Author's Note

Special thanks to DJ-Cam and Rodrigo for posting reviews. You have restored my faith in humanity! DJ is working on his own story, so pop over and check it out. I also read Dolli's (the link is in my reviews…HINT HINT HINT), and it's very, very good.

Also, it's about time I give a thumbs-up to my most-honored-beta, niamhaugurey. Her skills are masterful! I can't thank her enough.

/Author's Note

Chapter 15 – When Draco Met Connor

The following night, Harry had the more advanced D.A. students, but first he was on a mission. He crept along the fourth-floor corridor under his invisibility cloak as close to Connor as he dared get. Ron was back on the warpath, and to keep peace, Harry had agreed to keep an eye on the big American for an entire day. Earlier, Connor slipped from the Common Room without saying a thing, which he'd been doing all year, for one reason or another. He refused to discuss it, and also proved to be a very difficult man to follow. Ron wasn't alone in his suspicions; no matter how you looked at the entire situation, something was off, though Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the ease with which Connor mishandled Malfoy.

Ron was volatile, but he was visibly so; it was easy to tell when Ron was close to blowing his top and becoming dangerous. Connor's contrasting silence was unnatural and at times frightening. He was violent without warning, so simply being around him felt vaguely precarious. Perhaps Connor was the type Parvati had been referring to when she and Harry discussed the appeal of dangerous men.

Or, perhaps it was something else entirely. Connor didn't exactly add up; the things that he did and the way that he did them produced a very odd picture when one tried to put them all together: A not-very-talented American wizard coming to Brittan, with only shadowy excuses or downright refusals to explain why was only the start of it. His transfiguration ability was meager, he actually enjoyed History, Potions and Herbology, and he was frighteningly good at perpetrating savage acts of muggle violence. Perhaps this was normal for American wizards; Harry wasn't an expert, and therefore couldn't say.

For the moment, it looked as if Connor was headed to the Owlery, which was also unusual, as he'd never received so much as a single letter. Even that was strange, Harry thought. Didn't Connor have any friends at home? Wouldn't they be worried about him? Before they could get to the Owlery, Connor turned off down a lesser used hallway; one the Marauders' Map indicated led to a tall and mostly empty tower. Harry had never been in it, and he had no idea what it was used for or why Connor would be going there. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he noticed a small dot on the map that was moving towards them: Draco Malfoy.

'This can't be good,' Harry had time to think, before the big American stepped around the corner. Harry was very close behind now, but he wasn't close enough to see everything that happened when Draco met Connor. Draco must have sensed something wrong, because by the time Harry got around the corner, he'd fired off a quick jinx and a few curses, one of which Harry recognized as a particularly nasty stinging curse. Harry found himself silently impressed, and then disgusted that Malfoy had done something that he had briefly admired.

'Of course he's going to be quick with a hex, you idiot,' the annoyingly pervasive voice in his head taunted, 'he's only been doing them since he was two!'

Fast as Malfoy was, Connor positively stunned Harry by pulling off the quickest shield charm he'd ever seen in his life. He could have sworn that Connor didn't even have his wand out in time to deflect the first one, yet there it was, bouncing harmlessly away. What Connor did next was unfortunately less surprising: He grasped Malfoy firmly by the neck, and bounced him off the wall until Malfoy dropped his wand. Connor tossed Draco aside like a sack of dragon dung, and picked up the gleaming black bit of wood.

"Snap it!" Harry almost shouted, before he remembered that he was invisible. Instead of snapping it, Connor took it and calmly walked back towards the stairs to the lower levels, where he hurled it over the edge to tumble off the walls, railings, and steps that descended all the way down to the main floor and the Great Hall.

Harry knew that a fall like that could crack a wand, if it hit just right, so all he could do was hope. He stood there for a bit, watching the glimmering fleck of black bounce and tumble until it was out of sight, before he realized that Connor had vanished. Consulting the map, Harry headed back to where they'd run into Malfoy, only to see the dot marked "Conner Colier" vanish as it rounded a corner.

Harry stopped. This had never happened before; in fact, the map had been the only thing indicating Peter Pettigrew's presence in Hogwarts during his third year, as well as Barty Crouch Jr's at the end of his fourth. There was absolutely no way Connor should have been able to simply disappear completely. Harry ran the rest of the way to the corner where Connor and Malfoy had fought, but all he found was the unconscious sixth-year Slytherin with a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head and a small pool of blood forming below him. Glancing at the wall, Harry could see where a not-very-adequate scouring charm had been applied.

This left him with a decision to make. Connor had been kind to him, watching his back, assisting him with schoolwork, and even repairing Sirius's old motorbike for Hagrid. Malfoy, on the other hand, had been nothing but trouble from the start. Even so, Harry found himself mildly disgusted to realize that he actually felt a tinge of something for Malfoy – not guilt, certainly, or concern – it felt more as if he was disappointed at seeing the results of a long chain of bad decisions. After a bit of deliberation, he scourgified the wall, which totally removed the blood and hairs. He looked around without any kind of plan in his mind, trying to figure out what he was going to do next. Connor was still nowhere on the map, and Harry had to be in the Room of Requirement in less than fifteen minutes, which would be a stretch if he didn't start moving now.

Paying particular attention to where he put his feet, so as not to leave incriminating footprints, Harry lightly stepped around Draco Malfoy's fallen form and hurried off to his meeting.

Thursday's D.A. meeting was nearly as good as Wednesday's. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville had made quite a splash casting spells silently, and for a while, even the better students like Cho Chang and Ernie Macmillan had to work at keeping up with them. They'd only shown the group two spells, but inwardly Harry groaned as he considered how difficult it would be to duel the likes of Hermione, Michael Corner, Padma Patil, or Cho Chang after they had access to spell-casting without an incantation. They were already terrors as it was.

With some surprise, he noticed Connor in the very back, tossing spells back and forth with a blushing seventh-year Hufflepuff girl as if nothing was wrong. Connor wasn't exceptionally good at most magic; his selection of jinxes, curses, and charms wasn't extensive, and the quality of his work varied widely, though Harry had always been somewhat impressed with his defense, and even more so after seeing him deflect Malfoy's curses earlier today.

Harry really didn't want to discuss what he'd seen in the hallway, however; especially given that he just brained someone and walked away as if it had never happened. Granted, it was an admittedly evil person who deserved to be beaten simply on general principles, but still...Harry briefly remembered his first conversation with Connor on the matter.

"You could throw Malfoy off the astronomy tower and I wouldn't care," he'd said. "We're Gryffindors, and we stick together." Now he was stuck wondering if Connor had perhaps taken his words to heart. That wasn't what really bothered him, however, since he could at least understand why someone would want to batter Malfoy. What really made Harry nervous was the fact that Connor had somehow thwarted the Marauder's Map, which suggested to Harry there was probably no-one in the castle capable of keeping proper tabs on the American. Perhaps Lupin would have something to say on the matter, after all, he'd helped design it, and if Lupin couldn't help, Harry would surely have to speak with Dumbledore.

"I don't know, Harry," Remus Lupin finally announced. Harry had wasted no time in contacting him via mirror after the D.A. meeting. "I don't know if it can be fooled by a mere potion or a simple spell. Polymorphed wizards shouldn't behave any differently than you or anyone else, on the map. We had to make it that way, if it was to keep track of your father, Padfoot, Wormtail, and I. Even if he disillusioned himself or turned himself into a table, or even a bird to fly away–are you sure he's not some kind of fast moving animagus–that he didn't manage to get off Hogwarts grounds quickly?"

"I doubt it," Harry firmly replied. "He'd have had to return just as quickly; he was in our D.A. meeting."

"He doesn't have some kind of special invisibility potion, does he?"

"It wouldn't surprise me; he's got loads. I'll have to see if any of them can remove him from the map."

"Well, it's a possibility, I suppose," Remus said with a brooding look on his weary face. "There are spells to make an object or place unplottable…maybe your American has found a potion to do it. You said he was quite bright in that regard?"

Harry shrugged. He didn't like to think that there was anything that could give one the ability to hide from the Marauder's Map, which had been one of his most valuable possessions at Hogwarts. "I don't really know what most of them do," he finally said, "but my invisibility cloak won't fool it, and when Barty Crouch Junior was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody, Polyjuice Potion didn't fool it, so if he does have a potion that will, it's real doozey."

"You may consider asking Professor Dumbledore in this case, Harry. I'm not sure I like the thought of someone with that particular ability spending time around you: not after what happened a few weeks ago. What if he's responsible for it, or at least involved? What could he have been doing out there in the first place? You say he and Draco have never gotten on; you don't suppose he was there to…" Remus trailed off, looking at Harry through the Mirror.

"I don't think he'd actually kill Malfoy…would he?" Harry winced; even to himself that last bit sounded noticeably uncertain.

"Hell of an alibi, if he was going to," Lupin muttered, frowning, "being seen in your defense club at the time. Still, I remember that area from my time in Hogwarts, and it was basically empty even then. It seems to me the chances of Malfoy and your American friend meeting up there are less than coincidental. Are you sure they don't know each-other? Perhaps he was alerted to your presence and had to act quickly, to prevent you from witnessing something you shouldn't?"

"The thought had occurred to me," Harry admitted, thinking of the wax seal he'd nicked from the unintentionally intercepted letter. Though it was certainly a possibility that Connor and Malfoy were working together; in fact it would have been downright crafty of them, Harry was almost certain that they weren't. He would have bet galleons that Connor's intense dislike for Malfoy was genuine. "We'll see," he said at last, for lack of something better to say, "I don't really think he's the type…" Remus nodded.

"Harry, remember that in three days I'll be unavailable. If anything happens then, you need to talk to Dumbledore – perhaps even Snape—as disagreeable as it sounds. I wish I could always be there for you, but…" He paused and Harry looked away.

"I know, Remus. You're there for me as much as you can be, and I know that. Look, I'd better get some rest, and you could use a little too…you know."

Remus nodded and smiled, and Harry was immeasurably happy that it was genuine. He and Remus shared and odd sort of relationship, but the last of his father's best friends really did mean a lot to him.

The next day was long and grueling. Besides all of the intrigue, beatings, sneaking around, D.A. meetings, and secret Occlumency practice, he still had classes to contend with, and Fridays were full days. Transfiguration wasn't as bad as it had been, mostly because they'd all gotten fairly good at eyes and noses, with the exception of Connor, who still had to give it all he had to avoid ending class looking as if he'd consumed a Polyjuice potion made with the hair of a squinting pig. In the end, even he had gotten things straightened out, mostly on his own. He was acting as if nothing was wrong, and the story regarding Malfoy was that he'd been pushed down some stairs. The Slytherins all shared derisive remarks and knowing glares, but nearly everyone else in the castle seemed to be of the opinion that Draco Malfoy had simply gotten what he deserved, and some even questioned whether he'd been attacked at all. Many of the Ravenclaws speculated that he'd simply tripped coming down the tower stairs and made the story up to get someone in trouble. That someone was continuously changing, but Harry had heard them say Malfoy blamed him, Ron, Connor, Neville, or even Hermione, which was absolutely ridiculous, as she'd no more attack him in the hallway than kiss him. The Ravenclaws made sense, and if Harry didn't know better, he could even have imagined things happening just exactly that way.

Unfortunately, he did know better, and while he hadn't talked to Connor about the incident, he was mulling over ways to broach the subject.

Charms class was growing progressively more difficult, but fortunately Hermione was as brilliant as ever, and Harry had also discovered that he really was good at them. It was something he'd inherited from his mother, he supposed. His notes were as complete as he could make them; every week he'd compare with Hermione and Ron to see if there was anything he'd missed, and two months into the term, he'd managed to make a sizable dent in Hermione's magic book. This didn't take into account his textbooks, and the copious scribbling in their margins and underling in various hues. Harry could tell Hermione was genuinely proud of him, while Ron seemed almost sad that he had lost his once rebellious friend to the beast known as Academics. Harry was a bit disgusted himself…any other year he'd have had at least five detentions by now.

On the other hand, things just hadn't seemed right this year. Quidditch felt alright, as did most of the ordinary things that filled their days. Then, eventually, someone's thoughts would drift to the world outside and the desire to stalk about after midnight or dream up new ways to get into the sixth year girls' dormitory sort of fell flat. Harry could tell Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff were doing their best to keep some joy in life with the small details, but most of the students knew the score.

Temporalism was long and very difficult. Professor Walken pronounced them proficient at the Spatium Sinus charm, and they moved on to Enlargening Charms, which meant less time with the wands out.

"Don't be so glum," Professor Walken announced, "you'll have your hands full in a few weeks." Most other classes would have seen Harry excited to have his hands full of spell casting, but Temporalism had turned out to be every bit as difficult as they had originally surmised. Harry sighed and pulled out his large tome of notes, along with the viciously heavy text for the class.

They hadn't worked out of it for a few weeks, but every week the Professor assigned them reading, and they were quizzed on each Monday over the material of the previous week. It was very heavily based in causality, which Harry could actually do reasonably well, but it took him a good deal of time, and felt suspiciously like arithmetic, which he'd always had a distaste for, even in his muggle primary school.

Ron, on the other hand, was genuinely gifted. In spite of all the complaining he did, and there was a good deal of it, he proved to be very capable, and often assisted Harry and even Hermione. The magic was a bit tougher for him, but he'd always been impatient when learning new spells, and it was usually a matter of a few minutes with Hermione to set him straight.

Harry knew Ron enjoyed the class, because it was the one place Ron took notes that rivaled his or Hermione's.

"Sod off," Ron had exclaimed when Hermione chanced upon the messy stack of parchment. "I've got to do something to keep up with you two. It's bad enough when there's only you to contend with…now that Harry's decided to show me up I've got to do something!" He was smiling when he said it, though, and Harry knew that Ron was very proud that there was a class in which he could best him and, at times, Hermione. The fact that the class was ridiculously difficult only bolstered his ego.

True to form, as Harry glanced over at Ron, he was busy scribbling away, and making sure he didn't miss a thing.

Muggle Studies, by contrast, was a welcome rest from the rest of the day, which felt far too long already. Harry found himself nodding off on more than one occasion – not to sleep, but into something very much like his candle-induced trance. After he snapped out of the third such incident, he risked a stealthy glance at Parvati, who was sitting with both eyes closed, her hands on her lap. He nudged her with his knee.

"Now, pick out a few friends and let's get some discussion," the Professor said, pacing in front of the class, "and I want to get at least one muggle-born in each group, if that's possible."

Harry leaned reached around Parvati and tapped Lavender on the shoulder. She started groggily and scooted her chair out, facing him. As was their game, Harry surreptitiously reached under the table to jab Parvati in the leg with his quill. Her eyes snapped open at the last instant, and Harry realized too late that he'd been had.

"I've got you!" she whispered, her hand clamping around his wrist like a vice. Harry had to suppress a laugh, and fought to get his hand and quill back.

"What would they say?" she gloated, "the mighty Harry Potter, ambushed by a girl!"

"Let me go!" he whispered, biting his cheeks to avoid smiling maniacally. It wasn't really a fair contest, since Parvati had both hands around his wrist, and he only had the one to fight back with. He couldn't exactly give it his all, either, considering they were supposed to be discussing why turnout was so low in Muggle elections. Even so, Harry really didn't care; he was fighting to lose anyway.

He'd just managed to get hold of one of Parvati's wrists and was pulling her towards him, chair and all, when a voice over his should caused them both to let go so fast that Parvati nearly flipped backwards off her chair, and would have, had Lavender been any further away.

"Oof!" Lavender exclaimed from beneath her friend, her arms waving comically.

"Is there a problem?" The professor asked, pausing to assess the situation.

"No problem," Parvati said brightly, scooting off Lavender's lap and back onto her own chair. "Harry simply misplaced his quill, and I was handing it to him…see?" She snatched the quill from his hand before he could do anything about it, holding it triumphantly in the air.

"Really," said the professor softly, with the hint of a smirk, "because it looked more like you misplaced your leg, and Mister Potter found it, hiding under his hand. You know, it's all fun and games until someone gets their eye poked out with a quill!" Some of the nearby students tittered in amusement. Parvati continued to smile radiantly, and Harry really didn't feel too embarrassed at all. No Slytherin would be caught dead in Muggle Studies, so there was no usual suspect ready to pester him, and he generally got on well with everyone in this class, with the exception of Marietta and one or two of her friends, who ignored him completely.

"Oh don't worry about that," Parvati announced, "I've go no eyes in that general vicinity, thankfully enough!" Harry performed kind of a gasp and laugh at the same time, and had he been drinking anything, he knew it would have come out his nose.

"Fortunate indeed!" the professor agreed cheerfully. "One point for each misplaced part; that's five fingers and a leg, for six points. And let's keep the public displays of affection…well…not-so-public, hmm?" Lavender had momentarily gotten her breath back, but was now laughing so hard she had to be restrained from falling out of her chair. Behind them Ernie was snorting into his closed fist. Parvati wrinkled her nose.

"Damn!" she whispered, so softly that Harry hardly heard her.

"Language, Miss Patil," the professor said in a sing-song voice while turning away with a crooked smile. With the greatest of difficulty, they managed to make it through the rest of the class without causing any more fiascos. As they filed from the classroom, Harry fell into step between Parvati and Lavender – which was a dangerous place indeed for those who weren't keen on being inundated with all manner of rumors, allegations, and foolish conversations.

"Well, that could have gone worse," he said, looking at Parvati, who giggled. Harry's cheeks hurt from first biting them, and then smiling so much that he eventually wondered if one's head could actually come unzipped at the mouth. He'd finally given in and allowed himself to wear a ridiculous grin that even now ached.

Lavender laughed from his other side. "Why is it I sleep through that class and come out even more tired than when I went in?" She glanced casually at Harry, who noticed it right away. He fidgeted a little, having come to thoroughly respect the girls of Gryffindor. More specifically, he'd come to respect the fact that girls never stopped scheming. Hufflepuff girls were generally far too nice to hurt you, and Ravenclaws were too crafty to worry about; Harry suspected they'd get what they wanted from you before you even knew they wanted it. Slytherin girls generally left him alone, but he guessed they would use you however they wanted, so at least you knew what to expect.

Gryffindor girls were a whole different story. Gryffindor girls, being braver than most, were to be treated with extreme caution, because even though you may not know exactly what they were planning up, you could rest assured that you would eventually find out, and that it would very likely be in spectacular fashion. The bravest of the brave weren't likely to leave untested plans lying around.

"So, Harry," Lavender drawled casually, "given any more thought to the you-know-what?"

"Uh, well, yeah, a little, maybe." He stole a peek at Parvati, but since she'd been smiling all afternoon, it was a fruitless gesture.

"Annnnd?" she said, drawing out the word expectantly.

"And I can't really talk about it without N-"

"Without Neville here; yes, yes. I knew you'd say that! Sometimes you're a right pain in…"

"Eeee!" Parvati cried, covering her ears, and then imitating their Muggle Studies professor; "language, Miss Brown!"

"Well, what about Neville, have you asked him?"

"The silly dear won't say a thing about it," she pouted. She thrust out her lower lip, and Harry felt an overwhelming urge to kiss it. He shook his head quickly to clear that right out of his mind, and the next thing he knew, they were standing just inside the Common Room, gazing on the chaos of a typical Friday afternoon.

"Oi!" Ron yelled, from the other side of the Common Room. Hermione slapped him lightly, scolding him for making such a racket, and with a pat on the back for both Lavender and Parvati, Harry leapt a couch and landed in one of the superbly comfortable chairs, right in front of his friend.

"I've found the cure for my remedial potions problem," he announced. "It appears that I can be bored into a total stupor faster than anything."

"Well, that's great then, isn't it," Ron replied with a grin. "Now if you could just talk Binns into following you around, next time you need a hand, he can start lecturing to you about the seventh goblin rebellion, or the great niffler round-up. Ought to put you right out of your misery."

"Ron," Hermione said seriously, "don't be silly. There hasn't been a seventh goblin rebellion or a 'great niffler round-up'!"

"…Yet!" Ron replied smugly, and they all laughed.

Harry was still in a very good mood when he left to make his weekly meeting with Professor Shacklebolt, which was good, because Kingsley was not at all cheerful when he arrived.

"Bloody idiotic ministry…" he was mumbling to himself as Harry entered. He immediately stopped and forced a smile in Harry's direction.

"Hello, Mister Potter. Ready for some defense?"

"I sure am," Harry replied, trying to force himself to sound more positive. Perhaps it would cheer Kingsley up.

"To be honest with you, Harry, I didn't have much time to plan for today. There are some…things going on."

"With the Ministry, sir?" Kingsley sighed and took a long look at Harry. For the second time in as many days, Harry felt as if he was being sized-up.

"It's a lot of politics, Harry; you probably wouldn't be interested."

"Yeah, uh, probably not. Does it have something to do with Voldemort?"

"These days, what doesn't?" Kingsley snorted. He was silent for almost a minute, and then he waved at Harry to sit down.

"There are rumbles at the ministry," Kingsley said as he paged through some of the books covering his gigantic desk one after the other. "There are rumors that a vote of 'No Confidence' is in the works for Fudge." Kingsley paused, looking directly at Harry with his hands still buried in his various texts. "Do you know what the means?"

"Yes!" Announced Harry with a grin. "It means they're going to sack his lazy…"

"Yes, yes, that's it," Kingsley interrupted, "and it's probably a good thing on the whole…it's just that it presents a few problems." Kingsley sighed again, and Harry noticed for the first time today how tired his Defense professor looked. Professor Shacklebolt was pallid, and pitch-black smudges lined his eyes. "We're just going to run into some problems – I don't know that it's a great time to do this. They should have done it last year when Fudge and Delores were making asses of themselves on a daily basis. Now we're going to have to move away from the status quo."

"But I thought we wanted him out?"

"We do, and I expect Diggory, or Bones, or whoever they throw in there can't help but do better; but really, Fudge has already screwed things up as much as he can, hasn't he? Can hardly get worse now, can it?" Before Harry could answer, Professor Shacklebolt continued. "I mean, unless he just handed over the Ministry, but he couldn't do that…he's a power-hungry git, but he's not a traitor." Kingsley sighed again. "Regardless, we're going to have a transitional period that will very likely muck things up. For all I know, I could get called back to the MOM."

"Why would you get called back?"

"I never resigned my commission, remember? I'm here because Dumbledore strong-armed Fudge after the…ah..."

"After the fight at the Ministry."

"Yes. Can't very much turn down the bloke who owns your soul when he asks for a favor, can you? And Dumbledore did own Fudge after that night; robe, ring, and wand. After the gutless dupe had been insisting publicly that you and the Headmaster were batty, well, maybe they'll sack him in the next few weeks, but I promise you the moment he stumbled into the fight at the MOM is when he realized what it was like to see his career all over."

"So you think it'll be Mister Diggory or Madame Bones?"

Kingsley snorted again. "We can only hope. It's hard to say at a time like this; all sorts of fringe come out of the woodwork to throw their wands onto the strip, and people don't think straight. Look at what Barty Crouch did during the last war; tossing people in Azkaban left and right, authorizing those curses…why, there were some Aurors who were so heavy-handed that they were very likely guilty of nearly every infraction we pinned on the Death Eaters and their supporters." Kingsley paused, and tapped the table, as if something had just occurred to him. "And there's your book again. Think about what it would say regarding the not-very-judicious use of Unforgivables to apprehend an admittedly evil wizard. Why, that's like murdering a murderer, just to show him you can do it and he can't!"

Harry had been listening attentively, going along with Professor Shacklebolt partially because it all made sense, the way he explained it, but also because he'd never even seen his professor worked up, and he figured that anything that had riled the Auror was probably worth hearing. When Kingsley got to 'murdering a murderer', however, Harry's first thought was of the prophecy…kill or be killed. The warm feeling he'd had all day slipped from him like a cloak as his mind once again latched onto the fact that he was going to have to vanquish Voldemort, or Voldemort was going to kill him. He'd been doing the D.A. and carrying on with his classes as if it was a normal year, worrying about Quidditch and women. Was Occlumency going to help him when he had to face Voldemort again? Would half-decent charms that any competent seventh-year knew really make a difference? How could he fight Voldemort and win when even Dumbledore hadn't? The prophecy only said that he had the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, and that one or the other had to die; it didn't say that no one else could defeat Voldemort. Maybe if Harry died there was still hope? Professor Shacklebolt must have noticed the look on his face.

"I'm sorry, Harry. Did I say something wrong?"

"No…I was just thinking is all."

"About this mess at the ministry? May as well not worry yourself about that," Professor Shacklebolt shrugged and started digging through the books on his desk again. "There's nothing you can do about it."

"No," Harry said, "just thinking about uh, Voldemort." Kingsley gazed at him evenly with a faintly curious look in his eyes. "I mean, how can anyone expect to be good enough to fight him?" Kingsley stayed silent for a while. His eyes flickered back to his desk, and Harry momentarily wondered what the Auror was looking for.

"Harry, Voldemort is just a wizard. A mean one, an evil one, certainly a smart one, but that doesn't mean that he's invulnerable. I'm sure a stick to the back of his head would take the wind out of his sails, the same as any other." The professor's eyes lit on something near the top corner of his desk, and he pulled a small stack of books from beneath a pile of parchment. "Along those lines, we're going to be stepping things up a bit." He thrust the books into Harry's hands. "Listen, Harry, Dumbledore got me here, and chances are very good that the next minister will be one of ours, but if that doesn't happen, you need to study these books. For now I'm supposed to give them to you, just in case they do summon me back, but in the event that they don't, you may want to look into allocating a little more time to our meetings. The ministry can't spare enough Aurors to send them over here, and you've got to stay at Hogwarts for a good many reasons."

Harry looked at the books. "Who to Shoot First: A Practical Guide to Threat Assessment" seemed explanatory enough. "Kicking Them When They're Down" apparently dealt with what to do with fallen opponents during and after a fight. "The Enviroment, Your Partner" and "Crouch Before Counter" following those up was the fifth and by far largest book, simply entitled "Manual 7I3 – Appendix of Defensive Magic". A quick look through it revealed counter-spells of every type, neatly categorized. The spell histories and particulars found in his school texts were absent on the manual's large, crisp pages.

"And here," said Professor Shacklebolt, dropping another stack of books on the table, "are the books I am not under any circumstances to give to you." Harry's lips moved slightly as he read the sparse titles on the industrial-looking texts.

"Manual 901 – Controlled Jinxes, Curses, and Hexes", "Manual 908 – Restricted Jinxes, Curses, and Hexes", "Manual 909 – Controlled Use of Force", and "Manual 911 – Restricted Use of Deadly Force". They were, on the whole, not your standard sixth-year fare.

He looked at his Professor in awe.

"Harry, it has become obvious to me, and it should be equally obvious to anyone who pays attention, that you are a lightning-rod. It is unfair to ask you to bear this burden without proper tools. Even now, I feel guilty for not being able to do more, and I didn't even put you in this situation."

"But…isn't this illegal, I mean, isn't it illegal to learn these?" Harry waved the manuals of restricted and controlled spells.

"To learn them? Not at all. To perform them…mostly, yes. I will, of course, provide you with all the training I can legally provide…that is, if you're interested."

"Of course I'm interested!"

"Well, then. Perhaps we should keep things short tonight, because they'll get busy next week. I'll need you to perform at the top of your ability, Harry; time is growing short for both of us. Do you have a secure place to store these?"

"Ron and I have just put wards on my trunk and bureau," Harry said, looking through the stack again. Kingsley considered this.

"Nothing that locks securely?"

"Well, my trunk locks, but it's been broken into before." Harry was thinking specifically of the mess he'd encountered when Ginny ransacked his locker during the second year, while looking for Tom Riddle's diary.

"Hmm. I don't want you taking them all until you've got a good, secure place to put them. Next week, I'll bring a few supply manuals, and we'll look at getting you something proper. For today take the first stack, and have a look at threat assessment and Manual 713; they can't get you in much trouble if you're caught with them. These are standard Auror texts, in case you didn't know, so if anyone asks you, just tell them you're getting a start on your studies. You and I are the only ones who know about this conversation, so keep it to yourself, if you can. I suppose if they ask, you can tell Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall, and I imagine you'll let something go to Lupin. I'll keep the others here, and if I'm forced to leave Hogwarts, I'll either bring them to your dormitory and give them to you myself, or wrap them and give them to Professor McGonagall as your Christmas gift. Sorry to ruin the surprise," Kingsley said, with the hint of a smile on his normally unreadable face.

"I think it's a great gift," Harry said, truthfully, "I don't mind at all. What about Hermione and Ron?"

"I'm not foolish enough to imagine you'll keep anything from them. I would ask that you keep it from your other friend, if at all possible."

"Neville?" Harry asked.

"Hmm? Oh, Mister Longbottom…no, I meant the American, Colier. Can I ask you something frankly, Harry?" Professor Shacklebolt leaned over the desk and locked eyes. His gaze was piercing and very magnetic, and Harry couldn't look away. Harry nodded slowly. "Do you trust Mister Colier?"

Harry deliberated very seriously before he answered. "Well, mostly. I mean, I don't think he's here to hurt me, if that's what you mean."

"It's not, really. Do you know what I do at the ministry?"

"You're an Auror!" Harry said, as if it was a very foolish question. Kingsley took a very deep breath.

"Yes, yes I am, but do you know what I actually do with my time?"

"You track down fugitives," Harry said, remembering that he'd once heard the Order discussing how Kingsley was in charge for the search for Sirius, after his Godfather had escaped from Azkaban.

"That's right, and at the risk of blowing my own horn, I'd say I'm very good at it. I don't know Mister Colier's situation, other than Dumbledore is in some way involved, as is Professor Walken. Even so, he's a fugitive if I've ever met one. He shows typical traits – hyper-sensitivity to his surroundings, a tendency to be a loner, a habit of actively attempting to remain average, a lack of communication with the outside world – I don't know what he's running from, but for your sake, it may be best if you're not there when it finds him. I've seen better wizards, but I've rarely seen cooler heads; he doesn't seem the sort to scare easily."

Harry nodded. He'd already decided not to mention the incident with Malfoy, though Kingsley was making it harder. Now that his Defense professor had brought it up, Harry thought Connor fit the description of a fugitive perfectly. He'd never thought of the American like that, even after Dumbledore mentioned that Connor was forced to flee. The idea that someone or something may be actively hunting down Harry's newest acquaintance hadn't readily presented itself until now, and Harry didn't like it one bit. Kingsley dismissed him with a wave, and Harry left with a lot on his mind.

Author's Note

As a little token of my appreciation, I present a pair of teasers from Chapter 16 – Idle Persuits. It's roughly 20 pages now, but I'm aiming to have it cut down to between 10-15 pages and posted inside of 2 weeks.

/Author's Note

After their meal that night, Headmaster Dumbledore cleared his voice until the Great Hall quieted down.

"Attention, attention! I have an announcement to make!" When every head was turned expectantly toward him, he paused, as if he was having second thoughts about interrupting their meal. "Sometimes, in the course of our duties, we are forced to do things we'd rather not. We have discovered evidence that suggests certain students have been abusing their time spent in Hogsmeade. I am left with no other alternative than to cancel the remainder of the Hogsmeade visits." There was an immediate roar throughout the hall, from disbelief to indignant cries of protest.

"Enough!" the headmaster boomed. Instantly, the room fell silent. "Many of you—most of you—have a good reason to be angry. Your time, your freedom, and your liberties have been taken from you. If you have been impacted in no other way by the return of Lord Voldemort, and the ridiculous views of ignorant people, then you have at long last suffered because of their decisions. Some of you, on the other hand, are the reasons we have been forced into such an unsavory position. You should be ashamed of yourselves. I ask you all to look around; look at your friends, your acquaintances, those people you know and who know you, and understand that no action is without its consequences. It is not for me to tell you what is right and what is wrong; it is for me to tell you how to determine the difference.

"The time is quickly approaching when you will have to decide, if you have not already. The opportunities present themselves every moment of every day."

Parvati was on the top of the Astronomy Tower, leaning against one of the huge merlons, gazing to the north-west and taking notes in a small journal. The only other people on the tower were a pair of Hufflepuffs who looked thoroughly interested in each-other; though one did flash Harry a thumbs-up as he made his way to Parvati's side.

"Not bad out, for a clear night," she said lightly as he approached.

"Not at all," Harry agreed, and since he'd taken the precaution of casting a warming charm before he exited the castle, it was especially true. "So, what do you see?"

"Mars."

"War," Harry replied.

"Conflict," Parvati corrected. She looked off in another direction. "Venus."

"Love? Love and war…er…conflict. That doesn't make much sense."

"The future is nebulous, Harry." It was something Professor Trelawny might have said, but instead of sounding melodramatic and chintzy, Parvati sounded wistful; almost sad. "You'd know all about that, what with the prophecy and all." Harry could tell she was smiling, even though her face was hidden as she looked to the sky.

"So, do you believe in prophecies then?"

"Oh, of course."

"Really?" Harry pressed.

"Our minds are terribly powerful things…who's to say they don't pick a few things up along the line?" Harry remained silent. "That's not to say that I believe most prophecies, because I don't."

"Really?"

"Really," she announced certainly. "You have to admit, an awful lot of prophecies seem to be at the most self-fulfilling, or at the very least, an educated guess by someone who's somehow picked up a little more than the rest of us. Maybe diviners are really just very good at putting together all the pieces."

"Could be," Harry admitted, "I hadn't really given it that much thought."

"No? What about the prophecy about you? There really is one, isn't there?" This time, Parvati turned and looked directly at Harry, awaiting his answer. She looked as if she already knew.

"Yeah. There is." Harry kept a very keen eye on her, and she smiled pensively again.

"You're the kind of guy these things happen to."

"I'd be happier if I wasn't."

"Perhaps." She gazed at Harry for a while, and he wanted to look away, but he couldn't. Her eyes shone in the starlight, and Harry felt even warmer than the charm could account for. Then she looked back to the sky.

"Funny, how it has to get dark before we can see things clearly, sometimes."

See you in two weeks!

Pat McClellan