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Chapter 3

The Conflict Within

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Effort and Encounters

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"You're dead, Potter! Give it up now!"

They were Death Eaters, three of them driving him through the woods to the farmhouse clearing - more moving in and nowhere to run. It was a typical pattern of Harry's day. He always found himself overwhelmed by their superior power and experience.

"Yield, damn you!" barked the masked leader.

Harry had to find a way if he was to progress. There was one chance: the old barn had a fodder hatch at the back. Harry exploded a thick smoke charm and ran through it but he was caught by a spell cast blindly.

"Levicorpus!"

Harry's legs were pulled from under him. He was lifted above the smokescreen and flung upside down high into the air - above the tree tops that surrounded the clearing. Before he could do anything he was disarmed and silenced.

"Expelliarmus! Silencio!"

Unable to yield, he spent the next half an hour being humiliated by jeering Death Eaters as they danced him around way above them. When they got bored they simply dropped him to smash into the ground. The training session ended and Harry lay on the ground panting and thoroughly miserable. The practice dummies were as cruel and uncaring as their real counterparts and the Moody trainer was unrelenting in its criticism of Harry's performance.

"You should never have been there!" Moody stomped up, face dark with annoyance. "The Death Eaters are not stupid. Did you expect them to wonder where you'd disappeared to just because of a bit of smoke!"

Harry just lay there saying nothing.

"You listening?" snarled Moody.

"Yes! Just..." Harry rolled over and groaned. His body ached from head to toe. "So what was I supposed to do?"

"Surrender then spend the time studying why you got into that position. If you'd just read the damned manual!" Moody's tone softened. "You need to improve, Potter. You need to improve fast."

Over the next two months, Harry became over-obsessed with enhancing his magical skills - those which would help him combat dark forces. While training, he forced himself to endure every kind of attack with varying degrees of success. He researched duelling tactics, learnt new spells, and practised stealth. He improved his ability with shield charms, deceptions, hexes, disillusionment, even began to grasp wandless and nonverbal spells yet he was never satisfied with what little improvement he could see in himself. Although he was as determined as ever to keep trying, he could not help feeling depressed by his limited progress.

If Umbridge was involved, he never could defeat her defensive tactics. When he countered her shield, she easily created a new one faster than he could follow up with a curse. Because she did not attack Harry herself, her wand was always free to keep making shields. She could never beat him either unless he made a foolish mistake but she didn't need to - she just waited for the other Death Eaters to do that. And her derision always seemed to ring true in Harry's ears:

"Oh Mr. Potter! Are you still here? You'll never be any good. You do know that don't you?"

"You must be very disheartened. There's no improvement at all, is there, Mr. Potter?"

"Are you sure you should be here at all? You don't seem to have any natural ability for this sort of thing do you?"

Harry despised her more each day. He had to prove her wrong - to silence her taunts permanently.

To add to his gloom, the limited scale of Marianne's conversations had by now become really irritating to Harry. There were times when he just needed to talk things over with someone for a few minutes. The Moody trainer was limited to discussing battle tactics but at least that was useful; the calendar girl had nothing meaningful to offer at all except the date. To make matters worse she often distracted him and made demands for his attention when he tried to pass by her. He considered turning the calendar over to face the wall but he wasn't sure how that would affect the girl; it did seem rather cruel. So instead he had begun to creep out the back door and in the evenings would sneak upstairs in the dark. Even then she sometimes noticed and he could hear her squealing and laughing as if she thought Harry was playing a joke - or she would be pretending to cry and coax him nearer if she thought he was avoiding her.

"I've got a new tune! Come and listen to me sing the date again, Harry!" she pleaded. "Just once, I promise."

He was getting more and more annoyed with the Room's choice - he had needed only a calendar not a giggly, weepy bubblehead who wanted baby-sitting. All he wished to do was focus on his training and not get sidetracked.

He did discover new things despite his misgivings. One week he practised charms to help develop his reflexes. The charms were temporary but when training with them, his improved reactions became permanent. Another time he worked with traps, decoys, and diversions - both setting them and detecting them. He managed transfigurations of stones, bushes, and small animals but dare not yet try on himself - not so his enemy - they could conjure up Dementors, graphorns, acromantulas, even basilisks. Although not as dangerous as the real thing they nevertheless had to be fought or avoided while dealing with the Death Eaters themselves. It was tiring work. Only his resolve, his loneliness, and his sense of purpose kept driving him onwards every day. It helped that there was little else to do in the Room - perhaps that was why the calendar girl's dull, babbling nonsense had been provided. Yet he needed advice desperately and there was only one option.

"Professor Moody, what is the point of-"

"Oh, it's 'Professor Moody' now is it? What happened to 'Dumb Splinters with a big mouth' then?" Moody scowled.

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry but-"

"No use being sorry, Potter. 'Sorry' won't help you survive Voldemort."

"This is exactly what I mean - Why'd you keep nagging me? And why do I have to put up with that smug toad, Umbridge, having a go at me nearly every day? Why, when I need advice and support do I only get a calendar with the attention span of a hyperactive infant?"

"I wouldn't know, Potter. You obviously need these things or they wouldn't be here would they? What did you tell the Room when you entered?"

"None of this! I told it I need to overcome Voldemort and his supporters before they kill me! I need to know how to defend myself; space to practise, instructions, a place to stay, that sort of thing..."

"Listen to me, Potter. The Room is a magical life but it is nothing whatsoever like you think it is. It doesn't work out a plan like you and I might. It's your NEED to overthrow You-Know-Who that directs the magic. So you must need to be able to cope with Umbridge - not just combat her but be able to think clearly even while she's trying to get you to lose control of yourself. Don't you see?"

"No! What's it got to do with overthrowing Voldemort!"

"Why do you need to know, Potter? Isn't it enough to trust the magic? You NEED it. Full stop."

"So, what about Marianne? What's the point in that? So I can learn to go crazy? I can manage that on my own thank you very much."

"I admit that seems peculiar. Maybe it thinks you need a pretty girlfriend - raise your self-esteem - or show you how smart you are by comparison!"

"Fine - I'll marry the calendar then. And you? I don't suppose you know why you have to be like you are either do you?"

"Oh well, that one's easy. I really am a miserable, hard-driving, nit-picking, bastard." Moody grinned as he faded from view with the words, "No mystery about that..."

Harry looked around and sighed. He was surrounded by Death Eaters who had crept up with Umbridge while he was distracted. She was standing there smirking with her usual cowardly shining blue shield in place.

"OK, fine. I yield," he muttered to end the session and stormed off back to the cottage.

"Sorry? What was that dear? You surrender? Again?" Umbridge gloated. The Death Eaters all laughed. "Why bother coming then? You always surrender in the end."

* ' * ' * ' *

Each evening, Harry was exhausted. Although his serious injuries were only simulated and dissipated after each training session, he was still left with aching limbs, bruises, scratches, and cuts on which he needed to spend time learning potions and healing spells. After his studies it was all he could do to fall into bed and sleep each night.

He knew he was driving himself too hard. Even in sleep he sometimes had nightmare deaths at the hands of hordes of Death Eaters. He had an especially strange restless dream at the start of December. He dreamt he finally had Umbridge in a bouncing, spinning hex that Fred Weasley had popped in to give him. She was upright but spinning faster and faster with her arms flung out wider and wider and higher and higher so she could not wave her wand properly. A great metal spring under her shoes bounced her up and down and around like a demented toy.

She was building up momentum. She lost her grip on her wand and it was flung over the housetops. Her black robes shredded away revealing a vivid, luminous-pink cardigan that was intensely fluffy. She looked like she was about to burst. Her eyes were bulging and buttons were popping off her cardigan in all directions; even the fluff was flying off in great pink sprays that floated down around her. He could taste the stuff; great wads of fuzzy lint stuck in his mouth and they were almost choking him. Ugh! - Umbridge fluff!

As the speed of the rotation increased still further she started to buzz and hum like a spinning top. Her little bow sailed over Harry's head chased by her snapping teeth that were demanding that the bow return at once or face detention. Just as her cardigan exploded, Moody's voice was thundering 'Unforgiveable! Unforgiveable!" Then there was silence; silence all but for one tiny sound - a sound that was out of place.

Harry awoke lying face down in the dark, chewing deeply into his pillow. Someone, or something, was in the house. Sitting up in bed, trying to quietly spit out feathers, Harry reached for his glasses and his wand and listened carefully. He could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. He crept silently to stand behind his bedroom door and watched anxiously as the door handle slowly turned.

How could this be? The training session had ended hours ago and how could a real person have gotten in from Hogwarts? He had carefully instructed the Room of Requirement of his need for a room that nobody could enter except himself. He required that he never be disturbed. Nothing could override that - or could it? Was it possible that Dobby could get in using elf-magic?

The shape that was entering was no elf. Harry could endure the suspense no longer. His shout of "Lumos!" revealed the intruder to be... his godfather. Harry stared in confusion. "Sirius?"

Sirius Black looked shocked - not only to see Harry here but that he was pointing his wand at him.

"I surrender!" Sirius laughed but it was a dry laugh and his smile was forced. He looked extremely worried.

"Sorry... I..." Embarrassed, Harry put his wand away and said, "How on earth did you-?"

There was a bright purple flash from Sirius' rapid wand movement and Harry felt a powerful shock hit him hard over his entire body. There was a lot of pain and everything faded to black.

When Harry awoke again, he found himself on the floor of his bedroom. Sirius had gone. The bedroom door was open so he had not imagined it. He wondered if his godfather's long term in Azkaban had finally unhinged him - or did everyone now think Harry had gone over to the dark arts? He crept all around the house searching. There was no sign of his godfather but the front door was ajar - he had fled.

Harry sat on his bed pondering for a long time whether he should leave the Room to try to explain what he was trying to do here. But why should he! Did they ever bother to explain anything to him? No! they thought it was none of his business - except it was. Voldemort was trying to kill him and that made it his business. Frustrated by his inability to come to any decision, he became more and more angry. Why could he not be left alone even in here!

"Just leave me alone!" he shouted aloud. Downstairs Marianne began sleepily singing the date then lapsed into silence.

He threw himself back into his training with even more determination. Why was he not improving? What was he doing wrong? And would Sirius return?

It was only two evenings later that he resolved the mystery. He had stopped up very late practising a new hex in his exercise room; he had found the space useful for trying out spells. It hadn't been going very well so he went upstairs to check another book and fetch his notes. As he was going into his study he suddenly caught the scent of primroses from the woodland outside. The windows were closed and he had heard nothing - but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Silently he pulled out his wand and turned around on the upper landing, listening carefully. A faint breath of air across his face told him the front door had opened. This time he was ready. If Sirius had returned he would not let him leave without getting some explanation.

He crept down the stairs again into the dark entrance hall. The only light was in the calendar picture - he could see the moon faintly shining above Marianne's beach. Marianne herself was nowhere to be seen but Harry sensed there was someone real actually in the hall - a shadowy figure looking at him.

"Mr. Potter! What are you doing here on Christmas eve!" He could see only a faint impression in the darkness but he would know that voice anywhere. It was Professor McGonagall. That was shock enough but Harry was aghast to be informed that Christmas had arrived and by avoiding the calendar he had not even realised it.

"Please don't point that wand at me unless it is your intention to lose more house points," she said drily, "and do put the lights on."

"Professor! I'm sorry! I thought..." Harry cast a light with his wand to illuminate the hall. The Deputy Headmistress was glaring at him very sternly. "Professor, how did-"

McGonagall waved her arm sideways across the gap between them and Harry felt a searing pain in his stomach and his limbs became immobilised. His jacket was cut and soaking with blood. McGonagall's face contorted with a rage that Harry had never seen in her before. She crossed her arm back and forth one more time and Harry cried out as he sank helplessly to the floor watching the heavy drips of his own dark blood falling to the floorboards ahead of him.

When Harry awoke there was no blood. His clothing was intact. He felt a bruise on the side of his head and he remembered it hitting the cloak stand as he fell. No McGonagall. Nobody. He went across the entrance hall and could see the front door was partly open. Harry sighed and went back to study his Auror training guide more carefully.

As he read the manual over breakfast he realised that what he had thought was a passive instruction book had magically changed. Pages now showed indications of his progress: which sections he had mastered and those where he should give more attention and practice. He was impressed with the book and with his own increasing power and skill.

He was astonished to realise that he had not really appreciated the significance of the increasing difficulty of the training. On his first day he recalled just three Death Eaters had quickly defeated him. Now he was evading six or seven for an hour before being defeated - and taking many of them down with him as well as handling much more complex attacks: tracking, dealing with summoned creatures, and protecting himself against curses that were increasingly more severe. The training was pushing him further each time until he failed. The enemy were smarter, faster, and more powerful - but so was he.

He turned a page. A good night's sleep has to be earned. Training sessions could now initiate themselves! He would have to study harder. He would research wards and shields and alerts and anything that might protect his home overnight. And what a night! It was Christmas eve! He looked at his watch. In a few hours it would be light but he was suddenly very tired and decided to get some sleep and take the next day off.

The next morning, Harry stood in the kitchen regretting he had not asked Dobby to provide wine or butterbeer to celebrate Christmas. He poured himself some orange juice and decided to make friends with Marianne - he needed some company - any company, even hers! He sauntered sheepishly through to the calendar wondering how to make up with her but she was still nowhere to be seen. The beach was completely empty - no doubt everyone was celebrating somewhere and she had abandoned him. Harry sadly raised his glass, "Cheers, Harry - you can't even keep friends with a stupid calendar." He spent Christmas day indulging lonely thoughts and feeling sorry for himself.

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—oOo—

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Caring

A month into the new year, Harry set out on his day's training. It was a cool and overcast morning and Harry shivered a little. He did a few stretches against a tree to warm up and was pleased to find he was not stiff and sore from previous days as he generally had been. He was getting fitter and more hardened by the punishing regime he had imposed on himself. He needed that fitness as he ran north for cover towards a large broken rock formation that reached lengthways to the west. He was not sure what he had sensed but he had detected danger somehow. That same sense told him he would not reach the rocks in time so he dropped as flat as he could behind a low thick-leafed bush and waited. A small acromantula was searching, turning left and right. A scout thought Harry. He knew its typical pattern was to scan back and forth while zig-zagging towards its masters then repeat in a new direction. He cast an unspoken odour shield on himself and watched. The repulsive creature was casting north and south but generally making headway east. Harry turned his head slowly in that direction. He could see nothing but he knew the Death Eaters must be there.

Once the beast was well past him, Harry crawled off at an angle in the opposite direction intending to circle the large rocks from the other side. Once he was far enough away he ran, skidding and kicking up soft dirt as he did so and almost falling - there would not be much time. Almost too late he saw a small hard rocky patch of ground cutting through the grey stone face and he slowed down to avoid making any sound on the loose stones. Once through the gap, he came back on the north side of the rocks and moved cautiously east again to find out if he could see the Death Eaters.

When he reached the limit of the rock cover, he lay down against a stone block, waited, watched, and listened. He had a reasonably good all-round view except for the rocks behind him on his right. After a while he could hear faint footsteps - but they were not where he had expected - they were circling round towards the rock formation from the southeast under cover of dense bushes and other foliage. There were two pairs of feet, one cautiously lagging behind, the other slightly more noisy. Harry silently swore at himself. He should have remembered that the acromantula had almost all-round vision and had probably glimpsed him only half-obscured behind the shrub; it must have informed the Death Eaters of Harry's whereabouts. He couldn't see them but he knew their route from the sounds they were making. They were keeping together and that was good; he might be able to get behind them both. He would wait until he could determine which way they turned near the rocks. At that moment the wind picked up strangely, bringing dark storm clouds with it. The Room was throwing something new into the mix. It began to rain.

A new sound! There was another Death Eater to the northwest and Harry had no cover that side except for a line of trees further away - probably where the Death Eater was concealed. Beyond that and further west was only the Room's boundary wall. He considered hiding himself with a disillusionment spell but he knew the rain would sparkle as it hit the invisibility camouflage and give him away. He had to hope the Death Eater was moving off to the east and would not see him. Harry twisted around and strained his eyes through the rain which had become very heavy and was sizzling off the rocks loudly enough to obscure the sound of most footfalls. The clouds turned ominously black and Harry was soaking wet but at least now it was so dark it would help to hide him. He saw a slight, shadowy figure coming through the trees. Not furtive. Not taking any care to be quiet. Holding something over his head to keep the rain off. Must be a decoy. Ignore it and take it out later.

He tried to focus his mind on the main threat but instinctively glanced back over his shoulder again. He could at last see the decoy a little more clearly, make out its shape, taller than Umbridge but definitely not moving like a Death Eater, just walking along quickly as if trying to get out of the rain. There was a flash of lightning and Harry recognised with a thrill who it was. It was Hermione! She caught sight of him in the same moment. "Harry?" she called. Her voice was half-lost in a long deep rumble of thunder but there was no doubt it was her. She looked astonished but was half laughing as though relieved to have found him, "What on earth are you doing? We've all been worried sick!" She started to run over towards him. Harry had not seen a real friend for so long he stared as at a great treasure - dumbstruck for several seconds. Then reason took over and he realised she would be in danger.

Harry tried to whisper a warning, mouthing it so the Death Eaters would not hear, "Hermione! No! Go back!"

"Hermione? No! What was he thinking? She's a decoy! He could no longer hear the Death Eaters on the other side of the rocks because of the harsh fizzing and rapping of the driven rain on stone and leaf but they must surely have heard Hermione's call. They must have. But what does it matter? She's just a decoy. He felt unsure suddenly. He decided to use his wand to close the training session to be sure. You won't be able to do that in a real situation! Is she real or not? He hesitated.

He saw several spells coming from one side, aimed not at him but at Hermione. She seemed to be fumbling for her wand but a torture curse clipped her right shoulder first, spinning her sideways. She screamed and staggered and as she did so another unknown curse hit her fully. She did not call out for help but was just squirming in pain silently on the ground. She was not a decoy. A decoy would surely have tried to lure Harry out into the open. It really was Hermione - it was his friend and she would not be protected from the training spells as he himself was. To her they would be real and Harry knew he could not get directly to her to help. But eventually she failed to completely stifle her cries. After one heart-rending scream, Harry could stay inactive no longer.

In a blind rage, Harry roared a terrible battle-cry to the storm. He charged out recklessly to the southeast where he knew the Death Eaters would be - from where he had seen their curses come. Hermione was still screaming; her cries were weakening but Harry had only one focused objective and all else he blanked out.

Shrieking like a savage, he ran as fast as he could directly towards the enemy. The small acromantula would be no problem but both the Death Eaters would be waiting for him hidden behind a range of scrubby bushes. They were ready but they were not prepared for the furious blasts of fire he despatched towards them. Though soaking up the rain, the woody shrubs practically exploded with the fierce, intense heat and as the Death Eaters, both aflame, were driven out, Harry tripped them with leg-locker curses. He cursed and bound them where they lay, steaming in the downpour. With a shock he finally recognised he had been training too conservatively - he was faster, more powerful and more accurate than he had realised. He turned and ran to Hermione who now lay silent. Her hair was wet-streaked half across her face but he could see her eyes were dead, staring blankly into the distance. Harry sank to his knees beside her. "Hermione..."

There was a sudden bombardment of curses from beyond the trees. He had no cover and was taken by surprise. The multiple spells caught him, tore at him, flung him away with terrible force. He blacked out. Before he did he had enough time to realise: she was a decoy. It was not Hermione. He had been tricked yet again.

* ' * ' * ' *

Harry stood, grimly surveying the ground where the Hermione decoy had lain writhing. There was no mark, no stain, nothing yet he still felt sick from the shock of seeing her lying there. He turned away resolved to improve, to find a way to detect real from unreal.

He had suppressed true friendship; he knew that now. Last summer he had felt so alienated. Yet how his heart had lifted, even though it was only for a moment, how delighted he had been to see his best friend again after so long alone. How willing he had been, without thinking, to risk death to help her. In a way, he died for her.

What am I doing here? They are my friends. They would not abandon me. There must have been reasons they could not see me, could not even owl me, last summer. His thoughts became more confused and conflicting, tormenting him with self-doubt. There was only one thing of which he was certain and to which he must cling if he was not to go mad. I cannot waste my time with friends who are not reliable and don't have any idea what I have to deal with. I MUST survive! I must overcome Voldemort. That is my first priority - not friends. I can't be a friend if I'm dead.

* ' * ' * ' *

Although it seemed always to be springtime in the Room, Harry knew that outside, in the grounds of Hogwarts, winter's dark grip would now really be yielding to the brighter seasons. His schoolfriends would eventually leave for the Easter break leaving Hogwarts almost empty. His loneliness was now at times excruciating. He had never felt this lonely even when he was young and locked up in the cupboard under the Dursleys' stairs - he did not then miss what he had never had. Only since he had made his first true friends did he suffer without them. The loss was torture when he dwelt on some of the happy and exciting periods he had spent in the company of his schoolmates. He wondered whether to risk going out to the Gryffindor common room - at least to see Ron, Hermione, and Ginny for a few minutes. The Moody dummy could never be real to him and anyway, was always finding fault. Marianne had eventually showed herself in the calendar again and she and Harry were talking again but he had difficulty paying attention to her silly naivety. What he would give now even to hear Hermione scold him for not doing his homework! Sensible Bliss! I swear I'll never be angry with her again. How he missed everyone in the Gryffindor common room. It hurt more to realise they were definitely not missing him though. They are probably chatting and laughing right now with that other Harry - my earlier self - lucky git!

Harry wondered if he was starting to go a little mad. Perhaps he really had driven himself too hard or possibly it was the lack of contact with real people. An entire year alone - had it all been too much? He wondered if it was possible to create a new dummy persona to talk to; perhaps a Remus Lupin who could stay in his house and chat. Then I really will go mad! he thought. Nothing for it. I must persevere. I got myself into this - nobody else. I must make an effort at normality.

A day came soon after when he began to wonder more about the Room itself. He had finished training and was walking back to the cottage. As he walked along, it occurred to him that the Room itself, being a magical life, must have its own intelligence; might have its own self which performed the Death Eaters, Umbridge, Moody, and the calendar girl. None of them was good company but maybe he wasn't good company for them either. He loathed Umbridge - he would prefer to go mad rather than have her as a friend. He glanced around nervously but all was well. He was approaching the garden gate.

Perhaps Moody might be alright on his day off - except he never had a day off. He puzzled what Moody might do if he ever did have a holiday. What about the calendar girl? Every day seemed to be a day off for her. But was she happy? He sometimes felt rather sorry for her even though he knew it was just the Room really. Did she get bored or lonely while he was out all day? Was the beach life just a facade? Did she sit there pining for his company all day? He had mostly been polite but he felt a twinge of regret for the times he had, perhaps, slighted her - treated her as no more than cardboard. Harry sighed as he approached his front door.

"Hello Marianne! I'm home!" Harry called as he stepped indoors.

"Harry! Guess what?"

"Erm... Is it... I don't know. I give up."

"No, no - you have to guess!" Marianne was clapping her hands together in delight.

"I can't Marianne - is it erm... Something - something that's happened?"

"Yes, yes! You're getting close!"

"Getting close, eh? Mmm... Something you've seen..." Marianne was shaking her head, "...or done?"

Marianne leapt for joy. "Yes, yes!"

"Can you give me a clue?"

"No, no - you have to guess!" But she was flicking her eyes suggestively towards the beach ball at her feet. She picked it up trying to be casual - looking dramatically away into the distance supposedly not to draw attention to the ball.

"Did you throw the beach ball... further?"

Marianne could not contain her secret any longer. "I bounced it the most times than anybody today! One hundred and fifty..." She frowned, thinking hard, then turned to a distant figure along the beach, "Derek! How many was it?" She turned back to Harry. "One hundred and five times!"

"That's wonderful, Marianne!" said Harry. Am I really this desperate for conversation?

"Tell me, Marianne, What do you do? All day I mean, while I'm out?"

"Well, there's beach ball and swimming... and sunbathing... and..." She was trying to count on her fingers and dropped the beach ball. She ran after it, came back and placed it on the sand again. "There's beach ball and volley ball and we have picnics and... beach ball... did I say swimming?"

"Mmmm... Yes, I think you did..."

Perhaps there was a trace of sarcasm in his voice - he had not intended it. Marianne stared at Harry for a few seconds then her eyes began to shine with tears. "You think I'm really silly don't you!"

Harry could see a definite pout forming and probably a couple of sobs to follow. "No, no - it's just that... Have you ever thought of say... reading a book? Learning something new? Improving yourself?"

Marianne laughed; like any young child she was quickly distracted from her former dark mood by a shiny new thought. "There are no books on a beach, Harry! This is the beach - look!" She waved her arms expansively as if Harry hadn't noticed she was on a beach.

"But... Listen, suppose I were to put up a book here for you to read." Harry, caught up in his own idea, dragged a hefty decorative jug along the broad shelf to just below the calendar. "You can see this jug right?"

Marianne squealed. "That jug could be a book instead!"

Harry stared at the first sign of intellectual reasoning he had seen in the girl. "That's right! - Hang on! I'll see what I can find for you."

Harry dashed upstairs to his study and began browsing the bookshelves. There were a lot of popular classics and whodunnits he had read from time to time but he could not imagine Marianne coping with Dickens or Conan Doyle or Christie. Most of the volumes were magical reference and spell books; it was a mini-Hogwarts library. He gazed along the shelves. A splash of pale colour that he had always ignored before caught his eye. They were books for young children he had dismissed months ago - myths and fairy tales and suchlike. He pulled out one called 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' and ran downstairs with it.

He half-expected Marianne to have forgotten and run off to play beach ball with her pals but she was standing there waiting expectantly for him. She watched with interest as he propped the book up open at the first page against the jug. For a full minute she stared at the book in silence. Harry fidgeted.

"Erm... Don't take this the wrong way but... Can you actually... I mean, do you know how to-"

"This is wonderful!" Marianne laid herself down on the sand and wriggled forward as close as she could with her face filling the calendar frame and her eyes wide. Harry could see her eyes slowly moving back and forth, reading the words.

"Just whistle when you want the page turning," he called back over his shoulder as he crept quietly away towards the kitchen.

"Oh that's alright - I can use my wand," murmured the girl.

Harry stopped in his tracks and turned around. "You can do magic?"

"Of course I can silly - I'm a witch! How else can anyone do one hundred and five bounces!"

"But..."

"Sshhh... I'm reading!"

Harry tried not to think where she kept her wand. He went and made his evening meal.

The next morning he found her fast asleep right in front of a tale about a rabbit. She must have been absorbed in the stories and re-reading them most of the night. He felt a little better about himself but he didn't know why. He determined to dig out some more books for her later. He went off thoughtfully to the first training session of the day.

But it was the afternoon training session that was most dramatic. He had finally found Umbridge separated from the other Death Eaters in the derelict tower in the wood. She would still be able to cast her defensive shields but she was isolated from the other Death Eaters for once, and Harry, now much better trained, had had a little time to prepare.

He was certain she did not know he was there because he had approached from the north. There were no windows on that side and a narrow external turret rose up the entire outer wall to way above the tower's battlements, obstructing the view from its wall-walks. He would not be seen. To be even more sure, he had cast disillusionment spells not only upon himself but on his broom and had flown silently up to the parapet and onto the wall-walk before dismounting and creeping down the tightly-spiralling stone stair within the turret. This would be his best opportunity yet. The last few steps turned through an open doorway into a small chamber. The smug witch was sitting there, her back towards Harry. She was quietly sipping tea at a dark dusty table, viewing the colourless, decaying tapestries on the wall. Harry raised his wand.

A searing pain above his right eye brought him down to his knees and though he bit his lip he could not suppress a loud cry. Umbridge was on to him instantly and, finding him disabled, used an attacking spell.

"Incarcerous!"

Umbridge looked both a little shaken to have been taken by surprise and relieved at his incapacity.

She came over and gloated down at Harry but he could scarcely see her; he was in a haze of suffering and unable to handle his wand to end the session. He tried to speak - to yield but it was his lightning scar that was the cause of his agony and Umbridge tried to add to it. It was fortunate for Harry that she did. Her use of the Cruciatus curse, multiplied his suffering and caused him to pass out. When he awoke it was dusk and all pain had ended. He was drenched in sweat. The tower was empty.

Harry walked stiffly back to his cottage. There had been no vision of any kind but he felt sure that Voldemort had been the cause of the pain. He had scarcely thought of those dreams for months.

"Marianne! The date! What date is it?" he called as he entered the house.

"Harry! This one is fascinating! He's completely isolated from all his friends for years - that's terrible! Does he ever get off the island?" She had progressed to Defoe.

"The date, Marianne? What date is it?"

"Oh, sorry. It's the 31st of May." said Marianne distractedly - she was not singing. "Listen, can Man Friday find-"

"Sorry - gotta go!" Harry ran up to his study to get away - to think. He was vaguely aware that Marianne was not sobbing or wailing like she used to when he snubbed her. He was focused on thinking about last year - this year that he was in now. He had been stricken by a dreadful vision in his Divination class. Had that been at the end of May? He felt sure that it had. But why no vision this time? Perhaps he had simply picked up on the same experience his earlier self had - the pain but not the vision. He banged the flat of his hand on his desk. Was there no escape even in here? He must find a way to defeat the Dark Lord because if he didn't he felt he would be driven mad by these experiences even if Voldemort himself didn't actually kill him.

As June started, Harry knew there was not much time left and he had to make the most of it. He continued his training with renewed vigour. He increased his efforts; four or five long training sessions a day and study in the evening - trying to keep the loneliness out of his thoughts by filling his mind with tactics, spells, procedures - always striving to improve, always struggling to keep up with the ever-increasing difficulty.

This period was interrupted by one further bout of terrible pain in his scar towards the end of June - but Harry had been anticipating it. That was when the Triwizard cup portkey had taken him and Cedric Diggory to Little Hangleton Graveyard. When the pain stopped, Harry spent a quiet hour in contemplation - in memory of Cedric's passing. It was almost as if he had died twice.

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—oOo—

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Completion

By the end of the school year, Harry had learnt to partly transfigure himself, apparate, and to conjure and even summon some creatures just as the Death Eaters were doing. Familiar ones like red caps and pixies were fairly easy to produce but not of much use in combat except to distract; tebos were a little better as well as non-magical creatures like big cats and bears. There were also strange new ones he had never heard of - some terrible in attack; some helpful in defending him.

He had also summoned a few unusual creatures such as Dementors and Luminators. Harry knew that many spells had their counterpart: fire and water, hexing and healing, drawing near and driving away. He found that although Luminators could not drive away Dementors they could help him summon a Patronus and were better than the Cheering charm in that respect. They cleared the mind instead of clouding it; were light instead of dark; warm not cold. Unlike the Dementors which fed on and sapped every good feeling from their victims, the Luminators nurtured positive happy thoughts as well as truth and goodness in those under their protection. However, he soon discovered these white-robed, luminous creatures were difficult to look at directly because the purity of their expressions made one feel rather small and embarrassed about every tiny misdemeanour in one's life.

Harry gave up on both Dementors and Luminators and considered more earthy creatures. He could summon trolls reasonably well but their dull minds made them unpredictable fighters against experienced wizards and often they got in the way. In contrast, the graphorn could reliably be made to charge at enemies and its resilience to magic posed a threat to them that could not be ignored. This was Harry's favourite summoned creature in training though it did need open space to be effective so he also needed something smaller.

He focused on wolves because they were fierce, intelligent, and dangerous enough to be taken seriously yet were flexible and small enough to be effective even in a small room. In addition they worked well in packs. On balance, Harry considered all these summoned creatures to be little more than diversions and distractions to delay and occupy the enemy while some more potent curse was used; it would be a very weak wizard who could not deal with a mere wolf or even a graphorn.

Harry was desolate on the third of July. Even though he had no contact with his schoolfriends he felt even more excluded and remote now they were all leaving Hogwarts for the summer. He checked on Marianne every day but it was not just to get the day of the month - he often brought her new books and he needed to hear a non-hostile voice. He had seen a significant change in the girl since she had begun to read and she seemed, at last, to have real character - an emerging new personal identity. Harry felt a little guilty he had treated her with disdain before. She was now less distracting. He was sure she still desired his company but was now understanding enough not to trouble him. This actually made Harry feel more obliged to companion with her for a few minutes when he could - for her sake, not his. They could exchange a few sensible words and make intelligent eye contact - there was a new understanding between them and she seemed to thrive on it.

On the day he turned sixteen years of age he examined his Auror manual again. He was very pleased now with the assessment he was reading. It showed him as 'Above average' for the sections he had completed - both in power and diversity. He put that down to the magic he had inherited from his mother and father - and also the fanatical amount of time he had put into his training. No Auror worked for so many hours a day for an entire year entirely on combat skills - they had too many other duties to perform. But Harry was under no illusions about how Moody would react to this news.

"Are you completely out of your barking mind now then, Potter?"

"No - the manual affirms it." Harry grinned at Moody's apparent discomfort and held out the book. "See? - 'Above average' - look. You're not going to tell me the Auror Training Manual is wrong are you?"

"No, Potter - I wrote much of this edition. What's wrong is your interpretation of it - what it actually means."

Harry felt his ego sinking somewhat. "Fine - Tell me then - what's wrong?"

"Wrong? There's nothing wrong, Potter - except this is a three-year course you've covered in less than a year. Still not read the manual properly have you?" Moody paused and sighed at Harry's puzzled look. "You would be 'Above average' only if you'd taken three years. As it is... Your bloody outstanding! Can't say I'm surprised though - any son of James and Lily Potter might be expected to do well."

"But you've given me nothing but criticism all year!" cried Harry in astonishment. He grabbed the book back from Moody and scrabbled through the first few pages to confirm what he could hardly believe.

"Worked well then didn't it?" growled Moody. "Some need encouragement - others need a good kick up the arse." He started to fade. Harry fancied he saw a wink in Moody's good eye but he wasn't sure.

With Moody's reassuring accolade, Harry now was confident he had a great basic training to further build upon during the remaining weeks of his confinement. Then he could leave the Room of Requirement and brace himself to endure one last restrictive year at Hogwarts. But this coming year would not be completely wasted; he could still use the Room to train whenever he had a free hour. And at the end of it the underage trace should be removed and he would be free; free to use magic - free to go wherever he wished and continue his training secretly. Harry smiled to himself. He felt strained rather thinly but this was the most hopeful he had ever been since encountering Voldemort.

.

—oOo—

.

Leaving

Harry carried his bag out into the hall and dumped it near the front door. He sighed as he walked across to the calendar. When he got there he frowned. He had seen many changes in the last few weeks but none so different as this. The beach was gone. Instead he could see the inside of a nicely-furnished, neat drawing room. Marianne got up from a writing desk carrying the book she had been reading and walked over to greet Harry. She was wearing a smart navy blue business suit and a white shirt. Her hair was held up with a white, patterned hairgrip and there was a pencil behind her ear. She seemed a little older or perhaps just more mature.

As she draw near, she burst into song - and she sang rather joyfully, "Harry! Oh it's the first ... of Sep - tem... ber! - In the Year 95! And I hope you re - mem... ber - That I'm rea - lee alive!"

"Marianne? What's going on?"

"I conjured up this beach house - what do you think?" Marianne gestured around her.

"Erm... Nice... Look..."

"And all these books I conjured too." Marianne waved at the shelving along the far walls with the book in her hand as a pointer. "And look... This is my first Austen - she's just wonderful! I'm going to read all of hers for sure..."

"Marianne..."

"I want you to know how much happier I am now, Harry, thanks to you. I'm not just a scatty bimbo anymore!"

"Marianne, you were never a-"

"And I'll be going away next year - to the big city. I've been granted a working course in the university library there. I'll be learning and meeting new people." She paused.

"Marianne, I'll be leaving today..."

"I know," she said brightly. Harry had been half-expecting tears.

"You know?"

"Of course - it's the new Hogwarts' Year - back to school for you!"

"Look, it only means that I won't be staying all the time - but I'll be back every day practising - lunch times and free periods and whenever I can... evenings, weekends... Probably later today in fact..." His voice faded away doubtfully.

"I will be alright, Harry," Marianne said quietly. She sounded very serious all of a sudden.

"I don't really understand..." began Harry.

"I was always whatever you needed, Harry." She paused. "You needed reminding that deep down you still care about others. You needed to help someone other than yourself. Despite everything, despite all your terrible burdens and your own loneliness, you needed to give support to a friend - especially one you didn't like. You cared even about me in the end even while I was still unbearably silly and shallow." She waved her arm dismissively at Harry's attempts to protest and continued, "You cannot overcome evil on its own terms, Harry. A day will come when you will understand."

Harry stared at the picture calendar unsure of his own feelings. He told himself it made no difference. He had to be independent - not rely on anyone but himself. He could not afford to weaken now - not if he was to survive. He would not yield - not while he was still threatened by Voldemort; not while others withheld their guidance and support; not while poor Cedric Diggory lay unavenged in the earth. And yet he did not wish to disappoint Marianne.

"Just go, Harry!" laughed the girl, pulling out her hairgrip and shaking her golden hair free. "But remember, pop your head around the door and say Hi whenever you practice, OK?"

"Yes, right then... erm... I will. I definitely will, I promise."

"Bye then, Harry!"

"Bye, Marianne."

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Author's Notes

The next chapter is well advanced. It should be the final chapter but it depends whether it expands more and needs splitting. Hopefully one more week either way.

Comments and reviews are welcome and very encouraging. Thank you.

:)

- Hippothestrowl