A/N: Hello, everyone! I am posting just a bit early, because I am going to be leaving on vacation. I am sure no one will complain about the chapter being a day early, but you might not be as happy to hear that the following chapter will be a day or two late! I will be out of town visiting friends, and I plan on having the time of my life, so no trying to make me feel guilty about not updating on time! My next update will probably be on Thursday or so next week.

About this chapter: I'm not sure I made it clear enough in the chapter, but I'm too tired to edit it anymore, so I'll just tell you. It takes place about three weeks after the previous chapter (with the bullies and the breakup of Hermione & Harry), and this entire chapter takes place over one weekend.

Chapter Five

Harry normally enjoyed a long, hot shower after a brisk Saturday morning of running several kilometres and going through a grueling Quidditch practice. Today, he leapt in, got as clean as possible as fast as possible, and hurried out again, returning to his dormitory in Gryffindor Tower to finish his assigned reading. But as he hurried, he felt some satisfaction. Quidditch was going well. He had turned down the captaincy of the team so that Ron Weasley could have it, and Ron was turning out to be an excellent captain. His mind for strategy, his love of Quidditch, and the leadership role he'd been playing at the school as a prefect had combined to make him a powerhouse of energy and tactics that didn't want to hear if one of his teammates was tired or bored. That included his sister, who'd come back on this year as a Chaser and was doing much better in that position than she had as Seeker. Those hurt feelings, it seemed, were being healed.

Harry finished his reading while laying on his bed listening to Seamus snore. The boy did like to sleep in on the weekends, it was nearly noon. He finally woke when Harry got back up and dressed warmly for the chill of the late October day.

"Where you goin', Great One?" Seamus mumbled. He found it amusing to call Harry that, probably since Harry didn't.

"Just out," Harry said simply, wrapping a scarf around himself. He could tell Seamus, but why spoil the fun of everybody who'd want to gossip about it later? Besides, he didn't want to look like he was bragging. He was going to meet with Dumbledore, and Dumbledore never bragged.

As he worked his way downstairs, he had to endure yet more of the snide and false requests for his autograph (and a couple of actual requests for good measure), and it made him grumpy. Just because the media had got a picture of him shaking hands with the Minister outside of Fudge's office . . . The truth was too boring, so the paper had decided to speculate about why he was there. The truth was that Fudge simply wouldn't take Harry's refusal to dedicate a new wing for the hospital in writing, so Harry was forced to decline in person. Not only that, but he wasn't yet of age, so Sirius (not pictured) was in the office as well doing his job as Harry's guardian. When Harry got as old as Dumbledore and got to be Chief Mugwump—whoops, Dumbledore'd had that title taken away last year, hadn't he?—well, if Harry ever did get there, he was going to outlaw speculation. He might just outlaw newspapers and magazines entirely.

At least it wasn't questions about his breakup with Hermione anymore . . . He'd spent the first days after that had made it into the media holding himself back from pinning people to the ground and choking the life out of them.

He met Dumbledore at their agreed-upon spot, a side door out of the castle that avoided the crowd of people around the main entrance and the door everyone used to get to the Quidditch pitch. He was wearing his usual robes, but he'd added a thick, dark blue cloak against the weather. He smiled when he saw Harry.

"Sorry if I'm late," Harry said quickly. "Everyone's trying their hand at comedy this morning."

"Then I shall refrain from making an attempt," Dumbledore said. "I would hate to think that my abilities as a comedian have caused us to miss our appointment." He said it as if Harry's problem were nothing much.

And, Harry supposed, it would be nothing to a guy who'd gotten that much media attention during his lifetime.

"I think I might have single-handedly saved Fudge's job by being pictured with him so often," Harry grumped. "He was about to get the sack and then I started showing up in all his pictures and they decided he could stay for a while."

"You may be right," Dumbledore said in a much more grave voice, surprising Harry. He didn't want to have saved Fudge's job. Fudge was an idiot. He really had to find a better way to avoid those meetings.

"Well, anyway," Harry said, gesturing toward the door, "shall we?"

"We shall," Dumbledore said grandly, leading the way. "I trust that your time spent signing autographs did not bar you from completing your reading?"

"No, I did it. Would you like a comparative essay?"

"Essays are fine things for a large classroom," Dumbledore declared. "But you, Harry, I would much rather carry on a discussion with."

So they talked as they walked, about the speeches Harry had read, speeches of Adolf Hitler and Gellert Grindelwald. They talked about the similarities and differences he had found between them, and the philosophical implications of such similarities between a Muggle and a wizard. Harry had only figured out what Dumbledore was doing that very morning, and he couldn't help but be impressed. Not only was Harry being forced to see just how similar Muggles and wizards could be, he was getting a lesson in the extremes of power and control. And it was working. Harry was disgusted by the things he'd read, but he was taking ownership of the feelings he'd always had about the value of Muggles and Muggleborns.

Then they came to the lake, their destination, and walked to a certain tree that overhung a deep pool. Dumbledore crouched down and touched the tip of his wand to the water, sending out some brief spark. It was only a moment before a head rose above the water, and the merman's arm came out to grasp a branch of the tree to hold himself there. Harry could see his thick, powerful tail gently waving under the water.

Dumbledore greeted the merman with joy and spoke to him briefly. The merman looked at Harry and grinned, revealing his mossy teeth. Harry was overjoyed. He was a barbarian, to look at him, with his slimy skin and the fishbones tied into the tangled hair. But the words flowing off his tongue were liquid and graceful and as far as Harry could tell he was discussing with Dumbledore the current political position of the centaurs in the nearby forest.

Finally, Dumbledore beckoned to Harry. "Harry, this is Reed. Reed, may I present Harry Potter. Reed has been chosen among his people as the best of them to guide you in your learning. He is a philosopher, of sorts, and a keeper of their songs and tales."

Harry was impressed, and immediately made his first attempt to speak Mermish to an actual merman. He said he was happy to meet him. Actually what he was saying was much closer to, "encountering you in this place gives me a feeling like dappled sunlight falling through a peaceful forest of kelp." Or that was what Harry had meant to say. He was informed that he had actually said, "encountering you in this place gives me a meal like dappled sunlight falling through an infected forest of eels." Reed and Dumbledore had a good chuckle over that, but Harry didn't get embarrassed. He was learning a language, and this was the only way he knew to do it.

He was content to listen to Reed and Dumbledore converse for a few moments, just enjoying the way the words rolled off their tongues. He was mentally making any number of corrections to his pronunciation. After only a few more minutes of conversation, Dumbledore held out his hand. Reed disappeared beneath the surface, but Dumbledore kept his hand there until Reed's tail rose up and gently slapped against it. Apparently, that was a handshake. Reed resurfaced, and they made their goodbyes.

A farewell to a merman was "It is my wish that I see you again before the stars fall from the sky and boil us." Slightly morbid, but hey, maybe that was what living under a cold lake did to you. Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to let Reed slap his tail against Harry's hand, but after they had both said goodbye, Reed went under the water and didn't reappear, so Harry assumed not.

"Well, Harry, now you have met a merman. What do you think?"

"He's brilliant," Harry said. "I was trying to listen, but you were speaking too fast. Did he say I was supposed to come back when the fish rise?"

"I'm glad you were able to follow at all, that was well done. What we have agreed on is that you will come back on Tuesdays at the time when the fish come to the surface of the lake, which in human terms is about five-thirty p.m. Reed will meet with you at that same place, and you will practice what you have been learning during the week, from me and from your own studies."

Harry nodded. "Okay. I'm going to learn it as fast as I can. Reed doesn't look like a guy who's easily impressed."

"No, the merpeople are generally not. However, you have already impressed them a great deal simply by expressing interest in their language and culture. Few wizards, especially young wizards, do."

Which was exactly why Mermish was the language Harry had wanted Dumbledore to coach him on. Practically anyone could teach Harry how to converse with Goblins, and learning the language of giants and trolls took about a week altogether. But Mermish was tricky and complicated, and Dumbledore was the only wizard Harry knew who spoke it.

"We have made a further agreement. After a month's time, if Reed feels you have learned a sufficient portion of the language, he will invite you to take gillyweed and follow him into the lake to meet some of his clan. You will converse with them and be invited into at least one dwelling to see an example of their architecture and food. If all goes well, you will be invited to return."

Harry was ecstatic. "That's perfect! I can't wait to see it for myself, but it's even better that I'll be surrounded by people speaking Mermish. I can't really learn it until I can hear the native speakers talking to each other, you know. I have to get totally lost and try to work my way through it."

Dumbledore seemed surprised. "That is the method known as learning by immersion, I believe. Since you are so meticulous in your life, I assumed that you would not be an adherent to that method."

Harry shrugged. "It's how I learned Portugese and German so quickly." In his experience, learning a language was about diving in, embarrassing yourself, and getting over it so you could communicate. If he hadn't done that, he never would have been able to do the grocery shopping or watch the telly. It helped that he'd had fluent speakers of both those languages in his own home, but he didn't suppose he could ask Reed to come up to the castle for a while.

As they hurried back in through the same door they'd used to exit, Harry turned to Dumbledore with a grin.

"I hope that I see you again before the stars fall from the sky and boil the lake."

"As do I. One must always hope for the best," Dumbledore replied without returning the smile.

Shaking his head at the old man's sense of humour, Harry turned to go, but Dumbledore stopped Harry.

"Before we part company, I would like to bring up a topic you may not appreciate. I hope that you will bear with me for a moment and take this in the spirit in which it is intended."

Harry stilled, the smile remaining on his face, though it looked a little odd at this point.

"I wish to ask you about Miss Granger."

Harry's face twisted into a frown. "What about her?"

"I simply want to ask you if you are certain you have made the right decision."

"Sirius—"

"Sirius made his decision, and you are entitled to make a separate one. I cannot speak as to whether it was right for Sirius and his lady friend—"

"Fiancée," Harry muttered.

"His fiancée," Dumbledore corrected himself graciously, "because I did not know her or her feelings about their situation. I make no judgements on him. Nor, indeed, do I intend to make any judgements on you. However, I have been keeping an eye on Miss Granger, and I have seen her lose some of the spark she has shown recently. Nor have I seen you truly happy, Harry. You told me of the argument you had, but I feel quite certain that she misses you and is hoping that you will seek her out."

Harry started to speak, but Dumbledore held up his hand, his one good hand.

"I am not making any suggestions, my boy. I do not wish to give advice on this matter. I am only asking you: are you sure that avoiding her is the best course of action? You do not have to answer to me, only to yourself. I want to be sure that you do not think your life must be lived alone, without friends. I just want you to think about it."

Harry sighed. "I will."

There they went their separate ways, and Harry was angry. His day had started out so well! His run had been brisk, his Quidditch practice had left him with all of Ron's enthusiasm for "smashing" the other teams, and then he'd gotten to meet Reed. He'd been totally looking forward to studying hard enough to get under the lake to meet Reed's people within a few weeks. Now his good mood had been ruined because Dumbledore thought he needed to bring up Hermione. And he'd promised to think about her, like all his spare thoughts weren't already going to her after he got done thinking about classes, lessons with Dumbledore, the DL meetings he made it to, meetings with goddamned Fudge, and everything else.

He trudged up the stairs with all the doubts he'd tried to put aside coming back to the forefront of his mind. Was he doing the right thing? Was it wrong of him to dismiss her acceptance of the danger? They'd been friends first, and that was what he missed. He didn't need a girlfriend to hold hands with and kiss in the hallways and make everyone else feel jealous. Ron and Parvati had that covered. Not having sex didn't kill anyone, though it came close. What he needed was the person who'd listened to every complaint he had about his role in this war, who respected his opinion about prophecy, whose matter-of-fact attitude about the danger versus what needed to be done calmed all his worries, whose sharp mind found the answers he missed . . . That was Hermione, and no one else. He wanted her back, but couldn't justify to himself the danger it would put her in. If she chose it, fine, but he wouldn't put her there for his own selfish reasons. He'd go it alone.

It wasn't until he got to the common room that his day was really shot, though. As soon as he entered, he knew something was wrong. There was a comfort-huddle around the sofa nearest the fire, the kind that girls fell into when someone got broken up with. But this one was different. The faces he saw were pale and streaked with tears. And the girl in the middle of the huddle was Kimberly, the third-year girl who'd been rescued from bullies by the prefects a few weeks ago.

Harry saw Neville, and hurried over to him. He drew him back with a hand on his sleeve, away from the muttering crowd.

"What's happened?"

Neville shook his head, looking sick. "It's her father."

Harry's stomach lurched.

"What about him?"

"He lived alone, and he'd been laid off from his job. No one knew."

Feeling his mouth turn to cotton, Harry was afraid to ask, but Neville answered the unspoken question.

"A neighbour called the police and they found his body this morning, but they think he's been dead for almost three weeks. The Muggles are saying he had a heart attack or a stroke, but there's a Squib on the police force, and he said it was Avada Kedavra. They came after him because he's a Muggle."

Harry's stomach churned with illness, remembering the night, that strange night, when he'd woken from his sleep feeling as though the bullies had hurt Kimberly more than he'd thought. He knew people were dying, but this was the first time it had been shoved in his face like this, the first time he'd been acquainted with the victim.

Then Kimberly looked up, and met his eyes. Her face was wet with tears and her eyes were painfully red. There was so much sorrow and anger in her eyes, and all Harry could see was accusation. He should have done something. He should have stopped Voldemort by now, put an end to this before her father had become prey to this murderer. That was his job, and he wasn't doing it.

He broke eye contact with a ragged breath, and stumbled up the stairs, thanking Merlin that Seamus had finally decided to roll out of bed so that his room was empty. He lay down and breathed shallowly, trying not to throw up. He told himself that this wasn't his fault. He wasn't Voldemort. Voldemort didn't hate Muggles and Muggleborns just because Harry was around. He hadn't hurt Kimberly or her father. And it wasn't his job to stop Voldemort, either. He was sixteen years old, and it wasn't up to him to single-handedly destroy the Dark Lord.

But all he could think about was Kimberly's eyes. She'd looked lost. She'd never thought, none of them ever thought, that they would be next. And Harry could have done something. If he hadn't learned from Snape so well, blocked out so much of that connection just for his own peace of mind . . . he would have known, maybe would have been able to save Kimberly's father the way he'd saved Arthur Weasley. At the very least, he would have been able to make sure the man wouldn't have been laying dead in his home for weeks, undiscovered.

He'd never questioned that using Occlumency was the right thing to do. But now he lay there and wondered if he was doing anything right at all.

"No, Terry, hit him with it! He can take it! And if he can't, that's what Madam Pomfrey is for!"

Ernie looked slightly alarmed at that, but when Terry raised his wand again, Ernie just bounced on the balls of his feet and grinned. Neville turned his attention back to the girls he was trying to help. They were hopeless. It wasn't that they couldn't learn the spells or even use them properly. It was just that they couldn't bring themselves to use the spells on one another. If they couldn't do that, they'd get no practice.

He saw Kimberly's pale face in the back of the group. He'd been cautious with her, since she was a third year, but she had so much pent-up emotion after finding out about her father yesterday that she'd flattened Katie Bell, so he'd let her join the more experienced students. The sight of her provoked him to be a little extra-harsh.

"Listen to me," he said to the girls. "This is not a club that meets for fun. This is a group that meets to train for battle. I know it's hard to hex your friends, but think about the alternative: you, facing an enemy, having never actually used any of the spells in your repertoire. You ought to know by now that Death Eaters play for keeps, so you need to have the discipline to do the same. Right?"

They nodded, wide-eyed.

"Ginny," Neville called to her, waving her over. She mostly paired up with Luna since Cho was the only girl he could safely pair Hermione with. Those four were the only girls who didn't hold back in practice. Luna seemed to think her opponents were interesting experiments as much as people, and Ginny and Cho were just intense with everything. Hermione was too volatile for a demonstration right now, with her emotional state. "Show them how it's done, would you?"

Ginny didn't even take a moment to prepare, just started slinging spells at him like she was in the fight of her life. Neville blocked, dodged, deflected, did everything he could to keep from getting hit. Her spells came so quickly that he had no time to counterattack, merely to keep from going down. And her spells were the dangerous kind, the ones that only the older students were learning, the ones who'd been in the DL last year. Neville leapt over a curse she aimed at his feet, then was caught completely off his guard when she threw out a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He hit the ground.

Smirking, she minced forward to finish him off.

"Stupefy!" Neville shouted.

She dropped like a sack of bricks.

Several girls squealed, although not Luna. Luna didn't even seem capable of squealing.

"Oh, relax, she'll come 'round in a minute," Neville snapped, fixing his legs and getting back up. "Expelliarmus," he muttered, taking Ginny's wand in case she was faking it and planning to retaliate. "Okay. Who can tell me what they just learned?"

"She got you with a stupid third-year spell," Parvati volunteered.

Kimberly bristled at that, but Neville was nodding.

"I was looking out for dangerous spells, things that were going to hurt me, and I got caught because I underestimated her creativity. Never think that any spell you know won't be of any use. They all have their applications. Anyone else?"

"She underestimated you, too," said another girl.

"Yes, she did. She got cocky. She was keeping me on the defensive, and it made her too confident. Never, never assume that your opponent isn't going to get you at any moment until you have them unconscious with their wand in your hand. And even then, be on the lookout for a spare wand. They're not totally safe until they're in Azkaban."

"Right, because Azkaban is so safe," someone muttered.

Good point, Neville thought. All he said aloud was, "Let's see what you can do, then. Partner up."

They did, and Neville walked over to see how things had ended up between Terry and Ernie. He left Ginny on the floor as an object lesson for the other girls, although Cho was heading over to get her up while Hermione glared daggers at Luna. (Neville had tried to ask about the sudden enmity between those two, but he'd been rebuffed. Firmly.) He was interested to see which boy had won the duel. People tended to underestimate Terry because he looked so slender and bookish, but he was no weakling. However, since Ernie knew that . . .

He found both of them on the floor, glaring at one another and moaning. Ron was standing by them, looking highly amused. Neville just chuckled and shook his head.

"Nice to know they're on our side, isn't it?" Ron said.

"Just what I was thinking."

Neville continued around the room, directing, suggesting, sometimes just watching. The room was different this year. Neville, perhaps because he hadn't spent nearly as much time as Harry in martial arts studios, had a different vision of their perfect practice room. His had cushions instead of floor mats, mirrors on one wall where a person could improve their fighting stance, but most of all, the room was much larger. The DL had about twenty new members this year. He'd kept the list of victims that had appeared in the original room, which had grown so long that it nearly stretched the length of the room. He'd had one of their newbies help him unroll it during their first meeting this year, to show them all how long it had gotten and impress on everyone, especially the new members, just what was at stake.

He hadn't had trouble leading the group. He was one of only two people in the DL who'd been at the Ministry last year, and they trusted what he had to say about Death Eaters. He hadn't been all that respected during his first years here, but his fanaticism in the DL had people's attention.

"Okay, everyone, wrap it up!" He waited a moment for the last spells to be cast, and for people to help their opponents back to rights. "Listen up! I have an announcement!" He had to wait another moment for people to stop talking. "Okay. I talked to Professor Black earlier, and he told me he's talked Professor Moody into doing a guest lecture next week." There was some cheering for that. Another of their old professors, Professor Lupin, came in from time to time to help with demonstrations, but they hadn't seen Moody since his re-retirement at the end of Neville's fourth year. "Not only that, but Moody's heard all about the DL, and he's interested in coming to a meeting to watch us work." Even more cheering at that. "So, I want everyone putting in some extra practice this week. He's a hard man to impress, but I know we can. Let's show him what we've got!"

A final round of cheering, and the meeting began to break up. Neville stayed in fairly close contact with Professor Black about the DL, getting suggestions whenever he could, and sometimes spending extra time with the professor to perfect something himself before he tried to show it to his group. But even he was proud that they'd worked hard enough to get Moody to come in.

"Think Potter will show up for that one?" Ernie asked him.

"Hope so," Neville shrugged.

"That would be wicked!" Colin Creevey, who'd been practicing near Ernie and Terry, enthused. "I would love to get a photo of him and Moody!"

"Down, boy," Ernie muttered, making Neville snicker.

"I guess he would only be here if he's got the opportunity to hang out with somebody famous," another boy, a Ravenclaw, said.

"Showoff," his dueling partner agreed.

"He already knows Moody," Ron objected loudly. "Why would he come here just to see Moody when his own godfather obviously sees the man all the time?"

"Still a showoff."

"No, he isn't," Hermione said in a dangerous voice, which gave everyone a moment's pause.

"I don't think you can call it showing off when he does spells better than we do. How is he supposed to get sufficient practice if he has to hold back his abilities?" Luna asked innocently. "He doesn't care when one of us does something better than he does."
Hermione didn't look too happy about her ally, but since no one was looking entirely convinced yet, she kept going.

"I would think that we'd all be pretty happy he was better at Defense than the rest of us," she said starchly. "Since you're all counting on him to save you from the Darkest wizard of our time."

Everyone seemed embarrassed by that.

"Are you here to learn Defense, or aren't you?" Neville spoke up. "I told you all at the beginning of the year that you came into this room for one reason, and if you weren't committed to it, you could get out. Everyone who came here just to watch Harry and try to judge him can go right now. I'll want your coin on your way out." There was a stony silence. "Everyone who wants to do their part in this war can feel free to keep their coin and be at the meeting next week to show off what you've learned to Professor Moody. Meeting dismissed."

He shook his head as he exited the room with Ron. "Maybe it's just because we were forced to spend six months with Draco Malfoy, but I don't understand the way they think they're going to like everyone else in the DL. It doesn't matter if they like each other, they're here to fight each other."

Ron gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder. "I know, mate. A lot of them aren't taking it seriously yet." Looking subdued, he added, "Having Kimberly around ought to open their eyes a bit."

Neville sighed. "She's the first one from Gryffindor to lose someone like that, but I know she's not going to be the last. We've got prefects rounds now, you and me, right?"

Ron nodded, and they started walking to their assigned area of the castle.

"Could be you or me next," Neville muttered. "My gran's not exactly soft-spoken, and your whole family's pissed him off, haven't they?"

Ron shrugged. "Percy hasn't yet, but all of my other brothers are part of the Order now. But nobody can say we didn't know what we were getting into, y'know? They told us what it was going to be like. All of the adults were willing to tell us how bad it can be, even though most of us didn't want to know."

"Still, even we've got to feel lucky. Us and our families, he'll probably just kill. The headmaster, Harry, Professor Black . . . those are people he's going to hurt before he kills them."

Ron snorted. "And people think Harry should lighten up."

Neville shrugged. "A few more people like Kimberly will cure them of that."

"What d'you think he's doing with Dumbledore?"

Neville shrugged again. "Probably not playing Exploding Snap."

Ron chuckled, but then they came across a fight and had to break it up. They ran into a lot of that these days, and the night promised to be busy.

"We will, my lord," Crouch murmured, his eyes lowered, his voice soothing.

"Of course we will," came Bellatrix Lestrange's more strident tones. "And when we do, he will be your plaything."

The Dark Lord smiled at her, at the way her eyes rose though her head was bowed, dared to look up at him. She was like his pet, Draco thought with disgust. Like a lapdog who wagged its tail when the master patted its head.

"My dear, devoted Bella," their lord said. "Always so confident. Of course we will, but the question is how, and that is a question to which I must carefully apply myself so that I can be sure the action I have chosen is the best one taken."

Which was his way of covering up, Draco thought, though he tried so hard not to think it, that he had no idea what to do. He wasn't about to admit that, not the Dark Lord himself.

Bellatrix only gazed at him worshipfully, while Crouch threw in with, "Whatever your plans, master, they will be perfect."

That was why the master liked Aunt Bellatrix better than most of his other servants, Draco thought as he watched the drama play out. She was full to the brim with love for the master, but she didn't offer up meaningless words to get ahead. She got ahead by being ruthless and never questioning authority. She was looking at him now, and Draco stifled the shiver that threatened to show itself. Dear Auntie Bella gave him the creeps. Insanity shone out of her dark eyes, and Draco didn't know what had ever given Rodolphus Lestrange the courage to propose marriage to her.

It was obviously what she was looking at him for, what she wanted. She hated the fact that he even got invited to these meetings, considered her sister's traitorous little boy to be unworthy of the Mark that he bore. But it was his house, and so he lounged in a chair, hoping he looked relaxed in this company instead of on the verge of throwing up. She wanted him to speak up, to earn his keep. This was Potter they were talking about, after all. Who better placed than Draco? He knew he ought to make an effort to appear eager.

"May I be of service, master?" he called to the Dark Lord in a calm voice. Well, it sounded calm, but in reality, it was sort of dead. He was sort of dead. He had been ever since the skull and snake had seared into his flesh. He was supposed to be proud of his service, but instead he grew more lethargic about it by the day. He needed to do better at hiding that. He needed to show his master that he was at least trying to answer the demands placed on him. Or he'd be truly dead. "I am certain that the boy would trust me at least long enough to lure him from the castle. You might not be able to meet him from a strong position, but he is no match for you."

Draco waited to hear what his master would say. He wanted to live, oh, how he wanted to live, and so he had to offer. But he was almost more afraid that the Dark Lord would say yes than that he would say no.

"It is tempting, because it is easy," his master mused. "But I think not, Draco. You would immediately lose your position at the school. There are several ways that I could bring Potter away from the school and deal with him swiftly, but I have only you to get me inside its defences to strike the greater blow. No, you shall simply continue with the task I have laid out for you."

Which was, of course, impossible to do. Well, perhaps possible, but not to him. He'd made an effort, of course. He'd searched out all the secret passages he could find, but they were too well known or protected by enchantments that were obvious to the spells he'd been taught to use to look for them. But that was as creative as he'd gotten. It would help, he thought bitterly, if he could muster up any enthusiasm for the task. Instead, every time he thought about it he got a mental picture of his Aunt Bellatrix chasing down and torturing to death small children.

But he didn't let any of that show. His face remained implacable, despite the way his heart pounded from fear that the Dark Lord would be looking into his mind. He couldn't afford apathy. He couldn't afford thoughts of dissension. His master would know, and Draco would pay dearly.

"Of course, my lord," he murmured. "My every waking thought is devoted to the task you've given me."

Which was the first entirely genuine thing he'd said tonight, he realised. His every waking thought, and some of his nightmares. But he had to do it. If it didn't get done, he didn't get rewarded, and if he didn't get rewarded, he didn't get out from under the other Death Eaters and into the role he saw for himself. He'd made the decision to come to this side, based on the benefits he would get from it. If the requirements of staying alive and on top were a little more stringent than those on the other side, then what was that to him? He already had a head start by having Lucius Malfoy for a father. And he was no coward, nor a weakling. He needed to try harder. Starting immediately.

"It will not be terribly difficult," the others were saying, while Draco wallowed in the depression that his constant fear had given him. "He is a mere boy, and an impulsive one at that. We saw that at the Ministry. We can get him out of Hogwarts easily enough, and dispatch him still more easily than that."

Draco almost laughed aloud then. What a pack of idiots. They honestly thought Potter was such a fool? Because he'd shown up to get his hands on one of the most important objects in the country before Draco's own master could do so? Both sides had failed, but neither side had been foolish to be there. Impulsive? Perhaps. But no fool. Potter wouldn't take their bait, whatever they were planning. He wasn't about to leave the safety of Hogwarts for anything.

But Draco kept his mouth shut. He always did.

"Harry Potter?"

There was a young student, probably a second year, standing at his elbow at the dinner table. Harry turned from his studying to look at the boy, whose name he could not recall.

"Yes?"

The boy was blushing furiously, probably at addressing the Great Harry bloody Potter. "Wow, you're— I mean, it's just—"

"Spit it out, mate," Harry said, not unkindly.

"You're wanted in Professor Black's office."

"Oh," Harry muttered. "Okay. Thank you."

It was just Sirius, so Harry relaxed. He hadn't even noticed himself tensing up when he heard his name. But as he forced his shoulders to release their tension, he realised that he'd already been very tense before the boy came along. His muscles felt cramped, and his eyes tired.

He trudged up to see Sirius with a weary feeling. He was studying all the time, these days. He was learning an incredible number of things from Dumbledore, alongside his course of Hogwarts studies, not to mention the extra Defensive things he was learning when DL meetings put ideas in his head. But it was exhausting. He felt like he hadn't been without either a book or a wand in his hand since the night he broke up with Hermione (and if he was honest, well before that, but before that he hadn't minded so much).

He poked his head in and cleared his throat.

"Oh, Harry, there you are," Sirius said, immediately standing up and moving away from the papers he was grading. "Come in."

Harry just stood in the doorway as Sirius came toward him. "If it's not terribly urgent, I really do need to study and get prepared to meet Reed at the lake on Tuesday, it's already Sunday . . ."

"Harry," Sirius cut him short, and then he was at Harry's side, gripping his arm. "Exactly. It's Sunday. When was the last time you took a couple of hours off? You know, not to study, or to practice Quidditch, but just to relax? Play a game of cards or something?"

Harry shrugged irritably. "I don't have time for all that right now, and you know it."

"I know that you've only been home for an evening once this entire term and you spent the whole night reading a textbook. I also know that it has more to do with your breakup with Hermione that you're letting on." Sirius gripped his arm tightly so that Harry couldn't pull it away. "You're coming home with me. I've already cleared it with McGonagall that you won't be home tonight. Come on."

"Sirius!" Harry snapped, and broke the grip on his arm. "I'm going back to the Great Hall," he muttered.

Sirius moved to block the doorway. "If you're still hungry, you can eat at home with us."

Harry glared at him. "None of the other students go home every weekend, so what makes it so strange that I don't?"

Sirius just rolled his eyes and bullied him to the fireplace. He was aided by the simple fact that Harry had no genuine desire to hurt Sirius, so he wasn't about to throw him down onto the stone floor and try to punch his head in to get away. Harry let himself be pushed in.

Remus greeted him jovially when he got there, looking perfectly pleased to see him. Harry decided he wasn't all that hungry, but he did get talked into sitting at the dinner table with the two men. He kind of wondered where Tonks was. Sirius had told him that she'd been coming by for dinner awfully regularly of late. Then he took a closer look at Remus. The man was pale, picking at his food, wincing at sudden noises or sudden movements.

It was the full moon, and Harry hadn't even noticed. Remus must have told Tonks to stay away from him tonight. He didn't want her to see him like this. Harry didn't think that probably sat too well with Tonks, and thought it was foolish of Remus to try to keep it from her. Unless Harry missed his guess entirely (and hadn't he made rather a habit of that with relationships), Tonks would have to know eventually. But before Harry could so much as broach the subject, Sirius urged him up from the table.

Sirius dragged him into their sparring room, with an aside to Remus that Harry wasn't meant to hear but heard anyway.

"He's strung pretty tight, Moony. Can you make sure we've got a few remedies stocked up?"

"We're headquarters for the Order, we're practically St. Mungo's outpatient clinic these days," was the whispered retort.

Then Sirius shut the door, dropped into a crouch, and waited for Harry. Harry didn't hesitate. He leapt on his godfather with a muted roar, and Sirius was pinned to the floor in a decided victory for Harry within moments. Harry loosened his grip only slightly before Sirius leapt up at him, but Harry was ready for it. They both fought fiercely, and only got off the ground for brief moments. It was all wrestling for dominance, kicking, punching, choking—in short, brutal.

They exited the room drenched in sweat, spattered with blood, and swelling with myriad bruises. Tired, and much, much happier, Harry didn't argue much with the suggestion that he and Sirius take their Animagus forms for the night and stay with Remus. He was relaxed now, having worked off his frustrations, and ready to do something that wasn't work.

"Stay still," Remus muttered as he dabbed bruise cream all over Harry's face. "Merlin, you two nearly killed each other."

Harry shrugged. "You would have had fun."

"Sure, if all that violence and blood hadn't sent me over the edge and made me transform and start mauling you."

"You're going to be transforming in . . . oh, wow, about twenty minutes, anyway. Are we staying here?"

They looked at one another, shrugged, and Sirius ventured, "Anyone up for a run in the forest?"

Harry frowned. "We shouldn't be out in the open like that. Just us, alone. The Forbidden Forest isn't protected."

"By anything other than centaurs, werewolves, gigantic spiders, et cetera," Sirius said dryly. "Not to mention that we're going to be unrecognizable animals. We hear or see anyone, and we stop acting like friends. Come on, Harry. Live a little."

Harry grudgingly agreed, thinking Sure, I'll live a little, so long as I don't get killed.

There wasn't a soul, other than the three of them, traveling through the trees that night. It was a fantastic night, and Harry woke in the morning to go back to school feeling refreshed and ready for his studies. Sirius was right, again. Harry reminded himself that Sirius was often right, and that the doubts Dumbledore had raised in him on Saturday shouldn't change his mind. He needed to focus. He had a job to do. It was time he got serious about doing it.