "Do you know why you just did that?"

"Erm…"

"Standing rule in this room Potter - speak your mind. We don't have time to be pussyfooting around."

"Well then; because you're an arsehole?"

"No," Moody laughed, "but a damn fine guess. You ran because there is one thing that Hogwart's blatantly ignores in all of your years here; your body. They may teach you everything a young wizard or witch needs to know about magic, but they don't give two shits about your body. Did you ever wonder Potter why most of the adult wizards you've met have been pudgy little bastards?"

"Well now that you mention it," Harry murmured, now massaging his legs and wincing slightly, "yeah I have. Not all of them though; Malfoy's dad isn't, and neither are you or Tonks or Kingsley."

"The Malfoy family, "Moody said with disdain, "have their heads so far up their own arses they can chew their food again on the way down. He's skinny simply because he doesn't want to tarnish his families 'image' as the perfect pureblood family." He grinned, "And Tonks and I are Aurors. I dare you to find the wizard who can remain fat after going through the training that I helped design." Well I can certainly believe that, Harry thought.

"If you take the whole ministry and line them up though," Moody continued, "ninety percent of them would drop dead of a heart attack halfway through a 5k race. Because when you can accomplish almost anything with magic, why would you ever do anything else? But in the world you're entering you don't have the luxury of that kind of thinking anymore. In a real duel wizards don't stand still and take turns casting spells. When a Death Eater is doing your damndest to take your head off, your only defense is to keep moving; that and to be a better shot than he is. And look at you, winded after a half an hour of light jogging. In the middle ages when wizards fought alongside great armies of muggles, battles could go on for days. When I first apprehended the Lestranges the fight lasted nearly an hour, and there were almost a dozen of us and only four of them including that fucker Crouch. And I can guarantee you that we were not jogging. Until further notice you are to report to the edge of the lake at six every morning for more physical conditioning."Harry was unsuccessful in holding a horrified groan. "Whine again and it'll be five. Now get up." Harry scrambled to his feet, apprehension clear on his face.

"More running?"

"More running," Moody answered as he himself stood. "A little different this time, to drive the point home. This time no laps, just sprint for the far wall. And when I say sprint I mean give it everything you have. Are you ready?" Harry nodded as he leaned forward, preparing himself. "Go."

Harry took off, his legs pumping and his breathing heavy as he ran full tilt toward the far wall of the Room of Requirement. He focused in on his goal completely, doing his best to ignore the heavy sounds of his breathing and the hammering of his heart inside of his chest. Everything but the one bit of wall that he was aiming for just fell away. Then without warning something slammed into his side with a loud thud and he fell, tripping over his own feet in his surprise and confusion. He hit the ground hard, his breath leaving him in a massive rush of air. Shaking his head, he slowly climbed to his feet, trying to shake his grogginess.

"What the-Shit!" He ducked as he saw the bright red of a Quiditch quaffle zooming towards his face, narrowly missing getting flattened once more.

"Why'd you stop," came a cry from Moody, still standing in the same spot but with his wand out and held loosely at his side. "I told you to sprint to the wall, not have a nap on the floor." As Harry watched he raised his wand, pointing it at a nearby rack that had not been there before filled with row upon row of quaffles. Harry's eyes widened as he turned and ran for all he was worth. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a ball flying towards him, looking to hit right in the center of his back so again he fell, but this time on purpose, catching himself with his hands and watching as the ball sailed harmlessly over head. He started to get up but felt a tug at the back of his mind and instead rolled quickly to his left, seconds later hearing the telltale sound of a ball striking the floor.

Leaping to his feet he resumed his mad dash, but was now feeling much more confident. As before he felt, rather than saw, the next one; this time a low shot aimed at his feet that he leapt over without breaking stride. Focusing ahead once again he saw how close to the wall he was and lowered his head, pushing with everything he had, but the same feeling that had lead him before told him to look behind him. Twisting, he could see that a half dozen balls were only a few meters behind him, seconds away from contact. He also knew that with so many there was no way he would be able to dodge them all. Just before he would have slammed into the wall going full speed he jolted to a halt, turning as he did so and pulling his wand from the pocket of his jeans. A bright, opaque shield shimmered into existence before him only moments before balls began slamming into it, bouncing away as they did so. The loud, echoing sounds of bouncing quaffles slowly, inexorably died, leaving only the heavy, panting breathing of an exhausted Harry Potter.

Harry watched as the room around him began to shrink, the stone seem to slide away beneath his feet as Moody began to walk towards him, each step appearing to bring him a dozen strides closer. Moments later he stood before the wheezing teen who's eyes widened in surprise. What had been a cavernous room had shrunk away to the size of a small office, no more than a few meters across. Harry locked his gaze with the impassive Moody, refusing to give an inch. He raised his chin defiantly, fully expecting to be shouted at and accused of cheating, as he was sure Snape would have done, or perhaps told how 'disappointed' Moody was in him as Dumbledore might have. To Harry's shock, he did neither.

"Not bad Potter."

Harry must have looked confused, because Moody continued with a bemused smile. "Expecting me to bust your bollocks? I told you that I wanted to you to sprint to the wall boy…I never said you couldn't use magic to do it." Harry's jaw dropped as he took in Moody's words; the entire exercise would have been a hundred times easier had he known he was allowed to use his wand! Moody shook his head ruefully, "You can take that as lesson number two; never make assumptions, ever. Assumptions are for the stupid and the dead. The second that you begin to make assumptions about a situation, you cut yourself off from possibilities and it makes it harder for you to react when the situation doesn't go as you expected. And believe me when it comes to fighting dark wizards, things rarely go as expected. Take this little excerise; I told you to run to the wall, and you assumed that because you were running, you weren't allowed to do anything else. If you had not made that assumption, you would have just pulled your wand the second you saw what I was doing and you would have had an easy path to victory." Harry cursed inwardly as he realized the Auror was right. He had assumed that he couldn't use his wand even though Moody had never said anything of the sort. He nodded gravely.

"I understand."

Moody smiled, "Good. And now that you've learned that lesson…" He flicked his wand and Harry felt his own jerk from his fingers once again into the waiting hands of Mad-Eye Moody. "We'll try this properly. Again!"