A/N: I must apologise for the lateness of this chapter. It reallly didn't want to be written. I have begun referring to it as "the thrice-damned chapter" because it gave me so much trouble. Anyway, I had a great vacation, but got sick on the last day and spent a week coughing up important internal organs. And now, after two and a half years of singleness, my love life suddenly got complicated. Not only that, but my day off is now apparently Friday instead of Wednesday. It's been a rough week. So I'm sure you can understand that I had a hard time getting this done. I'll try to update on Wednesday for now, but I may need to change it to Friday permanently, depending on what happens at work.

Do me all a favour, would you? Let me know what you think of the poem, as well as what you think of the chapter. I'm actually a little proud of this one.

The Wise One

Book Three: Being

Arc Two

Scene Changes

transformation

day to day

changes

too fast to keep up

birth and death

maturation

shifting allegiances

nothing remains

fear

love

pain

shame

anger

lust

hope

living and breathing

betrayed and a little broken

dreaming

laughing

screaming

hating

smiling

sometimes just being

"Alas, how soon the hours are over

Counted us out to play the lover!

And how much narrower is the stage

Allotted us to play the sage!

But when we play the fool, how wide

The theatre expands! Beside,

How long the audience sits before us!

How many prompters! What a chorus!"

~ Plays ~ Walter Savage Landor ~

Chapter Six

"Your partner's dead, Potter!" Moody roared at him, his real eye bulging while the magical one continued to make circuits around the room. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Harry drew himself up, glancing down at a boy called Zacharias that he didn't know very well. The boy was laying there with his arms and legs splayed, his eyes shut—for one wild second, Harry was afraid that Moody was right, his dueling partner was dead. His heart squeezed, then he reminded himself that he'd just seen Ernie Macmillan hit his roommate with a Stunner. Ernie and Neville, who were fighting in tandem against Harry and Zacharias, stood still and lowered their wands, grinning and high-fiving one another over their victory.

Harry wiped sweat from his forehead. "I was trying not to be killed, myself, sir."

Moody's fake leg thunked roughly on the floor as he stalked closer to Harry and glared at him.

"Did I not just finish telling you that when fighting with a partner, their life should be considered equal to your own? You didn't even notice he was about to go down, did you? You can only protect your partner through constant vigilance!" he barked.

Harry loved Moody, he tried to convince himself that he really did, but he was fighting a sudden compulsion to leap on the man and strangle him. If he said that phrase even one more time . . .

"Harry," he said in a quieter voice, leading him apart from the other boys. "Your problem isn't really vigilance, your problem is partnership. I've put you with three different people now, and you can't fight with any of them. Is there anyone in this room that you do partner well with?"

Harry glanced back over to see that Zacharias was being helped to his feet by his opponents in the duel, and felt shameful guilt. Moody was right. He didn't partner well. He worked well alone, and he obviously considered himself more important than Zacharias or he'd have tried harder to protect him. He considered Moody's question. His eyes swept the room.

He'd been able to fight alongside Draco, but he'd turned out to be an unbelievable prat so he wasn't exactly here, was he? His eyes fell on Hermione, and before he could help it, their eyes had locked together. He was so surprised by what he saw that he didn't look away. She didn't look angry anymore. She just looked sad.

"You, girl!" Moody barked.

"That's Hermione Granger, sir," Harry offered, fearing what Moody wanted with her.

"Granger!"

She walked toward them cautiously.

"Yes, Professor Moody?"

"I'm not your professor anymore," the old man groused. "Do me a favour, partner up with Potter."

Hermione looked stricken. "Sir, I—"

"Just one fight," he said dismissively. His zooming magical eyeball came to an abrupt halt. "I'll put you against Weasley. Weasley, and Weasley's girlfriend!" he shouted. "Over here!"

Ron and Parvati strolled over, and began to scoot faster when Moody scowled at them.

"You're going to duel with Potter and Granger, here. I'd like to watch you work, if you don't mind." His roving eye paused again, and he turned around to roar, "If you two girls don't stop giggling and get to work, you're dismissed!"

Neville, who would have issued the same warning if he hadn't given this meeting over to Moody, scowled. These were his students now, and he was obviously feeling rather possessive about them.

Moody turned back to the four students in front of him. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Hermione still looked helpless, as though she wanted to protest but didn't know how. Harry would have protested if he'd felt at all comfortable doing so, but Moody didn't need to know about his relationship problems, and Ron and Parvati didn't need to know any more. Unless Parvati knew everything, being Hermione's roommate and therefore within the range of acceptable female companionship during the breakup stage.

He didn't really have the chance to say anything, anyway. Parvati led things off with a nasty curse to boil the blood, directed at Harry. He shielded it and added a bit of humour by returning it with a curse to freeze the body. Parvati did deflect it, but it grazed her arm and a trail of ice crystals formed across her hand and on her sleeve. Ron was shielding a curse from Hermione, but he immediately expanded his shield to include Parvati while she worked a charm to release her hand from the ice. She locked eyes with her boyfriend, Ron nodded, and they both hurled a blasting curse at the ground underneath Hermione. Harry saw it coming and acted without a thought. He let out a sharp yell of warning to Hermione and grabbed her with one arm around her waist, lifting her away from the floor while he attempted to deflect the curse to a further point.

She was greatly surprised, to say the least, but she did take the opportunity to hit Ron with a very firm petrifying spell that he didn't block because he was too surprised by Harry, as well. Parvati ducked out of the way, then tried to return to Ron to get him moving again. She was unable to help him because she was getting bombarded with spells from both Harry and Hermione. Harry found himself moving according to some rhythm, like it was something natural to the universe that he was only just discovering. The rhythm was so easy to follow! Hermione threw a curse, and he shielded them. He dropped the shield to send off a curse of his own, and she spun in front of him to block what Parvati returned while he was busy. She shielded them both while he issued a rapid series of concussions at the floor around Parvati, penning her in. Just as Parvati started to panic, Hermione stopped blocking and threw out the finishing curse, sending the girl tumbling to the cushions.

Hermione let out a deep breath, turned to Harry . . . and found herself being jerked behind him while Harry desperately blocked a curse from Ron, who'd managed to work past the petrification. Harry was both quicker and more powerful than Ron, and put him down with only a few more spells traded.

Harry's hair, which was getting long again, was dripping sweat into his eyes. He flung his hair back and wiped at his face. He saw Hermione directing her wand to the back of her neck, and a moment later she sighed with relief as the cooling charm did its work.

"Bravo," Moody said, sounding at least less grumpy now. "I almost thought you couldn't do it, Potter. Well done, Granger."

"Thank you, sir," she said, a bit out of breath.

Moody thunked away to go work with someone else, and Harry turned to Hermione with an uncharacteristically shy smile.

"I guess we don't make a bad . . ." She turned away and went to help their opponents up. ". . . team," he muttered. Okay, so we're still not talking, I guess. How long can she possibly stay mad at me?

But he'd been looking at her when she turned away from him. She wasn't mad. She was almost in tears. She missed him. Why doesn't she just say so?

Harry, feeling more chastised than successful after that duel, determined to work harder at creating good partnerships with the rest of the DL. He was going to be useless in battle if no one could trust him to watch their back. That he'd done well when partnered with Hermione seemed to make that all the more clear to him, because he didn't think the two of them would ever find themselves side by side in a real battle. He had to work well with all the students in this room.

He sought out Ernie and Neville and went to work with them, forcing himself to focus more. He couldn't be as solitary as he wanted to be. It would be nice if he could, but that wasn't how it was supposed to work. He had to learn to be part of this. At least Ernie and Neville were willing to let him try, unlike most of the DL. They were either too afraid to partner with him or too snotty.

Moody's presence drove everyone to strive more for excellence that night. They stayed well beyond their scheduled time, so much so that Moody had to scribble off a note to the Heads of house apologizing for keeping them out past curfew. They trudged off to their dormitories as tired and sore as they could ever remember being. And in Harry's mind, that was a very good thing.

Harry sat quite still in his chair, his mind trying to encompass everything that had happened in the last few hours. Images rushing past him, facts and shocking secrets assaulting him at every turn . . . he was exhausted. Dumbledore looked serene as he replaced the bowl in his cabinet and returned to his own seat. Harry knew that he himself was looking rather haggard and overwhelmed, and he envied Dumbledore his calm.

He closed his eyes, trying to get a grip on himself. But when they slid shut, the sight of Dumbledore settling into his desk chair became a rush of memories, centred around a young boy with a brittle soul that had slowly become encased in a shell of hatred that hardened into something impenetrable. A boy who'd had no one and nothing, except perhaps Dumbledore, and who had been striving ever since for the recognition and love he'd been denied in his youth.

"It's a tragic tale," Harry said slowly, blinking his eyes in an effort to dispel all the Pensieve images from his mind. "I see why a person might think that he could have turned out differently. But I'm not sure that he would have. That intense desire to cause pain that he has—he was born with that. I think he always was going to be cruel."

Dumbledore nodded gravely, looking interested but not entirely convinced. "You think, then, that it was impossible to make him anything but what he is?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Look at me. Sirius took me away from the Dursleys and I think that's the reason I am the way I am, but he could have left me there and I'd still be really studious, still be better on my own than in a group. I think that's just part of me. In the same way, I think that if you had taken Voldemort from the orphanage at an earlier age, he still would have been a bully."

"I will not say that you are wrong," Dumbledore said cautiously, "but I think that you are oversimplifying."

Harry shrugged again. He probably was, but that, too, was part of his personality. He'd always tended to see things in black and white. But he was starting to recognise that he shouldn't, at least not as much as he did. Just as he was coming to see his loner status as a weakness, he was beginning to think that his tendency to make quick judgements was a fault. In battle, it was necessity. It was survival. But maybe it wasn't such a good thing in relationships and among allies. He wasn't sure what was making him change, but he could see a slow transition in his mind. A sort of softening that gave other people a little more room for error.

"I probably am," he said aloud. "But I just can't help but see the cruelty in him, just like it was in his family. They were all bitter, hateful people, and he seems to be sort of the end result of all that resentment. I guess that he could have been different, but only if his mother had lived, or if he hadn't found out where he came from, or something. He knew that he was the product of the Gaunt's misery, and I think it affected him."

"In that, you are entirely correct," Dumbledore said with more surety. "I am certain that knowing his lineage influenced him."

"You're not convinced."

"I think you yourself might have turned out very differently from the way you imagine yourself. Without Sirius to lean on, you would have sought the company of others. With the answers you needed given to you more easily, you might not have learned such habits of study. If you had learned of the prophecy from someone else, you might have put more faith in it. You see?"

Harry wondered if this was a technique meant to distract him from the heart of the matter, or if it was only that Dumbledore truly didn't see it himself. "Sir? You shouldn't think that way. You shouldn't think that Tom Riddle's transition to Voldemort was your fault. You didn't even know, sir, and by the time you did, it was too late. You can't think that you could have changed him. It's not as though you didn't try."

Dumbledore seemed to be angry with him, his jaw clenched and his usually open expression becoming guarded. He was looking down at Harry in some indefinable way, despite how close they were in height. Harry began to suspect that he had overstepped the bounds of their relationship. Dumbledore was about a hundred years older than he, and graciously giving whatever remained of his time to teaching Harry as much as he possibly could. What was Harry thinking, to presume he could just say things like that to a man who deserved much better from him?

"I'm sorry, sir," he murmured. "That was disrespectful of me."

Dumbledore nodded quietly, shortly, and they moved on with not another word said about it.

"Let us talk about Hepzibah Smith," Dumbledore said, and they did. Then they discussed the possibilities for the unknown Horcruxes, what they might be and where they might be. Harry knew that at this stage, it was little more than wild guessing on his part. He needed time to assimilate the information he'd learned from the memories they'd seen tonight. But he'd perused his own memories several times, and they both agreed that Nagini, Voldemort's snake, was entirely too close to him to be merely a pet of some kind. She was a snake who managed to act in her owner's interests—she was too aware. And so she was likely a Horcrux.

Harry had not until that moment considered the possibility that Horcruxes could be living things. It didn't make sense to him that a part of his soul might reside in something that had a soul of its own. He suddenly had a very vivid image of his pet monkey Dudley, riding on his shoulder, and leaping to bite at Voldemort's ugly face on Harry's command. He clapped his hand over his mouth and tried very hard to look like he was yawning instead of guffawing.

He wasn't very convincing, and he ended up having to explain what it was he found amusing about Voldemort's cunning with his Horcruxes. Dumbledore mustered up a patronising smile, but seemed a little too weary to find any humour in it. Harry found himself apologising again, but Dumbledore shook his head, a genuine smile in place now.

"Don't be sorry, Harry. In truth, I am glad. You are being entrusted with a great deal, and the responsibility being laid on your shoulders is heavier than perhaps you've realised. I am glad that you are still able to laugh. You are a young man and you should have every opportunity to do so."

Harry found himself resenting that.

"I know very well what is riding on me," he said frankly. "I know it because I chose it. I got tired of running away and letting other people get hurt, and I came here to end all this. There isn't any responsibility being laid on my shoulders, because I'm the one putting it on. So if I choose to laugh, I have the right." And neither you nor Voldemort can say I don't, he added rebelliously, but only in his mind. He feared it showed on his face, though, for Dumbledore's expression was hurt.

He changed the subject, once again, back to the their original purpose for meeting tonight.

"Do you know what strikes me the most about the way Voldemort went after those people in those memories? He went for them in their homes. He struck when they were in the place that felt safest to them."

Dumbledore nodded, a gleam in his eye. "You are beginning to see something that he thinks is a secret."

"I am?"

"You are seeing that he prefers the easiest path to get what he wants."

Harry was struck by that, and held up his mind to beg for a moment of thought. It all washed over him. The way he snuck up on people when they weren't on their guard, in their homes. Poison. Avada Kedavra, the quickest and most assured method. Sending Nagini into the Ministry to clear his way to the prophecy, and sending Malfoy and Lestrange for it. Playing head games to force Harry out instead of coming after him.

"I didn't realise just how much he was in love with himself," Harry said in disgust. "He's immortal, and he still doesn't want to risk his pretty face? What a jackass."

"A caution, though, Harry," Dumbledore said in a warning tone. "Do not underestimate him. He prefers the easier path, but that does not mean he will not take the difficult one if he must. It is not a matter of risking himself, only of risking his goals. And the safety and secrecy with which he has surrounded his person are tantamount to those goals. He will certainly take a riskier path if he feels it is necessary."

Abashed, Harry quieted. Voldemort was arrogant, yes, but Harry was going off making quick judgements again. He wasn't spending enough time thinking about Voldemort's motives. In his mind, Voldemort was wrong, and that was that. He could conjecture all day about Voldemort's methods, about what he would do, but he didn't spend enough time thinking about what lay behind those methods, why he did it that way. Dumbledore did. And that was why Dumbledore was the leader of this war, not Harry.

Was it something you learned with time, or was it simply something in his person? he wondered. Had Dumbledore ever been arrogant enough to assume that his enemy's motivations were unimportant? Because Harry was beginning to see himself as unbelievably arrogant, and he didn't like it. Maybe Dumbledore had always, even as a young man, been able to see things from another person's perspective.

"It becomes easier with time," Dumbledore said with a soft smile. "The only real requirement is the willingness to try to change the way you think."

Harry knew better than to be surprised by the way Dumbledore could read him, but he was still embarrassed.

"Do you think I'm conceited?" he blurted out.

Dumbledore shook his head, and Harry felt a sense of relief. Maybe he was being too hard on himself.

"I think you are young, Harry. And there is nothing wrong with being young. You are spending your youth at better pursuits than I did, and for that I admire you. I wish that you had the freedom to enjoy these years as you should, to waste some of it on the joys of being young and being certain that you are invincible and always right. But instead, you are here, listening to an old man ramble, and growing up far too quickly."

In other words, Harry thought sardonically, yes he was a total wanker but Dumbledore found all teenagers to be so, which made it okay.

Harry shook his head. "I know sixteen seems very young to you, sir, but I don't think it's asking too much for me to grow up now. In fact, if I was doing anything but learning as much as I could from you, then I'd consider my youth wasted. I, more than anyone, know that there are no guarantees for how long I'm going to have intellect and energy at my disposal." I could be killed so easily . . .

Harry shuddered.

"Harry?"

"I was just thinking, sir, about Voldemort's tactics. The way he goes after people. He's sneaky, you know? I was just thinking that if he does decide to attack me, it's going to happen here, or at my family's home. And I don't like to imagine that."

"Hogwarts is a veritable fortress, Harry," Dumbledore said with assurance, but there were lines around his eyes. "I will not say that its defenses are completely impenetrable, but it is very unlikely. As for your home, so long as I am its Secret Keeper, you are safe."

Harry bit his lip. "Sir, I know that. But . . ."

It was wrong of him to say, he thought, so he stopped himself there, but Dumbledore knew what he meant.

"We are working on that, Harry," he said quietly. "Sirius and I have begun discussing who will perform another Fidelius Charm when I am gone."

Harry nodded, feeling a distinct squeeze around his heart. That surprised him. He hadn't expected to feel so sad at the idea of Dumbledore being gone. He was an old man, whom Harry was using for his own purposes, the way he'd always seen Dumbledore as using others. He'd never expected to become attached to Dumbledore, the way Neville was. But at the thought that Dumbledore's precarious health couldn't hold out much longer, Harry definitely felt sorrow. Strange to think that he would miss him.

"Enough of that for one evening," Dumbledore declared suddenly, a smile on his face. "There is time yet for a little happiness, don't you think? Go enjoy your evening, Harry. Shall we meet again after your lesson with Reed tomorrow evening to discuss any further thoughts you may have?"

Harry nodded, standing up. Dumbledore did the same, walking Harry to the door of his office. Harry noticed that Dumbledore's movements were slow and looked painful.

He's dying. He's really dying, and he's starting to really know it. No wonder he's been more short with me than he usually is.

"I am proud of how hard you have worked to learn from Reed, my boy. You are quite a remarkable student."

"Thank you, sir. Speaking of that, I've nearly completed that study you gave me on the principles behind your research on dragon's blood. To have your notes has been . . ." Harry literally had no words to describe how amazing it was to have a copy of Dumbledore's original research notes. He'd never more thoroughly enjoyed being a geek.

"I am glad they have been helpful," Dumbledore said with a cheerful smile.

The amazing thing was, the modesty he displayed was real. He knew he was brilliant, but he never reveled in it the way Harry would if it were him. That, too, seemed to be something that would come with time to those who were willing.

"Harry, before you go, may I apologise?"

"Sir?"

"For the way I reacted to you earlier this evening, when you told me that I should not feel guilty for the path my former student has chosen."

Harry blushed and looked down. "I know that I was being really impertinent, and I'm sorry."

"No, Harry, you were not," Dumbledore said softly. "We have spent a great deal of time together recently, and I have invited the level of comfort necessary for you to be able to speak your mind to me. I should not have become offended that you did so. I am afraid that your words stung me, Harry, and in consequence, I treated you poorly."

Harry was dumbfounded by that. "Um, that's okay," he mumbled.

"You are far more a young man than you are a boy, Harry, and you are far more an apprentice than you are simply a student. I wish you to always feel that you can share your thoughts with me. I know that it was not your intention to be disrespectful in any way."

Harry hadn't thought of their relationship in so many words, but when Dumbledore spoke it, he realised that he would never have spoken to Dumbledore that way if he hadn't felt safe to do so. Sarcastically, if he didn't like Dumbledore, he might have said something similar. But now that he respected the man, he had only spoken because he thought he could. Dumbledore wasn't just any teacher, he'd become Harry's mentor. And Harry was surprised to find that meant they were on a much more equal footing than he would have said they were, if he was asked.

He was really going to have to watch himself, now. He actually had a reason to let this stuff go to his head, but that was a sure way to get himself isolated and killed by his enemies. He needed to do exactly the opposite of that. He'd been spending too much time alone, studying, acting like he operated on a completely different plane of existence from the other people at this school. That lesson with Moody had proven that.

What it meant, he thought uncomfortably, was that he needed to try to make friends again. Just because it had failed the first time didn't mean it always would. He needed to start over.

Sirius was distracted as he left his classroom to speak to Minerva. He was ready to go home, but she'd said something earlier in the day about having to send Harry and his roommates to bed the night before. He hadn't had his godson in class that day, and he'd rather hear it from Minerva, anyway, to be honest. She would tell him whether or not Harry had been faking the companionship that had kept them up studying and playing cards past curfew. If he asked Harry, Harry would try to downplay it or just say that he was creating allies or something. But Sirius didn't think that was it.

Harry was lonely. Sirius just wanted to know that Harry was finally making friends. Sirius was only now beginning to see just how solitary their life had been, and how hard it had been for Harry to make the transition to this school. It had been easier on Sirius, who already had friends here, and a home, and he'd already had a lot of experiences in this world. Harry had none of those things, and he'd been forced to sink or swim in a completely new environment. It made Sirius appreciate all over again what a strong person Harry had become.

As he walked down the hall, he got a creepy feeling, like someone was watching him. He wasn't sure what gave him the feeling, and shrugged it off. It was like an itch between his shoulders, and he tried to ignore it. Who would be watching him here?

When it happened, it was as soft as a whisper.

It was silent.

He had never known anyone was there.

An arm slid over his neck, tightened, and held him there.

Sirius felt his heart skip a beat as his brain tried to make sense of it. He was being choked. He was barely on his feet, being held tight against the chest of a smaller, more slender man behind him. One arm, corded with muscle, locked over his throat, while another arm held his hands to his sides. There was a breath in his ear.

What . . . Why?

"You're dead," the voice said quietly.

Sirius bucked and inhaled one precious breath. "Harry?" he squeezed out of his constricted throat. "What are you . . .?"

The arm released him, and Sirius immediately bent his knees and lowered his centre of gravity so he didn't fall. He spun around to see Harry standing with his arms loose and a strange, sad expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" Sirius snapped. "You almost scared the life out of me!"

Harry shrugged. "You were way off your guard, Sirius. You knew I was there, I could see that you knew. You shouldn't have let me sneak up on you like that."

"Where were you hiding?"

Harry didn't answer.

"There," Sirius said, the truth suddenly becoming obvious. He looked at the statue in the small alcove that he'd walked past not a moment ago. Harry had been standing directly beside the statue, and there was his Invisibility Cloak pooled on the floor beside it. Harry was right. He'd felt someone watching him, and he should have known immediately where they would be. It was the only place a person could stand wearing that cloak without the risk of being run into.

"Why don't you just tell me what you're doing?" Sirius said, scowling.

"Aren't you just a little bit ashamed of how easy that was for me?"

Sirius shrugged irritably. "A little."

Harry sighed. "You could have done it to me, too. We've started losing our touch, Sirius. We need to get it back."

Sirius stared at him. "You snuck up on me and choked me just to prove that you could?"

Harry nodded. "And I'll keep doing it until I can't surprise you anymore."

Sirius raised his eyebrow. "I'm guessing you ant me to return the favour?"

Harry nodded again. "We're not as safe here as we'd like to think we are, Sirius. We have to start remembering that."

"You're right. You're absolutely right. We aren't prepared at all."

"So you'll help?"

In truth, Sirius wanted to start punching things and blasting them to pieces. He was angry, on a number of levels. Angry that Harry had done it, angry that it had worked . . . but mostly angry because he agreed that it was necessary. They were getting soft at Hogwarts, and they couldn't afford that.

"Of course," he said simply.

Harry walked down the hallway with a book open in his hands, frantically trying to cram a few more sentences in before his next class. He was taking studying too far, Ron thought. Further than Hermione Granger ever had, and that was saying something. He was muttering under his breath, and based on the fact that Ron could not figure out what in bloody hell he was saying, he assumed it was Mermish. Harry said he'd been studying it for some reason.

He was also studying a book on Goblin culture and society, complete with a list and explanation of religious observances and holiday pastimes. He was doing so well in Potions class that Snape hadn't been able to find a thing wrong with his work, which was almost eerie. He was also about to fall down the stairs.

"Mate, the—"

Harry, without raising his eyes, descended the stairs beside Ron. Ron just snorted and let him read. When they could tear Harry away from his books, he'd turned out to be a surprising amount of fun. Not something they'd truly expected of him, with how intense he always seemed to be. When he was pretending to be Evan Rivers, he'd stuck mostly to himself, or with just Hermione. He'd been leading the Defense League, but he'd remained sort of apart. Now he was trying to be a regular guy. It turned out that he had a wicked sense of humour, and he was amazingly okay with losing at chess and cards. But only when they could get him away from his books. Not that often, really.

Then Ron saw, out of the corner of his vision, someone coming up behind them, too swiftly. He didn't know why or who, he didn't have time for that, but he managed to squawk out a sort of warning. It sounded a lot like, "Ah, what, look out . . ." He fumbled to draw his wand.

But Harry didn't even need the warning. He perked up like he heard something, dropped his book on the ground, and suddenly he was also dropping to the ground, turning around with his leg out, in a strange, spinning kick that was meant to sweep the legs right out from under the person coming up on him. But the other person sidestepped and came at Harry from the side. Harry was off-balance, and let himself fall all the way to the ground, rolling back like he meant to receive the attack on his back.

Ron had his wand out.

"Stupefy!" he shouted.

The attacker barely managed to block it, stumbling back against the wall.

"Reducto!" he shouted, blasting the wall behind him. The attacker jumped away, but was knocked on the head by a flying chunk of stone, and he tripped and fell onto the ground.

Ron stared.

"Professor Black?"

Harry had already jumped back up and was grinning at his godfather as he pulled him back to his feet.

"Good one, Sirius," he said. He turned to Ron. "Thanks for that, mate. I was just going to let him take me to the ground and flip him, but I like your way."

Sirius dabbed at a trickle of blood on his forehead. "Very good, Mr. Weasley."

Ron could feel himself blushing in embarrassment. They'd planned this? And apparently he'd just been getting in the way?

"Harry, would you mind?" Sirius asked, gesturing with bloody fingers.

Harry quickly healed the small cut, but didn't have a spell for the swelling.

"I think I'll pop in and see Pomfrey," Sirius said. "Until next time, gentleman," he grinned, and bowed in the posture that conceded a duel to another wizard, something he'd taught them last year.

When he walked off, Ron turned to Harry with wide eyes. "I can't believe I just knocked my professor in the head. What was he doing?"
Harry shrugged. "We're trying to stay on our toes," he said, sounding uncomfortable. "I just thought it would be a good idea if we didn't get too comfortable anywhere, so we've decided to stay in practice with this stuff."

Ron opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to say something, but he wasn't sure what he wanted to say. There was a time when he would have run off at the mouth anyway, but his years at Hogwarts and his current position of responsibility had taught him better.

"You think you'll get attacked here at the school?" he finally asked.

Harry began to walk again. "It's possible. Not likely, but possible. Besides, isn't that what the DL is really about? It's almost become a training camp for the prefects so they can break up fights and avoid ambushes."

Ron had to think about that. It was true that Neville drove them pretty hard, and the people who complained about it had long since dropped out by now. They had almost reverted back to their original number of members, but the ones who had stayed were all very serious about what they were doing—while they were in the Room of Requirement. Maybe Harry had the right idea. Maybe they ought to be preparing for fights to happen in unexpected places.

"I think we should talk to Neville about this."

"About what?"

"About the DL doing things like this. You know, being ready. I think there's a lot that you and Professor Black could teach us about it. What do you think?"

Harry frowned, thinking. "If Neville wants to do that, and if the DL is ready for it, then yeah. That might be a good idea."
"I'll talk to him about it, then."

Ginny and Parvati were patrolling the corridors together, making their regular prefect rounds. They had their heads together, giggling over their conversation. To an outside observer, it was obvious that they were talking about boys, and thoroughly wrapped up in their conversation. Parvati was asking Ginny about something embarrassing that Ron had done as a little boy, and Ginny was blushing furiously as she asked Parvati's advice about whether or not she should try dating Dean Thomas.

They were capable of handling a situation, should they stumble across one. But they were using their prefect rounds as a time to socialize. They were an easy mark, he thought. He could take them both out before they even knew what was happening.

He leapt out, roaring the words of his spell before he was even fully on his feet. He got Ginny, who whirled around at the sound of his coming but had stupidly thrown herself in front of Parvati instead of defending herself. He turned his wand on Parvati with a howl of triumph.

She quietly, calmly, Levitated the carpet out from under him and Petrified him. She stood over him with a disgusted look.

"Next time, Zacharias, you might want to be a little less obvious."

Seamus and Dean hurried up the steps, their bookbags swinging behind them as they tried to make it to the library before they were ridiculously late. They were supposed to be in the library studying with some of the other Gryffindor students. Neville was probably up there throwing all his awkward moves on the girls right now, while they were joking around downstairs.

Seamus jerked to a halt when his bookbag split open just at the top of the staircase, and ducked to pick them up. But instead of reaching out for them, he pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes and turned around to where he thought the spell had come from. Dean was already on the ground, looking like he'd been Stupefied, although Seamus hadn't heard a word.

Another spell was coming from behind him. He could feel it, could feel the sensation of an incoming spell prickling on the back of his neck. He had time for nothing more fancy than throwing himself flat on the stone floor and rolling over to aim his wand with both hands in front of his face. But his flying spell was deflected, and his vision was filled with the image of a person pouncing on him. Seamus raised his arms and legs to hold the person off, but found his flailing arms wrestled aside and pinned by his opponent's knees. He tried to use his size to his advantage, scrabbling to get his legs under him to buck the attacker off, but the attacker had superb balance and control, holding him down without any apparent effort.

Seamus groaned into Harry's face.

"I'm never goin' to best you, am I?"

"You can keep trying," Harry said calmly, and just to add insult to injury, patted his cheek before letting him up.

"You will be begging me for mercy one of these days, just see if you aren't," he muttered.

Harry just grinned as he revived Dean.

"Comin' to the library, Great One?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got to study."

"That's what you do in the library," Dean pointed out. "You do know that, right?"

Harry snorted. "Well, I do. The rest of you flirt. I'll see you later."

Dean helped Seamus pick up his books. "We have to beat him sometime."

Seamus shook his head. "I hope we never do," he said quietly. "I'd rather think he was invincible."

Dean's face became grave. He didn't say anything.

Two weeks later, the only members of the DL who had not been bested in some ambush were Harry, Neville, and Kimberly Kearney, the girl whose father had died in October. They were all determined to continue these tactics, although several of the professors had been forced to speak to them about not doing it in class, in the middle of the night, in the library, Great Hall, and so forth.

Still, Harry thought as he slowly chewed a mouthful of food, the reflexes among the DL members were sharply increasing. They were getting better every time they were beaten by their fellow members, and that could only be a good thing. He read a sentence from his book, realised he was reading it for the fourth time, and shook his head to clear it. He needed to focus on his studies, not get all proud of the DL like he was still in charge of it. That was Neville's baby, now, and he had other things to think about.

He was doing the same thing he'd been doing for the last few months, reading during dinner and ignoring the conversation around him, but it felt different now. The people sitting at the table near him weren't ignoring him back, assuming that he was being conceited or something. With all the time he'd been spending with his housemates, they'd been forced to notice that he just studied all the time—it was nothing personal. Lately, Parvati and Ron would sit close by and push food onto his plate whenever he forgot about it. If they were busy, Gryffindor's newest couple Ginny and Dean would step in to make sure Harry was eating.

Harry had made them see that he was one of them. That he was a student and a soldier, just like them. He did very well at his studies, and he was better at fighting, but he was still one of them. The friendships that had seemed so impossible were becoming second nature already. Amazing, really, how natural it was to have friends. Almost like people were meant to be that way.

Harry did manage to finish his chapter, and rewarded himself by closing the book and talking to the people around him while he indulged in dessert. He was surprised to find a cupcake sitting on his plate already, but figured that Ron, sitting next to him, had put it there. Ron didn't really understand Harry's self-discipline about food. Harry could point out to him that it kept him lean and made it easy to exercise and keep his muscle mass, which led not only to the advantage in their fights but made him a good Seeker. Somehow, though, he didn't think the arguments were going to overcome Ron's love of food.

He shrugged and picked up the cupcake. He heard a dramatic gasp, and turned to see Parvati faking a swoon.

"Is Harry Potter putting down a book and eating dessert?" she asked playfully. "Could it really be?"

Harry just grinned at her and took a massive bite of his cupcake. He felt eyes on him, and looked over to the staff table. Dumbledore was watching him with a smile on his face. Harry smiled back, brushing away crumbs from his shirt. He was still studying too hard, still spending too much time worrying about Voldemort, still growing up too fast. But it felt different now. Better.

He glanced down the table and saw that Hermione was chatting gaily with Neville and Lavender about something that had happened in class that day. She looked okay. Harry wanted to be jealous, but instead he was glad. He wanted her to be happy. It seemed she was better, too.