A/N: Well! Thanks to overwhelming support, (thanks for all the reviews, guys!) I will be continuing this story.

Recognition, Chapter Two

The first thing the Boy Who Lived was conscious of was, strangely enough, what seemed to be a pebble underneath his shoulder blades. He shifted uncomfortably, but his only caused it to dig deeper into him. He sighed, then spent the better part of two minutes trying to decide whether it was worth it to get up and find the rock. He decided it wasn't. Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia would almost certainly hear him waking and order him to make breakfast. This was about the last thing Harry wanted to do right now.

Though he had never actually been read any fairy tales as a young child (that he could remember) a thought came unprecedented to his mind. Something about a princess and a... grape, was it? Or maybe it was a pea. Yes, he decided, it was a pea. His third-grade teacher had mentioned this tale as an example of what little things can do once in science class. Harry wondered vaguely why he had even remembered that. As he became more and more conscious, the insides of his eyelids turned a lighter and lighter shade, until they became red.

They reminded him of blood. My, my. Aren't we morbid today? He thought to himself.

The last thing he remembered was... what had he been doing last? He was scheduled to leave for Hogwarts later today on the Hogwarts Express...

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright in his hospital bed - his eyes flicking open. The train. The... creature. The new professor. Moony. Moony! How could he have forgotten what had happened? It was only one of the strangest things that had happened in his life. Well, he reconsidered, maybe that was a bit overboard - but one of them. Once he had gathered his thoughts, he realized something strange. There was no one in the hospital wing. No Madame Pomfrey. No arguing Ron and Hermione. He was curious about this revelation, though secretly glad. He wasn't sure what his friends would have to say about his interaction with the new professor. Who was most certainly not his Moony. Or so he tried to convince himself.

Harry leaned back into the many pillows stacked up behind him. They were comfortable. New? He wondered. He looked all around the infirmary. The walls were painted institutional white. Natural light streamed in through a domed, glass ceiling far above. He wondered how he'd missed this before. He was unsurprised to see that none of the other beds were filled.

Who else but me could manage to have to go to the hospital on the first day of school? he thought bitterly. It was surely some sort of record. Even Harry knew that he was purposely thinking of things other than the strange occurrence of his childhood dream-family. However, after about fifteen minutes, he gave up. There was simply nothing else interesting to think about. He had gone over his trunk check-list twice, making sure he'd brought everything from Privet Drive. He'd even stressed about whether or not he'd completed his summer homework well enough. It was then that he realized he not only wanted to think about his newfound memories of his "family," but he needed to think of them - even if they were a figment of his imagination.

So, he allowed himself to think - reviewing all his happy dreams of a family. Times of reading, playing... he even had a dim recollection of dreaming of a place much like Diagon Alley. He wondered for a second if he had some sort of fortunetelling ability. It was lucky he'd decided to take Divination. But the more he "watched" re-runs of old dreams, the more he became convinced that Professor Lupin was, indeed, Moony. And this, he knew, was dangerous. He could only imagine what the Daily Prophet would say if they learned he'd had a dream-family at a young age. Or that his uncle and aunt had been less-than-welcoming to him. Or even that he thought he'd recognized a man he'd never seen in his life. He would be firmly labeled "off-his-rocker".

He sat there silently, thinking peacefully for what must have been nearly an hour before he began to hear a pair of stomping footsteps ascending the stairwell towards the room. He shook himself out of his daydreams, not wanting whoever was coming up to see his surely vacant expression.

A few seconds later, a frazzled-looking Madame Pomfrey came through the door, slamming it behind her and briefly resting her weight against it. Harry raised an eyebrow, though she had not yet noticed he was awake. A second later, he realized why. Two other sets of footsteps came up the steps at running speed, one slamming into the door. A second later, two muffled voices came through.

"Let us in! We have the right-"

"-his friends! We just want so see-"

"-won't wake him up-"

Harry grinned in spite of himself. Those were certainly the voices of Ron and Hermione. A second later, he frowned in confusion as he heard several more footsteps come up the stairs quickly - though not as fast as his two best friends.

"Yeah! We-"

"-want to see him-"

"-too! Don't ignore us, lady-"

"-or we may just make a few-"

"-improvements to your-"

"-Hospital Wing!"

These were most unmistakably the raised voices of Fred and George Weasley. He was a bit surprised at their vehemence (he didn't actually know them that well) but touched all the same. He muffled his snorting laughter into his pillow as the Hospital matron shouted at the door.

"He needs rest! Not a band of bumbling buffoons who will do the opposite of helping him!" Harry, despite himself, was impressed at Madame Pomfrey's dedication to helping him. He did know her rather well though, he decided. He had probably been in the Hospital Wing more times than any other third-year and most likely many older students as well.

The pounding on the door halted, though no footsteps were heard going down the stairs. The healer huffed rather dramatically, running her fingers through her frizzy hair indignantly. Then, she noticed Harry was awake and looking extremely amused. She colored slightly when she realized he had heard her confrontation with his friends.

"Ahh. I see you're awake." She spoke quietly, which was probably a good move; as the three of the Weasley boys and Hermione were no doubt listening hard for any voices behind the doorway.

"Yeah," he replied politely. "I woke up about an hour ago. How long was I out?" To the smiling relief of Madame Pomfrey, he too spoke in a low voice, if only to prevent her getting a hemorrhoid.

"About three hours. You missed the feast." Harry sighed. He'd expected as much. "Are you achy? Tired? Hungry?" The matron continued, stepping up to his cot and placing her hand on his forehead before waving her wand absently over his body, which revealed several flashing colors. She summoned a slip of paper from a pile in her office, and the information appeared on it. She checked it, and frowned disapprovingly.

"Have you been eating proper meals?" She put her hand on his stomach - to Harry's surprise and discomfort - and glowered a him when she apparently could feel his ribcage. "Apparently not." She said with pursed lips. Indeed, Harry had eaten a total of what his cousin would eat in a week throughout the entire summer. Not that he'd wished to. Uncle Vernon had apparently gotten over his initial fear that Harry would pull out his wand and turn them into frogs and gone back to much of his original habits of before-Hogwarts time. She looked at the paper again, and just when she was about to walk back into her office, she did a double-take.

"HARRY POTTER, DID YOU GET INTO A FIGHT OVER THE SUMMER?" She realized her mistake a second later.

"Harry! You're awake!"

"Tell her to let us in!"

"We knew you'd-"

"-wake up soon!"

Madame Pomfrey hung her head in dismay, giving Harry a little bit of extra time to formulate a response. Over the summer, he had been washing dishes and dropped a plate. It had apparently been a gift from Marge. This earned him two days without food, and a minute as Vernon's punching bag. No doubt this was what she was seeing. Though his pre-Hogwarts days had involved many times like this, Harry hadn't been subjected to any physical violence from his uncle since the end of first year. His body was again unused to the treatment, and had reacted worse than he remembered.

Vernon had taken his anger out on him a total of three times over the summer. Once when he broke the dish in late June, once on his birthday (just to show he cared), and one last time when Dudley's grades had come home (all F's, with the exception of P.E, where he'd achieved a C) around the same time Harry had gotten his grades. He hadn't been worried about this, as he'd learned from Ron that wizards have a different grading system. However, he hadn't counted on Hogwarts doing the "service" of translating his grades into muggle ones. It had been the worst by far when Vernon had learned that Harry had achieved almost all A's, with a B in Potions. Harry shivered automatically.

"So?" Pomfrey said, her eyes narrowed. "Did you get into a fight? Your medical history for this last year clearly shows a slightly fractured — and untreated, may I add — left arm, severe bruising, several open cuts and a concussion!" She was ranting a bit by this point, but Harry's mind was whirling. I'd gotten all that? It didn't feel that bad...

Harry was about to answer a (surely feeble) excuse, when Hermione's voice shrieked through the wooden door.

"Wait a second, YOU GOT IN A FIGHT?" Harry winced. He'd no doubt have to give a reply to this question more than once.

"Yeah," he said quietly - resolving to tell his friends later. "Some older guys in my neighborhood... nothing to worry about, though." The healer stiffened indignantly.

"Nothing to worry about?" She hissed. "I've seen people healthier than this after falling out a window. This is no small issue, Mr. Potter! I will have to inform Headmaster Dumbledore about this..." Harry was sure she was continuing to speak, but inside he was wrapped up in his own frantic thoughts. She's going to tell Dumbledore? But he might guess... And what am I going to say I got in a fight about-

But his thoughts were rudely interrupted by the harsh hand of the menacing healer, who was shaking his shoulder to get his attention. He shied a bit away automatically, though it was so small she didn't even notice.

"So? What was this oh-so-unimportant fight about, dare I ask?" Her voice was scathing, though he knew she was worried for him. She was betrayed by her hand, which was twitching. He recognized this action from previous years.

"I - uhhh... I was mad that he took the last piece of cake?" She looked at him, deadpan. Harry could have swore he saw her eye twitch. He laughed nervously. "Okay, okay. He said that is was weird that I lived with my aunt and uncle. I'm very... protective of them." It took all Harry's long years of hiding his true feelings at Number 4, Privet Drive to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling up his throat as he told the outrageous lie. Madame Pomfrey's eyes softened considerably once she'd heard what she deemed to be a truthful answer.

"Aren't we all, dear?" She murmured, seemingly to herself as she gazed at him rather fondly. He shifted. Then, she straightened, getting back to business. "Well then. Since these wounds were never properly healed, you'll have to stay in the Hospital Wing until tomorrow night, most likely." Harry let out a cry of righteous outrage.

"What! But I feel fine!" She shook her head, almost delighting in his outcry.

"That's what you get for mixing up in a fight like that, Mr. Potter." Harry slumped down into his covers, glowering at the bump of his feet near the end of the bed. "You can join your schoolmates for classes the day after tomorrow." This sealed the deal. Everyone in Hogwarts knew that Madame Pomfrey never let anyone out sooner than she'd said. It was something she took personal pride in.

"Fine." He grumbled. He could hardly believe it! He didn't even want to imagine what Malfoy would say when he learned, much less Snape. It wasn't him who should be punished for getting beaten up. How was that fair?

He was broken out of his internal rant by the voice of the familiar healer saying, "If you drink your potions, I'll let Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger in." He straightened slightly. At least that's a slight improvement. He soon remembered Hermione's rather banshee like scream when she learned he'd been in a "fight." He shuddered. The girl was his best friend, of course, but she had a very sharp temper.

A few minutes later, he was brought a whole platter of potions - each in a varying array of disgusting colors. Do all healing potions look so horrible? He wondered idly as he looked, grimacing, at a vial of thick, bubbling-green liquid that seemed to have a life of it's own. He closed his eyes, a swigged it down - gagging. Apparently they don't just look horrible.

He had to take seven (yes, seven) more potions before the motherly nurse let his friends in. And come in, they did. While Harry had been distracted by the vast amounts of disgusting liquid he had been downing, a large percentage of the Gryffindor third-years, and a few scattered older and younger students and congregated outside the Wing. the motherly healer allowed his friends in. When she opened the door, they came flowing in, causing Pomfrey to exclaim:

"Really!" rather indignantly. Besides the people he'd known to be behind the door, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, Colin Creevy, and many others were now leaning over his sickbed, along with a few students from other Houses. There was a dreamy-eyed second year wearing what he thought were House-elf shaped earrings, and a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy with bronze hair whom several of the girls were blushing at. Including Hermione, he noticed with a slight frown.

"How are you, mate?" Ron said. It was rather unlike him to show "weak" emotions (worry, fear, etc) in the company of others, but this apparently was an exception.

"What happened?" Lavender Brown said in her rather squeaky voice, as Colin Creevy blinded them with his flashbulb as he documented Harry's sickbed. He sighed and explained. (Though he left out the part with Moony/Lupin, and what he was pretty sure was a scream.)

They all looked at him, wide eyed. "They're called Dementors," said the older, Hufflepuff boy whose name Harry now remembered to be Cedric-something. "The guards of Azkaban. I did hear rumors that they are here protecting the castle from Sirius Black." Many of the room's occupants shivered.

"Why did it get all cold?" Parvati asked quietly.

"That's what they do," Cedric said grimly. "They suck all the happiness out of people." There was silence in the room as the rest of the students drank this in. For the first time, Harry wondered why he had such a reaction to it while the others didn't. Somehow, he knew that no one else had fainted like he did. He was weak.

And, it was all his fault they were here. No. No, he reprimanded himself. It's Sirius frickin' Black's fault. But even as he thought the name, it once again felt... nice. Comforting, even. Not at all how a serial-killer's name should sound. He banished those thoughts. In an effort to start better conversation, he asked Hermione:

"So what's our schedule?" At once, he knew he'd made a mistake. Her eyes lit up, and she immediately began reciting their classes. After Tuesday (what would be his first day of school) he stopped listening. The next day's schedule was OK.

9:00 - Charms

10:30 - Potions

12:00 - Lunch

2:00 - Defense Against the Dark Arts

3:30 - Divination

It was a fairly good schedule for a Tuesday, he decided - if you ignored the Potions. He refrained from shivering at what he knew Snape's reaction to his absence the first day of school. He wondered idly if the man would manage to work the apparent incompetence of his father into the daily insult. He guessed so. He could already imagine the greasy-haired man's tall body looming over him vampiric-like. I mean, honestly. You would think he could afford to buy some shampoo, even with a teacher's salary.

When Hermione finally finished her speech, most of the people in the room had slipped away. Now, only he, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and the second year girl with the strange earrings remained. He tried to be polite, but he couldn't help looking at her quizzically.

"Er- sorry, but I don't know your name." He said a bit uncomfortably. "I'm Harry." She smiled radiantly, a strand of wavy blonde hair falling in front of her eyes.

"My name is Luna Lovegood. It is nice to meet you, Harry Potter." He was a bit taken aback at her carefree, dreamy tone, but he automatically liked her.

"Nice to meet you too," he said. "If you don't know, this is Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom." He gestured towards them individually as he spoke. She didn't speak, but nodded at them happily. Hermione, acting more herself that most of the crowd was gone, sat down on the foot of his bed — taking care not to sit on his feet. She acted as if she did so, he would explode into a million pieces. It wasn't a good feeling, he decided. It made him feel useless.

"So. Harry," she said quietly. "Are you OK, really?" Her voice was tender, and her chocolate brown eyes searched his, as if she thought she might find an answer there. Neville looked distinctly awkward now, most likely wondering if he should leave them to their group.

"I'm good, Hermione. Really." He smiled, and she blushed slightly, though she didn't seem to believe him. He told the almost-whole truth. He was just glad to be free of the Dursleys at last.

"If you say so," she said uncertainly. Ron, however, seemed much more accepting.

"Glad to hear it, mate. You had me really worried for a while there," said Ron. Neville nodded in agreement and spoke up.

"Yeah. Once you... Well, collapsed, Professor Lupin drove the Dementor away with a spell. He made some sort of glowing thing — an animal or something." Neville suddenly stopped, looking embarrassed that he'd spoken so much. His face flushed, and he shifted his position.

"Thanks for catching me up, Nevile," Harry said, grateful. "Did you notice any incantation he said? I want to learn how to do that." Hermione frowned in concentration, thinking back. But she came up empty.

"Sorry, Harry, I'm pretty sure he did it silently." Harry internally cursed.

"That's okay. Maybe I'll ask him later..." he trailed off, thinking again of the mysterious Lupin/Moony. Were they the same person? Was "Moony" even a person at all? If he was, were the rest of his dream-people real? Thousands of questions along the same lines flew through his head, each of them branching off into more and more unanswerable questions. He sighed. It's useless just to think about it.

They talked for a good half and hour before Madame Pomfrey bustled in, pushing them out none-too-gently. Harry sighed. It had been nice while it lasted. He lay back onto his pillow again, finding himself surprisingly tired for the lack of physical activity he'd had that day. He fell asleep within a minute, to the nurse's great satisfaction, not to mention future blackmail.

Headmaster's Office

Albus Dumbledore sat serenely at his desk, fingers steepled in a contemplative expression as an utterly confused Remus John Lupin paced back and forth in front of him. His electric blue eyes followed the man, who seemed to have gained a significant amount of grey hair in the last few hours.

"-even possible? He was one and a half years old when I saw him last! It's been proven that children don't have memories lasting longer than a year or so at that age! How could-" The aged Headmaster sighed. He, too, was intrigued and baffled by this turn of events. Unusually, he hadn't seen this one coming. And this was about the worst time it could happen — what with Mr. Black on the loose. He sighed again.

Every time he thought of that name, he couldn't help but call the mental picture of a handsome, 15-year-old youth sitting and laughing in front of him next to James Potter and occasionally Remus Lupin or Peter Pettigrew. His eyes closed for a second, mind flashing back a few years to the last time he'd seen the boy... no. Man. Shivering as he huddled in a concrete high-security cell, mumbling indecipherable sentences and phrases under his breath.

It would hurt Harry all the more when he learned (if he learned, he corrected himself) Black was his godfather if he actually remembered him. Mr. Lupin, it seemed, was of the same mind.

"-Dementor showed up! I hate to admit it, but Harry and my..." (he halted his train of thought for the first time in quite the number of minutes) "-encounter shook me up more than I'd like to admit." The werewolf stopped his quick rounds of Dumbledore's circular office, and looked directly at the Headmaster, begging eyes boring into him. "Is this really a good idea, Albus?"

He was talking, of course, of himself teaching the Defense position at Hogwarts this year. Unusually, it had been Dumbledore who had approached Lupin at his home instead of the other way around. He'd known, of course, that it would take a lot of encouraging on his part to get him to take the position. He sighed for what must have been the third time in the last minute or so. If only the man had not been bitten at such a young age, he would no doubt be Head of the MLE by now. It never ceased to sadden the old wizard how so many people put their prejudices before the person they actually met.

"Of course it is, Remus. You are the perfect man for the job." The man in question ran his spread fingers through his thick, tawny hair.

"That's not what I meant, you know it, Albus. I mean with this development with Harry and I. It may do him more harm than good for me to be around right now." Dumbledore cut him off sternly, looking down his nose at the man before him, who had by now collapsed into a plush gold chair.

"I still believe you should continue teaching this year. Harry himself has not made any comments about liking or disliking you as a teacher or other; and I don't think he will. In fact, I am inclined to believe he would be delighted to know you as a teacher or as a friend. He has been all too lacking of parental figures especially of late." Albus smiled sadly.

"Are you sure?" said Remus carefully. The Headmaster could hear the uncertainty, as well as the hopeful desperation in his voice. It was obvious that it had killed him to not have seen the boy all these years, and would be crushed if Dumbledore decided it was better for him not to teach.

"Irrevocably," Dumbledore replied, showing more certainty than he felt. There was silence for a second, each man mulling over similar thoughts. Remus was the first to speak.

"Is it okay for me to... pull him aside and speak to him about what happened on the Hogwarts Express?" Dumbledore was silent for a minute, thinking seriously. The amount of pros and cons for each side were enormous. Like they had discussed, it could hurt Harry even more if he were to remember Black (which he most likely did, as he remembered Remus) but it would be an enormous psychological and moral booster for him to know someone who was friends with his father and even to become friends with them, if things went the right way.

"I would say yes." Remus let out a whoosh of breath, sounding more surprised than happy or sad. "However, you are not to mention Sirius Black-" (Remus winced noticeably) "-other than as 'another friend.' Most certainly do not mention his actual name to Harry as a reference to him being James's friend. Other than that, I would encourage you to get to know him. I find him to be a very intriguing person." His eyes twinkled happily.

Remus now remained silent. He seemed to be taking a test of nerve on whether he could or could not do this. "But Albus, what about when Harry finds out about his parents' and his connection to Black? Wouldn't he feel... betrayed?" This question was rather obviously verging personal experience. Though he was trying not to show it, his face was slightly contorted with hurt and sadness. Dumbledore's eyes dimmed, ceasing their twinkling as he looked sorrowfully at the downcast man.

"If you truly give him a good reason, I'm sure Harry will understand. As you don't know him all that well yet, you wouldn't know, but Harry is an extremely forgiving person. If you really become a good friend to him, he will most definitely hear you out."

The Hospital Wing

"For the last time, I feel fine!" It wasn't often that Harry raised his voice, but when he did he was a force to be reckoned with. Even sitting vulnerably in the sterilely white bed sheets of the Hospital Wing, he managed to look ferocious. Madame Pomfrey glared at him disapprovingly.

"No, Mr. Potter, you are not. You are still recovering from a broken-" But the boy pressed on.

"Yeah, yeah... I know. A bunch of broken bones and bruises. Big whoop." The healer looked taken aback for a second, then returned his glare with equal fervor. Luna watched the two with curious amusement, her misty gray eyes flicking back and forth as if watching a particularly good tennis match. The healer puffed up with indignant pride.

"Mr. Potter! In all my years-" but her voice spluttered out slightly. She looked sad for a second, as if remembering someone else. Then her righteous anger returned with a vengeance. "All right, almost all my years, I have never had a patient so unwilling to be healed as you!" Harry opened his mouth to return with another scathing comment, when the Infirmary door entered and in walked Ron and Hermione.

"Hey Harry, Luna." Hermione said politely. Ron nodded largely.

"Arrgwumph foo fesh 'oo" Harry stared at the red-haired boy uncomprehendingly. Hermione wheeled around on him, glaring full force.

"Ron!" she hissed. "At least try to have some manners, would you?" Ron's color rose (though if it was embarrassment or anger Harry could not tell) and he attempted to retort, but all that came out were a few muffled croaking noises. Hermione sighed, realizing it was a lost cause, and whipped around, the tips of her hair whipping Ron's shoulder.

Luna looked highly amused. "I see Ronald has been cursed by the Hoogum Woogums." She nodded sagely, though the rest of the room (excepting Madame Pomfrey, who was tending to a second-year Hufflepuff who had gotten sick from eating too much at the feast) was uncomprehending. "They cause one's mouth to be unable to speak. Nasty little creatures, though deceptively beautiful. Father used to have one as a pet when he was my age, did you know? He found it quite useful for when his mother was lecturing him." Harry and Ron snorted laughter, and Hermione giggled. Though she soon stopped when a piece of Ron's previously-chewed toast landed on her shoulder.

"That's... interesting, Luna," Harry said, smiling. Luna did not take this as an insult, though others might have meant it as one. "Do you have any pets at home like that?" She nodded vigorously.

"Oh, loads!" She replied. "Father and I petitioned Professor Flitwick and Professor Dumbledore to let me bring my Unifraum to school, but they insisted that I was only allowed an owl, rat, cat, or toad." She looked saddened. Harry couldn't help himself.

"What exactly is a Unifraum, Luna?" He asked with slight apprehension.

"Oh, they're marvelous creatures. They have an orange body with white dots on their wings. They bring good luck to their owners, too. One day when I was talking Nark for a walk, I found a new patch of Uuldolphus Mushrooms. They are very rare, you know." She nodded in accent to her own comment, then frowned slightly. "I had hoped to bring him to school so I would make friends." Ron shifted at this, not sure what to say. Harry found himself sympathizing with Luna. He knew from his experiences at Stonewall Elementary what it was like not to have friends. All the nice students were too frightened of Dudley to even speak to him, normally.

For lack of knowledge of what to say, Harry asked: "Is Nark your Unifraum's name?"

"Yes." She didn't add any more information than that, and there was a rather terse silence for a minute or so, broken only by the resounding sound of Madame Pomfrey's clacking footsteps as she hurried from bed to bed.

"Well, we have to go now, Harry." Ron said, finally having finished his massive bite. "We've got Transfiguration next, and from what I've heard McGonagall's in a bad mood since her Fifth year class first period with Fred and George. Something about toilet paper, from what I've heard." Harry chuckled a bit regretfully. He really was sad that he was missing his first day of third year.

"Hey, don't be to disappointed, Harry." Hermione comforted, patting his calf, as unrecognizable as it was under the numerous quilts the motherly healer had placed over him. "All you're really missing is the teacher's introductory speeches. I can lend you my notes tomorrow." Harry mumbled thanks, though he was personally rather daunted by the idea of having to look through all of Hermione's notes — even if they were only for one day.

"Goodbye, Harry Potter," Luna said in her usually dreamy voice as she skipped out of the doorway and down the steps, the sounds of her light footsteps following her and eventually fading.

"We'll come and visit first thing after classes end." Ron promised.

"Thanks, guys." He said a bit sadly. Hermione looked hesitant to leave with him still looking a bit depressed, but looked nervous at the prospect at being late to her first Transfiguration class that year.

"We really will come, Harry." She said, nodding. "Right after History." And with that, they exited, Hermione giving a slight wave as she left the room.

Harry sighed. It really is insanely boring in here, he thought. He lay back again on his pillows, and counted the small panes of glass on the domed roof. Ten minutes later, he had counted and re-counted - making him sure there were exactly 347 tiles. He idly wondered how many bored and annoyed students had counted those same windowpanes. For lack of other things to do, he picked up one of the non-assigned books he had bought from Flourish and Blotts. He hadn't told either Ron or Hermione this, but ever since last year's (meagre) dueling display, he had been intrigued by the unusual art. The text he was currently reading was titled: "100 Need-to-Know Spells for the Beginning Dueler."

He flipped through it interestedly, finally stopping on the Impedimenta Spell. He looked at the moving picture of a purple beam of light hitting a wizard, and said wizard becoming tantalizingly slow; giving the opposing dueler the match. His eyes traveled down to the paragraph on it below. It read:

"The Impedimenta enchantment is an extremely useful spell to have in ones' arsenal, and very easy to learn. When the spell is cast, it caused the receiver to slow down, reaching a maximum speed of one inch per three seconds. The incantation is, "Impedimenta," and while it is easy to block with the basic shield charm (see pages 179-182) it is an excellent distraction spell in addition to allowing the caster a moment to think, or to land the knock-out blow. The charm sends a beam of light purple light which, depending on the strength of the spell, can be from one centimeter thick, to an inch. When fired with minimal exertion, it gives off the thinner beam, which may cause the spelled person only to stumble. However, when sent with full force and determination, it can lock someone in place for up to three hours if left without the counter curse; the basic Finite spell.

Harry followed the instructions, moving his wand in a twirling motion and saying the spell as time went by. At first, he had little luck (his first try, nothing at all happened) but as he progressed, the beam shooting from his wand became thicker and thicker, eventually reaching almost an inch thick. This was about a half and hour after reading the paragraph. Harry felt very accomplished, and he ran his fingers through his hair in success, ruffling it.

A small sigh came from the doorway. Harry's head snapped up, his fingers automatically clenching around his wand - ready to hex whoever had managed to come in without making a sound. Then, he stopped short.

There, in front of him, stood Moony.