Disclaimer: I'm not the second-richest woman in entertainment, ergo I am not JKR, ergo I don't own Harry Potter. But I do sound smart when I say ergo.

A/N: This chapter contains a sneaky clue as to what kind of car Moody drives. If you catch the clue, you'll know what make his car is. If you know the make and you know your cars, I think you'll be able to guess the model too, based on Moody's personality. If you guess correctly, you win...well, nothing really. But I promise to be impressed.

Chapter 4: Training Begins

As the train rolled to a stop at platform nine and three-quarters, Harry rose from his seat and looked out the window. The platform was surprisingly not very crowded, due to the number of students whose parents had taken them straight from Hogwarts. Sure enough, Professor Moody was sitting on a bench with his back to the train, seemingly absorbed in his newspaper. Harry suppressed a grin as he saw that Moody was wearing his ridiculous trench coat and bowler hat combination. He wouldn't have been surprised if that magical eye were whizzing around under the hat, calculating how likely it was that any of the anxious parents standing around were Death Eaters.

Harry grabbed his trunk and together with Ron and Hermione disembarked from the train. They walked slowly over to where Moody sat reading, not wanting to seem like they were meeting the ex-Auror. At their approach, Moody laid down the paper, got to his feet, and walked towards the barrier into the Muggle world, surreptitiously signaling for them to follow. They walked a few steps behind him, crossed through the barrier, and were met by Harry's favorite group of redheads.

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, moving forward to wrap her son in a crushing embrace. "Harry, Hermione, it's good to see all of you. Where's Ginny?"

Harry looked around. Now that he thought about it, where was Ginny? He hadn't seen her for the entire train ride, since he was locked in his compartment with Ron and Hermione. Who had she sat with? Just the thought of Ginny sitting with another man made his blood boil. Even as his anger flared, he felt guilty for feeling it. He knew that it was for Ginny's own good that they had to separate, and if she found a new boyfriend, the better for her. She deserved someone better than Harry, someone who would be able to take care of her and spend time with her without putting her in danger.

However, before Harry became further entrenched in his own thoughts, Ginny walked calmly through the barrier, looking around for a second before spotting the Weasleys and walking over to join them.

"Oh, Ginny, dear, there you are," said Mrs. Weasley, wrapping her in a hug, too. "I was just wondering where you'd gotten to. Did you have trouble with your luggage?"

"No, Mum," Ginny replied faintly from the center of the hug, "I couldn't find this lot on the train, so I sat with Neville and Luna instead." Harry shifted guiltily. "Where were you guys, anyway?"

"Oh, you know," said Hermione, "we just had to have a private talk. Sorry that you couldn't find us, but we didn't want anyone else to interrupt us."

"We can talk about this later, girls," said Mr. Weasley. "Let's get out of here. There's no safety in public places anymore. Hermione, are your parents here?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, right over there," she said, waving towards the couple that was walking towards them.

"Very well," Mr. Weasley said, looking around nervously. "Say your farewells quickly, and then Fred and George will escort you to your car and see you off." Fred flashed her a quick grin, but George just nodded. Both twins looked uncharacteristically serious. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen the twins stand quietly to the side. Even their clothes were normally flashy, but today they were dressed in drab black and grey. Harry realized the Order must have been taking things very seriously since Dumbledore's death. They were acting like they could literally be attacked at any time.

"Goodbye Ron, Harry," said Hermione, snapping Harry out of his musings. "I'll see you guys later this summer." She gave Harry a quick hug, and Ron a much longer one.

"Bye, Hermione," they said together. She waved, grinning, and then walked over to her parents, followed by Fred and George. She hugged them both briefly, and then all five headed out of the station, Ron's eyes following them until they were out of sight.

"Well, Potter," said Moody, speaking for the first time, "I'd better drop you off at home."

Harry turned and looked at all of the Weasleys standing there. "Before I go," he started, "I just wanted to thank you all for always being there for me. I really…"

"We don't have time for speeches, Potter," Moody interrupted with a growl. "The sooner we get out of here, the better. You'll see plenty of these folks over the summer. Bill's wedding is in two weeks, and you'll probably see them even before that."

Harry sighed. He'd never really gotten the chance to thank the Weasleys for all they had done for him. He supposed he'd have to do it some other time, though, since Mr. Weasley seemed almost relieved that Moody had cut him off. "Well," he said, "I'll see you guys at the wedding."

He hugged Mrs. Weasley and had his ribs crushed in return. He shook Mr. Weasley's hand, and then slapped Ron on the back. "See you soon, mate," he muttered, and Ron nodded in reply. He turned to Ginny, unsure of how he would act. Should he hug her, or should he just shake her hand? Ginny settled the problem for him, by pulling him into a tender embrace. She didn't seem to want to let go, and he didn't either, but he pulled himself away much sooner than he would have liked. He could feel Ginny still trying to hold on, and it took all of his willpower to let her go.

"Bye, Ginny," he said softly, and then turned to Moody. It looked like she wanted to say something back, but Harry quickly cut her off and said, "You ready to go, Professor?"

"Yeah, I reckon we'd better, Potter," the old man replied, and turned to the Weasleys himself. "Arthur, Molly," he said in farewell, tipping his bowler hat to them and uncovering his whizzing eye for a split second. Then he turned and left without a backward glance, Harry following close in his wake. They passed colorful billboards advertising luxury cars and soft drinks, and stepped out onto the streets. Moody led the way, heading towards a navy sedan parked at the curb. The back windows were tinted, but Harry could see through the clear front windows that there was no driver. Moody reached the car and stopped for a second, seeming to fumble in his pocket for the keys. However, Harry could see his uncovered eye staring at the car, and he was sure the magical eye was doing the same under the hat, looking for something wrong. As Moody finally pulled the keys out of his pocket, Harry shook his head: the old man really was out of his head.

Harry's first impression of the car was that it seemed much smaller on the inside than any wizard car he'd ever ridden in. There didn't seem to be any expanded space in this car, and much of the passenger room was taken up by various gadgets. As Harry sat down, he noticed that the seats were much harder and more uncomfortable than those in his uncle's car, and when he closed the door, silvery projections took up most of the elbow room. He tried to pull the seatbelt on, but the mechanism was confusing and unfamiliar.

"It's a four-point harness, Potter," Moody explained with a trace of a grin, pulling his own on with a practiced ease. "Far safer than ordinary window-shade seatbelts if I crash."

"And are you likely to crash?" asked Harry with some trepidation, finally figuring out the straps of the seat belt.

"Hardly," said Moody, while fiddling with several knobs on the dashboard unlike any Harry had ever seen. "My driving record is as clean as they come. It just never hurts to be prepared. Constant vigilance and all that."

Harry looked around the car for some sort of conversation starter. It wasn't hard to find. "What's all this stuff?" asked Harry, waving his hand at all of the unusual gadgets, buttons, and knobs that were strewn all over the inside of the car.

"Those would be the safety precautions," answered Moody. "I've got Dark Detectors, bug sweepers, bomb detectors, poison gas detectors, magical shields, physical shields, and a whole host of other equipment. It would take me a good day's work just to explain to you what everything in this car does. This car is the ultimate driving machine for anyone interested in surviving a war."

"Are the rock hard seats another one of those safety features?" asked Harry, wincing as he tried to shift his weight in a pointless attempt to make himself more comfortable.

"No, but they came with the car," said Moody with a barking laugh, before starting up the car, shifting into first, and slowly pulling out of the station. The trip to Privet Drive was long, but educational for Harry. While keeping his magical eye on the road, Moody spent almost the entire time showing Harry what each little gadget inside the car did. Harry knew he wouldn't remember half of what he'd been taught, but he had still learned a lot about different kinds of magical devices, some of which prevented against threats he hadn't even known existed.

However, the scenery outside eventually became the all-too-familiar manicured lawns and painstakingly decorated gardens of Privet Drive, and soon after that, Moody pulled into the driveway of Number 4. He parked the car, adjusted his bowler hat to once again cover his magical eye, and then stepped out of the car, motioning Harry to follow. Harry stepped out of the car, and as soon as he closed the door, Moody waved his wand, locking the doors and activating the safety charms. With that, the two of them walked towards the front door of the house, taking no care to avoid trampling Aunt Petunia's precious flowers.

Moody rapped his knuckles sharply on the heavy wooden door, and in a couple of seconds, Uncle Vernon's blotchy, angry face was sticking out of the door.

"For the LAST bloody time, we don't want to buy any ruddy siding!" he roared, before attempting to slam the door in their faces. However, before the door could close fully, Moody thrust out his hand, slamming it into the door and wedging it back open.

"Then it's a good thing we're not trying to sell any," said Moody with a trace of a grin splitting his marred face.

The effect of this simple statement on Uncle Vernon was comical. His face, which had been red with anger, faded to a pale white as a look of horror crossed it. Aghast, Uncle Vernon stumbled back a couple of steps, allowing the door to swing wide open and giving Moody room to cross the threshold. However, just as quickly as his face had paled, the anger returned in full force, and he attempted to force the wizards out. But Moody and Harry were both too quick for him and entered the house before he could close the door.

"You…him…you and him—here…why?" Uncle Vernon ground out through gritted teeth, apparently at a loss for words.

"Calm yourself, Dursley," warned Moody in a low voice. "We wouldn't want you to make a fool of yourself in front of the family," he added, with a nod towards Aunt Petunia and Dudley, who were standing behind Uncle Vernon with their mouths open in shock.

Uncle Vernon's vocabulary returned in a rush. "CALM myself?" he yelled, covering Moody in the spit flying from his mouth. "You barge into MY house, with no warning, and ask me to be calm? WELL I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT!"

And with that, before Harry could so much as make a move to stop him, Uncle Vernon let his right fist fly at Moody's face. However, before Harry could so much as blink, Moody had caught the punch in his left hand, stopping its momentum entirely. He twisted Uncle Vernon's wrist until it popped, and then sent the large man tumbling backwards with what seemed to be a light shove. The entire fight lasted less than a second.

"It would be wise for you to remember, Dursley," growled Moody menacingly, "that I don't take attempts on my person very kindly. If we're going to be living under the same roof, things will go smoother for both of us if you don't try anything rash."

Uncle Vernon scrambled back to his feet, wincing as he held his wrist. Noticing this, Moody flicked his wand at the man, and with a loud crack, the damage was instantly healed. Uncle Vernon looked down at his wrist for a moment in shock, before turning back to face Moody, still angry but under control.

"What do you mean, living under the same roof?" he spat. "We're not going to go live with you freaks."

"Of course not," replied Moody with equal disdain. "I wouldn't want filth like you dirtying my house. Potter and I are going to be living here."

Harry shifted uncomfortably as the gazes of the three Dursleys focused on him for the first time. He knew Moody and Uncle Vernon hated each other, but he hadn't really thought ahead to what was going to happen when they met. Even if he had, he would never have dreamed of something like this. He knew he had to do something before they tried to kill each other. Thinking quickly, he stepped in between the two men.

"Uncle Vernon, Professor Moody," he said with a forced calm, making a placating gesture with his hand. "Let's not get out of control, all right?"

Having a sixteen year old boy step between them seemed to snap both men back to their senses. Uncle Vernon blinked twice, confused for a moment, and then took a step backwards, some of the anger leaving his face. Moody, for his part, placed his wand back in its holster, and his face looked a little softer (if that was possible for Moody's scarred visage).

"Uncle Vernon," said Harry once more, addressing himself to the older man. "You won't even notice that we're living here. We'll be gone during the days, and at night we'll enter my bedroom directly. We won't stand outside, even for a moment, where the neighbors might see us. We won't eat your food, use your electricity, or even use your bathroom. It'll be as though we never existed."

Even Uncle Vernon couldn't find fault with that. But still, he wasn't completely satisfied. "Fine," he muttered. "Fine. You people can stay here till the boy turns seventeen. But you have to pay rent."

"Rent?" said Moody in disbelief. "You're going to make your own nephew pay rent?"

"Now see here, old man," said Uncle Vernon, angry again. "I've put up with his high-jinks for almost sixteen years, and I've made no secret of the fact that I don't want him here. I'm not going to let my house turn into some free boarding house for you frea—you people," he corrected himself hastily.

Harry was willing to do anything just to be able to get away from his Uncle. "Sure, whatever," he said. "How's a hundred thousand pounds sound?"

Uncle Vernon's eyes bulged, and his mouth opened wide in shock. "A—a hundred—hundred thousand?" he sputtered, disbelieving.

"Sure," said Harry calmly. "Think of it as seventeen years of rent." Before Uncle Vernon could so much as reply, Harry turned away and left the room, climbing the stairs towards his bedroom. He heard Moody's wooden leg clumping up the stairs behind him, and he figured that the old man was probably giving his uncle an extremely nasty look, undoubtedly using his magical eye to add to the effect. He heard a gasp from his aunt and knew that his suspicions were correct. However, he couldn't really bring himself to care anymore. Sixteen years of the Dursleys had been enough, and as far as he was concerned, he would be happy to never see them again. He entered his bedroom, and Moody followed close behind, closing the door behind him. Moody turned around, placed several charms that Harry didn't recognize on the room, and then turned back to face Harry.

"A hundred thousand pounds?" he asked dryly. "Don't you think that might be a bit much?"

Harry shrugged. "It's like I said, seventeen years worth of rent."

"A hundred thousand isn't pocket change, Potter," said Moody. "I'm not questioning the gesture. It was a very decent thing of you to do. I'm only questioning the amount."

Harry shrugged again. "What else would I use it for? I'm rich, Professor. I have the Potter and Black family money at my disposal. That's got to be well over a hundred thousand pounds, right?"

Moody's eyebrow raised slightly, and a slight grin appeared on his face, as though he knew something that Harry didn't. "Maybe. We'll wait until you get to Gringotts to see how much you have. You ready to go?"

"What, you mean to Gringotts?"

Moody shook his head. "No, Potter, I meant are you ready to head to my house. To stay for the summer."

"We're staying at your house?" asked Harry curiously. "How are we going to get there?"

"We're going to take the car, same as how we got here. Now remember, as far as the Order knows, you're staying here, and I'm leaving on my own. So put your Invisibility Cloak on, and we'll head down to the car again."

Harry rummaged through his trunk, found the cloak, and threw it over his shoulders. As soon as he was finished, Moody turned around and headed back out of the room. After clumping down the stairs and heading out the front door without so much as a word to the Dursleys, Moody limped his way over to the car, again going through the same routine of fumbling to find the keys. However, instead of entering through the driver's door, Moody walked around to the other side of the car and opened the passenger's side door wide. He leaned over for a moment, reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. He thumbed through it, still leaving the door wide open.

"In," Moody grunted, not moving his lips at all. Harry complied, slipping as quickly as he could into the cramped uncomfortable seat. However, it turned out he didn't need to hurry after all, as Moody spent another minute or two simply standing outside the car, flipping idly through the book. Eventually, he snapped the book shut, placed it back inside the car, and closed the door, causing Harry to nearly be impaled on what he vaguely remembered to be some form of bomb detector. With a sigh, he resigned himself to another long ride in the cramped, uncomfortable car.

Hours later, Harry stared out the window of the car as Moody slowly brought it to a stop. He had expected to be brought to another Grimmauld Place, but the scenery outside was the exact opposite of the dank, dingy Black manor. In a word, it was gorgeous. The car was parked on a narrow, winding dirt road that meandered its way through a pale golden meadow, with wildflowers slowly swaying in a light breeze. The evening sun shone red over the peaks of mountains far to the north, tinting the clouds with its fiery glow. At the edge of the meadow, perhaps half a mile away, tall pine trees stood majestically, ancient guardians of the forests they so diligently protected. Harry could hear the light, playful splashes of a brook or stream in the distance, although he couldn't pinpoint its location. In awe, he reached for the handle of the door to get out and get a better look.

However, before his hand could even grip the handle, Moody reached out and snatched it back. "The bodyguard always goes first," he grunted. "Even in a place like this."

It was only after Moody had exited the car and slowly circled it, magical eye staring off in all directions, that Harry was finally allowed to get out. As he straightened up, his back stretching and popping from road fatigue, he was able to get a good look at his surroundings. The stream, he discovered, cut its way lazily through the meadow, dividing it into two distinct halves. In the half they were currently in, there was no sign of any sort of place to stay, but in the other half, there was…no sign of any sort of place to stay.

"Professor Moody," Harry asked tentatively, "where's the house?" However, Moody was currently studying the ground beneath their feet very intently, and gave no sign that he had heard anything. "Professor?" tried Harry again.

Moody suddenly gave a start. "What's that? Oh…the house. Right. Well, the house is actually about three miles from here, as the Hippogriff flies. Our way is a little more roundabout. Probably four miles."

Now Harry was really confused. "Then why'd we get out of the car in the first place?"

"The road doesn't take us where we want to go, Potter," Moody explained, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The house is that way," he said, pointing a gnarled finger towards the line of pine trees. "Though 'house' isn't the word I'd use for it, really."

With that, Moody turned back around to the car, and took several steps backwards from it. "Stand back, Potter," he ordered, and Harry quickly hurried to his side. Moody then waved his wand in a complex motion. At first, Harry thought nothing had happened. Then, to his astonishment, he realized that the car was slowly sinking into the ground. As though it were quicksand, the dust of the road methodically swallowed Moody's car, until only the very top was visible. In another second, it was completely lost to view.

As soon as it was gone, Moody walked over to the spot where it had vanished and began jumping up and down. Nothing happened. He kicked at the dust, spreading it all over the country lane, but still, nothing happened. The car had completely vanished. Moody gave a satisfied grunt, and then turned back to face Harry.

"Your training begins now. Follow," he said curtly, before turning and loping down the road. Harry stood still in shock. Did Moody really expect him to run four miles?

"Come on, Potter, we don't have all day!" Moody called without turning back or slowing his pace, forcing Harry to sprint to catch up with him. After catching up to the former professor, Harry felt completely out of breath, especially compared to Moody. The old man was running at an astonishing pace, and was showing no signs of tiring. In fact, he wasn't even breathing hard! Suddenly, without any warning, he turned off the road onto an old, overgrown path that led through the meadow. Harry followed, staring at the ground to make sure that he didn't trip over any rocks, which seemed strewn over the path with the specific intent of making him fall.

The path continued through the meadow, until it reached the stream. Moody crossed a ford in the stream without even slowing his pace, forcing Harry to follow as fast as he could. As he reached the other side, his trainers were absolutely soaked, but Moody still hadn't let up. The trail continued, the terrain changing from open meadow to a closed, confined pine forest. After what Harry felt must have been at least two miles, the trail began to slope steadily uphill, until it became more like climbing a mountain than running on any sort of trail. Moody began to slow down, although Harry guessed that it was to make sure he kept up rather than because the ex-Auror was tiring. The blasted old man still wasn't even breathing heavily.

Finally, after nearly forty of the most exhausting minutes of Harry's life, Moody abruptly halted, almost causing Harry to run into his back. Apparently, they had reached their destination. For the first time in the past forty minutes, Harry lifted his eyes from his feet and gazed at his surroundings. His first thought, as he beheld the dilapidated old shack in front of him, was that this must be the tool shed. However, as he cast his gaze around, he didn't see the real house. Slowly, the truth began to dawn on him. This tiny, half-rotted wooden hut was going to be their home for the summer.

"This is going to be our house?" he panted incredulously.

"I told you 'house' was an exaggeration," said Moody with a lopsided grin, which looked more like a grimace due to the grotesque stretching of his scars. Or maybe it was a grimace. Harry could never really read Moody's facial expressions. Moody, however, was already busy scanning the hut with his magical eye, looking for any sort of trap. Harry rolled his eyes. Completely paranoid.

After a minute of simply standing and waiting, Moody finally walked over to the house and opened the door, beckoning Harry inside. Harry had clung to a faint hope that perhaps the inside of the shack had been magically expanded, but sadly it wasn't the case. Their abode was every bit as small as it looked. Inside there were two small cots, a stove, and (of course) a plethora of Dark Detectors.

"Welcome to Moody Manor. I hope you're not claustrophobic, Potter," said Moody with a dry chuckle. "Not a safer place in the world to stay. A wizard can't come within ten miles of this place without my knowing."

"Right," Harry muttered, still gasping for breath from the intense run.

"Of course," Moody added, "we're not really going to be spending very much of our time in the house. I didn't bring you out into the middle of nowhere to make you sit inside all day. We're here so you can practice your magic without distractions or interruptions. And as I said, we'll be sleeping at Privet Drive. That will still be your home, at least until the end of July."

Ever since Moody had left the compartment on the Hogwarts Express, Harry had wondered exactly what the old Auror would be teaching him. When it came down to it, there was simply so much about magic that Harry didn't know. Dumbledore had done things in the cave that Harry could never hope to replicate, and Harry didn't even know whether Moody was capable of teaching him how to be like that. Plucking up his courage (and catching his breath), Harry asked, "Sir, what exactly are you going to be teaching me here? Am I going to learn to fight Voldemort?"

Moody sat still for almost a full minute, silently thinking over the answer to Harry's question. "No," he said slowly, as though he himself were unsure of his answer.

"No, meaning you aren't going to teach me to fight him?" asked Harry. "Then what are you going to teach me? What could be more important?"

"It's not a question of importance, Potter," said Moody simply. "It's a question of ability. I've been thinking for a long time how honest to be with you during our summer training. After all, if I'm not fully honest, then I'm not giving you everything I've got. And that's not going to do any of us any good.

"On the other hand, if I speak my mind about everything, you might just give up. The way I see the world isn't sugarcoated, and a schoolboy like you has never heard anything like it. Some say old Mad-Eye's too cynical, or too paranoid, but the simple truth is that I've seen more of the world than they have, and I speak from my experience. But you're a tough kid, not one to give up easily, so I think you can handle it. Am I right?"

Enthralled, Harry could only nod.

"Good. Then here's the truth, as I see it. Teaching you to fight Voldemort is not something I want to do. Why? That way's a dead end. You can never hope to beat the Dark Lord. He is too strong for you, too skilled for you, and far more experienced than you can ever hope to become. If you try, you'll fail."

Harry was momentarily stunned, but shock soon gave way to anger. "Then what am I supposed to do? Am I just supposed to let him walk all over me, and my friends, and the whole world? It's my responsibility to beat him, and that's sure as hell what I'm going to do!"

Moody grinned wryly. "Nice idea, Potter, but empty words. Lord Voldemort is too good for you. At age sixteen, he was far more advanced in magic than you are now. Since then, he's had almost fifty years of intense study to get to the level he's at now. For ten years he left the wizarding world, and no one knows what he did during that time. But whatever it was, it transformed him from a gifted child into one of the most terrifying wizards of all time. Let me ask you a question, Potter. How long are you willing to wait to defeat him?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," said Harry slowly. "I'm going to kill him as soon as I can, and not a moment later."

"Of course," nodded Moody. "I wouldn't expect any less. But let's say you train as hard as you can, you grow by leaps and bounds, but ten years from now, you still aren't ready to kill him. Is that acceptable?"

"Ten years?" said Harry in what was almost a whisper. "You really think it's going to take me ten years?"

"No," said Moody, and Harry relaxed a little. But then Moody continued. "I imagine it will take a lot longer than that. After all, the Dark Lord's had nearly fifty. And he had a head start at age sixteen, being far better at magic then than you are now. If you also train for fifty years, I bet you'll be able to defeat him in battle."

Flabbergasted, Harry couldn't even find words to respond to what Moody was telling him. But Moody wasn't finished. "But remember, this fifty years scenario assumes that you're going to be training steadily all fifty years. I doubt that Voldemort will be willing to leave you alone that long, and I'm sure I'll be long dead by that time. Your training will be interrupted, so that even after fifty years, you may not be ready. You begin to see, I think, how hopeless this war is. I'm forced to count on a sixteen-year-old boy with all heart and no brains to defeat one of the most powerful wizards of all time and ensure the safety of the world. Let me tell you, it doesn't make it easy to fall asleep at night."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Thank God, Potter," said Moody, "that you have allies in this fight, allies who are capable of taking the fight to the Dark Lord. The current Auror Commander, Gawain Robards, was once a student of mine, but he surpassed me long ago. He can match the Dark Lord strength for strength without breaking. But Robards is one of a kind. There's no one else like him in Britain."

"Is he really that good?" asked Harry.

"Yep. He can fight any soldier in Voldemort's arsenal single-handedly. When you decide to go after Voldemort, you'll need Gawain by your side. He'll work with you if I tell him to."

"Okay," said Harry, although he had some reservations. He wasn't sure that he wanted to involve a total stranger in his personal struggle with Voldemort, no matter how skilled that stranger was. "But if I'm not going to be learning to defeat Voldemort, what will I be learning?"

"I've got three things I want to teach you. The first is how to control your magic."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry curiously.

"Your magic is a tool that's much better than a good memory for spells or fast reflexes. With it, you have powers greater than you have ever dreamed of. But you have to learn to feel your magic within you, and to bend it to your command. I can teach you to tap into it, but from there, the burden is on your shoulders. You've got to practice at every opportunity you get."

"What do you mean, feel the magic within me? You mean when I'm doing a spell?"

"I'll elaborate later, Potter," Moody cut him off. "For now, I just want to get my plans for the summer out in the open. The next thing you'll work on is learning new spells. Because even though spell-less magic can work wonders, it's pretty limited. The more spells you know, the better off you'll be in a fight."

Harry nodded. "Makes sense."

"Of course it does," said Moody indignantly. "I'm telling it to you. And the final thing you're going to learn, Potter, is CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!"

Harry jumped about a foot in the air, and hit the ground scowling. He'd gotten so wrapped up in Moody's explanations that he'd forgotten that the old man would scream about vigilance at the slightest provocation.

"Oh," Moody added, "I almost forgot. You'll also learn to keep your damn wand out of your damn back pocket. How many times am I going to have to tell you, kid, you never put the wand in the pocket. It slows your draw time, it makes it easy to steal, and it increases the risk of accidents a hundred fold. Next time I see it there, I'll blow off one of your buttocks to serve as a reminder."

Harry hastily pulled his wand out of his back pocket. He couldn't tell whether Moody was kidding or not about blowing off a buttock, but he wasn't going to risk it. He tried to stuff it in the waistband of his jeans, but Moody was too fast for him.

"No, boy," he growled, "don't put it there! Stick it in your wrist holster."

Harry looked at him blankly.

"You do have a wrist holster, don't you?"

No response.

Moody shook his head. "We've got our work cut out for us," he sighed. Still shaking his head, he turned around and left the cabin. "Well?" he added, as Harry stayed where he was. "You going to come on out or not? We have to get started sometime."

And Harry walked out of cabin, desperately hoping that he wouldn't look this stupid in front of Moody for the whole summer.

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A/N:

I'm still trying to get the hang of formatting text and stuff on this website. If anybody has any tips about spacing and borders and cool things like that, I'm all ears. What I do now is just write the chapters in word and then upload them to the site. But any formatting stuff that I do in word disappears as soon as I put it up. Alas, such is life.

Thanks to WulfMage, Gedpod, Lord Purity, and valandil for reviewing. Hope you guys enjoy this one.

Next chapter: The Order of the Phoenix.

See you then!