Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. But you knew that already.

A bell signaled the end of our lunch period, and Agnes and I started for the practice court. We were about to enter when my roommate slapped her head.

"I forgot to tell you! I went down to get my owl post earlier, and I saw a couple of letters in your cubbyhole. Maybe it's from home."

"Thanks, I'll get them later," I said. She smiled and pushed the door open, but my stomach sank. A letter from home is the last thing I want right now. My father might have gotten wind of who my partner is, and I'd rather not think of what he has to say on the topic.

Agnes' little Dungbomb made me forget that this class is the one I've been looking forward to ever since Tuttle gave us our schedules. But when I saw my classmates muttering excitedly, I had to push my worries to the back of my head. I'll deal with that later.

"I wonder what he looks like?" I heard Deirdre say behind me.

"Never mind that—he supposedly graduated First Wand only ten years ago!" Lionel Dawlish said.

"That young, and he's Head of Ministry Security? Called in favors, I'm sure," murmured Connor Wood.

"Not his type. Not his family's type. He got in on talent," another witch said.

I saw Scorpius duck in and melt into the throng. I tried to get to him, but the doors banged open, and in walked our instructor for this period.

All movement in the court stopped as we stared at the man who just arrived. He seemed unperturbed by our sudden silence—his stride remained brusque, his gaze steady. His hair was shaved, save for a strip running down the middle of his head and ending in a ponytail. His eyes were stony black, his jaw square and set. Already both tall and hefty, he became even more imposing when he reached the podium. This man looks like the kind of person you don't wanna get in a row with about parking spaces, or about him cutting into a line, or something.

"Good afternoon, initiates," he said, his voice clearly audible across the court. "I am Ivan Shacklebolt, and I will be your Magical Resocialization instructor."

The current of excitement was palpable. We were all ears as Instructor Shacklebolt told us about the course objectives, his grading system, and requirements. Afterwards, he took out his wand, descended from the podium and sent it away with a flick.

"Alright. Let me give you a fair warning." He produced a set of targets several feet from where we stood. "I am not here to be your babysitter." He continued.

"This is not a Ministry of Magic day care center for children of employees, this is not a holiday, and this most certainly is not the place to learn the basics of magic. You are here because you passed the bare minimum, but I'm here to make life harder for you." He was now facing the targets as he talked to us.

"If you think you can coast along on the basis of surnames, you're wrong." He fired, and the spell hit one target, boring a hole through the center.

"If you think your money can save you from training, think again." Another spell, another target.

"If you think I'm kidding—" he fired a series of spells and turned back to us, letting the sentence hang.

The excitement was now laced with foreboding as he walked towards our crowd. I felt a strong urge to curl up into a ball, hum a song to myself, and close my eyes. He walked to where our class gathered, made eye contact with the girl in front of me and pointed his wand at her, making both of us (as well as several people in our immediate surroundings) jump violently.

"What's your name?" he said. She stammered it out. He beckoned her to come forward.

"Step up to where I was earlier, and try to hit the center with any spell." He waved his wand, and new targets replaced the ones he had used.

The girl pulled out her wand and pointed it at the first target. The tip was quaking as she croaked out a spell, and Ivan shouted at her to speak louder.

"Confringo!" she shouted, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. The target burst into flames, and she whimpered. The girl looked uncertainly at Shacklebolt, who stared back with impassive eyes. She tried to Blast the remaining targets with varying degrees of success. Once, she even came close to the center. When she finished, our instructor made her rejoin the ranks, something she was quick to do.

Shacklebolt swept his gaze around. "The first thing you learned in school was that magic is intention. Your wand is an extension of your mind. As an Auror, you need focus, because every second you spend dawdling on a spell would be the difference between a dead Dark wizard and a dead village."

Lionel raised his hand. "B-but Instructor, Voldemort has been gone for many years now."

A shadow crossed Shacklebolt's face. "Dark magic does not die with any one wizard."

I glanced at Scorpius, who had his head bowed. His unruly blond hair cast heavy shadows on his eyes, and his mouth was one hard line. When he saw me looking at him, he glowered, as if to say 'What do you want?'

Oh-kay. Turn away now, Rose.

Shacklebolt has set up targets for each one of us, and we fanned out, choosing one each. There was some jostling for the targets farthest from our instructor. I think I saw Connor try to slip a couple of Galleons to Agnes, who had the outermost practice range. Eventually, though, everyone got settled, and Shacklebolt summoned Flintlock. The phoenix quill was poised above a fresh roll of parchment, and our instructor waited for everyone to keep quiet before he spoke.

"This aspect of Flintlock will record your accuracy with spells. Fire at will."

The court erupted with shouts and jets of multicolored light as everyone commenced their target practice. To my left, Lionel was inadvertently shredding his board with Diffindo. After each mutilation, his target would be replaced by a fresh one, but after several tries he still could not replicate the perfect little circles cast by Shacklebolt.

To my right, Scorpius was tearing through board after board, Blasting each one with a fury I haven't seen before. His spells landed everywhere but the targets' centers, but he just kept at it.

"Confringo," I said, pointing at my board. The resulting hole was a good inch and a half from the center. Not so bad, I think. I took a deep breath and fired a second, and a soon I have gone through a respectable number of boards myself.

After some time, I felt someone come up from behind. I know Shacklebolt was looking at our boards. I tried to not let it get to me, taking a deep breath and firing at my target. This is the closest I've come to dead center, and I turned to look at Shacklebolt, but he just passed briefly over my boards and my face before turning to Lionel's board and grilling him on his spell choice.

Huh. Oh well. Get back to work I guess.

"Mister," he said, as he watched Scorpius murder his board, "I asked for accuracy."

"Why does it matter, Instructor," Scorpius said, as he angrily punched more holes in his board, "how the Dark wizard dies? I can turn him into a pillar of ash if I was so inclined."

"The first of many reasons is that Knut-sized holes are easier to explain to Muggles than a pillar of ash. More importantly, you are to be an Auror, not a rampaging vigilante zealot. You will redo your set or I will see to it that you are sanctioned for insubordination."

Scorpius looked properly told off, and Shacklebolt moved on to torture some other poor soul. I kept to my own range, Blasting what needs to be Blasted, but my arm was starting to hurt. I switched to my other hand, but pretty soon it got tired as well. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with this problem—people were lowering their arms and massaging them.

"Who gave you leave to rest? Fire!" boomed Shacklebolt, and the spells kept flying again. I'm just running on willpower right now, but he seems to not be keen on making us stop anytime soon. This man is positively mental. Several winters passed before he told us to stop, which I gratefully did.

"That will be all for today. I will review your numbers and discuss them with you next meeting. Class dismissed." The bell rang, and people filed out slowly. I joined Anges outside the practice courts.

"Merlin's trousers, this Ivan Shacklebolt! Now I know why he's Head of Security," she said, applying General Toebright's General Ointment on her arms. I asked for a dollop for my own aching limbs.

"He seems to be a real stickler for rules; I heard him lambast Scorpius earlier," I said.

"Well, we don't have to worry about him until tomorrow. Are you free this period? Let's get your letters," Agnes said. We went down to the post master's, a soaring structure that combined a letter sorting center with an Owlery.

My cubbyhole did have two letters—one from home, and an unsigned envelope. I turned the blank envelope over in my hands—all it had was a seal at the flap, bearing the letters 'P.M.' Who?

"Will you open them now?" Agnes said eagerly. I shook my head. We made our way out of the post master's; I was thinking of all sorts of wild excuses so I can read the letters in private when Agnes spotted Lorcan, who hailed her and waved her over.

"Pardon me, sweetheart," she said apologetically. I smiled and nodded, hurrying back to the first level dorms. I practically ran into the girls' bathrooms, knocking down a couple of witches.

"She really needs to go, doesn't she," I heard one of them say as I locked myself up in a stall. I shrank the mysterious letter to fit my palm as I read the one from home.

Thank goodness it's not a Howler, but when I opened it, my heart sank a little to see that it's in mum's miniscule handwriting. So, dad has nothing to say about this, doesn't he? I began to read.

Dearest Rose,

I hope things are alright at training. Hugo has gone off to Hogwarts, and he has sent an owl the other day. Seems like everything's fine—he hasn't set fire to anyone's robes yet. He seems acclimated to his OWL classes.

I visited your grandma and grandpa Granger the other day. Sometimes, they still forget things, but they're mostly alright. My cousin Harvey takes care of them, and he reported that they have been asking for you and Hugo. We should see them soon.

Rosie, your father came home a week ago with the news that you are training partners with Scorpius Malfoy. Is this true? I have no quarrel with the Malfoy child, but your father has been blustering about how apples don't fall far from trees. I realize that it is Ministry prerogative to pair people during training, but why did you hide this from us? Your father felt foolish when he was apparently the last person at work to know. Even your Uncle Harry found out before him.

I hope you write back, and tell me how things are. And maybe, you should talk to your father—he is very disappointed.

Much love,

Mum

What a load of flobberworms. Is dad more concerned with his reputation than how I am faring with the training? I shrank this letter and restored the other one to its original size, and opened it.

Rose Weasley,

Your name has been entered in the Pool of Contenders for Portus Magi, the oldest society in the Tower. Please report to the P.M. Headquarters at the second floor of #56 Tower Alley, at 8 in the Evening this coming Saturday. Your absence on said date and time forfeits future consideration for P.M.

Portus Magi Secretariat

P.s. Do not reply to this letter. It is automatically generated.

I flash back to the handsome boy I bumped in the hallway, to my mother and father's faces when I left for Charing Cross, and strangely, to Scorpius blasting his boards silly. What have I gotten myself into?

I appreciate your continued support of this fic. I'm sorry my updates are so few and far in between—I'm trying to make each chapter really good. If you have any questions, reactions, or whatnot, please PM me or leave a review. Thanks!