Harry spent the next week practicing the bubblehead charm, but he had no more success than before. He wanted to solve the problem of this task on his own; asking Snape for help was an admission of weakness, and Harry didn't want to appear weak.

Instead, Harry decided to ask Sirius for help. For once, Sirius's hatred of Slytherins would work in Harry's favor. Sirius would never make Harry look bad in front of Snape, and Sirius might be willing to help Harry more directly than a professor would.

And maybe Sirius could help him with the Ginny situation, because Harry had absolutely no idea what was going on there.

Harry asked Dumbledore to arrange another fireside chat with Sirius. Actually, Harry told Dumbledore that he had been feeling lonely during the summers away from Hogwarts, and that he was interested in purchasing a dog. So he could have someone to talk to. Dumbledore got the hint.

Two days after Harry's suggestion, just before lights out, Harry received a summons to come to Dumbledore's office. ("Fizzing Whizbee.") The late summons was clearly designed to prevent interference from either Mr. Crouch or Percy Weasley. When Harry arrived, Dumbledore excused himself and left Harry alone with the fire. After only a moment, Sirius's face appeared.

"Harry, it's good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too," Harry said. "I need some help with a couple of things."

"There's plenty of time for talk about the tournament," Sirius said. "Tell me how things are at Hogwarts!"

"Actually, it isn't all about the tournament," Harry said. "I needed to ask you something, and it wasn't something that I could ask Snape or Dumbledore…"

"What is it, Harry?" Sirius sounded genuinely concerned.

"It's… um… girls. A girl. I don't know. Never mind. We should talk about the tournament instead." Harry was suddenly embarrassed. Asking Sirius about Ginny had seemed like a good idea two days ago, but Harry suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

"Oh no you don't," said Sirius. "I heard that you had a dance over the Christmas holiday. True?"

"Yeah, I guess we did," Harry said.

"And I presume that you took a date?"

"You presume a lot," Harry said, trying to deflect his Sirius's attention. "What if I didn't?"

"You did," Sirius said confidently. "James would never have been caught without a date, not even for a Hogsmeade weekend, and you remind me of him so much… So, who was it?"

Harry turned slightly red. "Ginny Weasley."

"Any relation to Arthur and Molly?"
Harry nodded. "Their daughter."

"Good on you! Which house is Ginny in?"

"Gryffindor." Harry hung his head. He knew that Sirius wouldn't be able to resist crowing about that.

"Nicely done, Harry!" Sirius leaned forward and his shoulders appeared in the flames. "What does Miss Weasley look like?"

"Red hair, freckles, same as every other Weasley," Harry said. "Except that she's a girl."

"And that's the most important part," Sirius said. "How did it go?"

"I… don't know, actually."

Sirius nodded sagely. "I know that feeling. The fairer sex can be quite the mystery. But, since I have more experience solving that mystery than you, I offer my services. Tell me what happened."

Harry was embarrassed—he didn't want to talk about this, not any more. But he couldn't talk to Tracey, and Hermione acted like the whole situation was Harry's fault for being thick, and Draco wasn't going to offer any advice to smooth things over with a Gryffindor. Harry wanted to talk to somebody, and apparently that somebody was going to have to be Sirius.

"I requested a song that she wanted to hear," Harry said. "The band played it, even though they weren't taking requests. We danced. I took her for a walk in the gardens."

"Couldn't have done it better myself. Did you kiss her?"

Harry felt his face grow hot. "Yes. But it was… strange. When we were on our walk, I overheard Karkaroff and Snape talking. I think they were talking about Voldemort. Ginny and I almost got caught eavesdropping, and so I kissed her to keep us from being found out."

Sirius's face became grave. "Have you told Dumbledore about this?"

Harry shook his head. "No. It wasn't anything specific, and Snape told Karkaroff to keep away from me."

"What, exactly, did you hear?" Sirius asked. "You might not even realize if something important was said.

"Karkaroff said that 'he' was getting closer to returning, and I assume that the 'he' is Voldemort. Then Karkaroff mentioned me, and Snape told him to stay away."

"I'll speak with Dumbledore about this. In the meantime, stay safe. And by that, I mean stay away from Karkaroff and Snape. Don't let them get you alone."

"Snape was protecting me," Harry said.

"Then don't be alone around Karkaroff, then," Sirius said, sighing at Harry's persistent defense of Snape. "At least do that for me?"

"Fine," Harry said.

"Thank you." Sirius scratched his face. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes, you were snogging a redhead. I'm not sure I see the problem with that. You truly are your father's son."

Harry shook his head and laughed. Sirius was funny, even if Harry didn't want to admit it. "I kissed her, and then Snape found us and yelled at us."

"Some things never change," Sirius said. "I can't even count the amount of times that happened when your father was snogging your mother."

"Do you mind? I'm trying to tell a story, here!"

"Go on," Sirius said with false magnanimity.

"So, Ginny and I are walking back to the castle, and she asks about what we overheard. I tell her it wasn't important, but she's smarter than that. But I don't want to worry her about Voldemort and Death Eaters, so I keep denying that it's important. Finally, she turns around and says, 'Either you kissed me to avoid getting in trouble, or you kissed me because you fancy me. Which one is it?' And I didn't really have a good answer, so she got mad and stormed off."

Sirius whistled. "I didn't think it was possible, Harry, but you've put yourself in a position that I never managed, not in all my years of chasing skirts. What are you going to do?"

"That's what I'm asking you!"

Sirius placed his hand on his chin. "Hmm… does she fancy you?"

"Why?"

"This is less complicated if she does."

Harry didn't see how it got any less complicated. In fact, if Ginny fancied him, it seemed more complicated. "I don't know. How do you tell?"

"Is she making excuses to be around you? Does she act differently around you than she does around other people? Does she tease you? Does she laugh at all your jokes, even the bad ones? Does she touch you on the arm?"

"Er… some of that, yes." Ginny did, indeed, do some of those things. But Harry was struck more by the fact that Sirius had just done an excellent job of describing Pansy. And Tracey.

"Put Ginny down as a solid 'maybe,' then," Sirius said. "If she fancies you a little, then the choice is clear: Tell her that the conversation wasn't important, and that you kissed her because you fancy her. She'll stop thinking about the Karkaroff and Snape, and you'll have a nice little snog."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Harry put his hands up in the air and made a 'stop' motion. "You're getting way ahead of yourself. I only went on one date with Ginny!"

"Well… do you fancy her?"

"I don't know! She's nice?"

"And do you think she's pretty?"

Harry blushed again. Why was he constantly blushing? He didn't have this problem two years ago. None of the adults he knew were constantly blushing. What the hell?

"Yes," Harry said, eventually.

"So what's the problem?" Sirius was acting like this was the simplest thing in the world.

"What if I fancy somebody else?"

Sirius shrugged. "It isn't a crime to have feelings for two girls. And just because you've gone on a date with one girl doesn't prevent you from going on a date with another. In fact, that's a rather splendid situation in which to find yourself. Unless the girls find out about each other. Then it is markedly less splendid." Sirius scowled. "My left elbow was never the same…"

Harry snapped his fingers. "Focus!"

"Sorry, Harry. But you wouldn't have believed those two. That fight spilled out of Diagon Alley and into muggle London. It took three obliviators to set things right, and all because of little old me."

"Are you being serious?"
"I always am."

Harry put his head into his hands. "How could I have ever thought that you would give me worthwhile advice…"

"I told you what to do," Sirius said. "Tell Ginny that you fancy her, and you're all set!"

"But that's not how it would happen," Harry said. "She's too smart for that. She'll never believe it."

"You're making this far more difficult than it needs to be," Sirius said. "If she's too smart for the simple version, then tell her this, instead: The conversation was important, and you needed to avoid getting caught, but the reason you thought to kiss her was because you already fancied her."

"But then she'll be involved with this Death Eater business, and I don't want to put her in danger!"

"You put her in danger when you brought her along to spy on Snape and Karkaroff," Sirius said. "That ship has sailed. Now you just have to make the best of it."

"And by 'make the best of it,' you mean, 'start snogging.'"

Sirius shrugged. "It can make even the worst days seem pleasant."

Harry understood Sirius's point, but he didn't agree with it. Ginny had been placed in enough peril for a lifetime, and Harry wasn't going to bring her closer to danger. There had to be another option. And if Harry could put things off long enough, maybe he could think of it.

Maybe.

"At least think about what I said," Sirius said, sensing Harry's indecision. "You don't have to do what I say; I'm not your father. But I am supposed to offer you advice, and it seems like you're missing an opportunity, here."

Harry shook his head distractedly. "Fine, fine. Since you're in the advice-giving kind of mood, do you want to help me with the tournament or not?"

"I'd love to," Sirius said brightly. "What's your problem?"

Harry quickly described the difficulty he was having with the bubblehead charm. "So, can you think of a way that I can get it to last longer?"

"I'm not sure," Sirius said. "Maybe it's beyond your magical strength. Your parents and I didn't learn that charm until sixth year."

"So, I need more power? How do I get that? Is there a spell?"

"Harry, magical power isn't something you can just increase. It's a lot like physical strength—you get stronger as you get older, and training can make you more powerful, but you are always going to have a natural limit. At a certain point, you reach your peak and you can't get any stronger."

"Yeah, but I can take a strengthening potion to make myself stronger for a while," Harry said. "Isn't there some spell to increase my magic power?"

"There are rumors, Harry, but that's dark magic. Very dark." Sirius seemed troubled.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't know," Harry said. Internally, Harry was already making plans to ask Snape. He'd approach it the same way—he wouldn't mention that he had asked Sirius, and he would act like his question came from ignorance. Maybe Snape would give a better answer. After all, there was no such thing as dark magic, just dark wizards. And Harry wouldn't' be increasing his power for nefarious purposes—just survival.

"I know that you were raised by muggles, so you didn't mean anything by it, but you shouldn't even mention those sorts of things," Sirius said. "People might get the wrong impression, since you're in Slytherin."

"I'll be more careful," Harry said. "Can you think of any other way that I could breathe underwater?"

"You could try muggle diving equipment," Sirius said.

"Hermione and I talked about that, but electronics don't work at Hogwarts," Harry said. "Scuba gear is mostly mechanical, but it isn't worth the risk, I think."

"You're probably right," Sirius said. He held up his hands, helplessly. "I'm sorry I'm not much use to you on this one."

"Don't worry," Harry said. "I'm sure I'll think of something." Like asking Snape about a temporary power increase.

Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost time for Dumbledore to return. Harry and Sirius made small talk until the headmaster returned to his office. Dumbledore wrote Harry a pass to return to the Slytherin dormitory, and sent Harry off to bed. Harry said goodbye to Sirius, and as he left Dumbledore's office, Harry heard Sirius's voice once more.

"Albus, we have to talk about Snape."

*!*!*!*

Harry wasted no time in approaching Professor Snape for help with his bubblehead charm. He hadn't wanted to ask Snape for help, for fear of seeming weak, but Snape was the only likely source of information that would lead Harry to increasing his magical power. Harry approached Snape after Slytherin's next Potions class.

"It is not surprising that your bubblehead charm fades quickly," Snape said. "Just as your physical strength increases with age, so does your magical strength. The bubblehead charm is taught during sixth year because most students cannot maintain the charm for more than a few minutes until they are fifteen years old." It was almost exactly what Sirius had told Harry.

"So I need more power," Harry said. "Is there any way I can do that?"

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched. "Only the darkest of rituals can increase a wizard's power, Mr. Potter, and they come with great danger. Not even the Dark Lord was foolish enough to attempt them during his rise." Snape paused. "I shall assume that your question arose from ignorance, and not from an as-yet-unexpressed desire to explore the dark arts."

"Of course," Harry said, struggling to keep the disappointment from his voice. Snape clearly knew more than Sirius, but apparently the power spells were so dangerous and awful that even Snape was afraid of them.

Harry did have one last question. It was something strange. Stranger than the usual level of strangeness that Harry experienced as a wizard. It was something that Harry had noticed happening when he was at his most furious and most desperate… something that had seemed random, but could possibly be the key to his power problem.

"What about…" Harry trailed off. He felt ridiculous saying this out loud.

"You are wasting my time," Snape said curtly.

"What about some sort of trance?" Harry said.

"Trance?" Snape's eyes narrowed, and his tone suggested that the idea was absurd. "What do you mean when you say 'trance?'"

"I don't know how else to describe it," Harry said. "Like… an adrenaline rush. When I'm playing quidditch and I get hit by a bludger, it doesn't hurt until the match is over. Is there a way that a wizard could… I don't know… enter some sort of 'zone' and access greater magical power?"

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Have you experienced something like this, Potter?"

"No," Harry said quickly. Shit. He hadn't meant to give that much away. "It was just an idea I had."

Snape stared at Harry. His black eyes were piercing. Harry felt as if Snape was looking deep into his soul… Harry blinked and looked down.

"Silly, I guess," Harry said.

"Indeed," Snape said. "There is no precedent for any 'trance' of the sort you describe. Utter fantasy."

Harry nodded… but he knew that Snape was wrong.

Harry had never mentioned this to anyone, not even to Draco or Tracey or Hermione… but whenever Harry was filled with anger or desperation, the world seemed to turn green. Everybody else in the world talked about "seeing red" when they were angry, but Harry would literally see green.

The first time Harry had noticed it was during his first year at Hogwarts. Whenever Harry became particularly upset, it was like he was seeing through a green fog. Harry ignored it—it didn't seem worrisome—until third year, when Harry took Sirius's wand in the Shrieking Shack. Harry had believed that Sirius was the wizard who betrayed his parents, and Harry had been so full of rage that it hadn't been a mere fog on his vision; it was as if the entire world had turned green. It was like Harry's magic had taken control of him, instead of the other way around.

When he thought about it later, Harry was scared.

Harry had tried to ignore the green vision, whatever it was, but it had happened again when Harry killed the dragon during the first task. Not only had Harry felt more powerful, but Harry had somehow known that sonorous was the incantation for loudspeaking, a spell that he had never been taught. And that wasn't the only time, it had happened this year; when Moody had been provoking Harry in Defense, Harry's vision had gone green before he threw off the Imperius curse.

Harry wanted to know more about this green trance. But Snape was telling Harry that the trance was impossible. And yet, despite Snape's definitive assertion that no such trance was possible, Snape seemed unusually suspicious. It was a bad combination—Harry had learned long ago that unprecedented magic associated with Slytherin wizards was a fast ticket to prejudice,as everybody simply assumed that both the magic and the wizard were dark. Not that Snape would ever think it of him, but Dumbledore or Sirius might.

"It just thought I would ask," Harry said vaguely. "So, it's hopeless, then? There's nothing I can do?"

"There is always something you can do, Mr. Potter. However, the avenue which you are exploring will not be productive." Snape tilted his head. "What do you know about magical power?"

"Not much," Harry admitted reluctantly. "I know that Dumbledore and Voldemort-"

"Do not say the Dark Lord's name."

"-those two are the most powerful wizards in a long time. But that's about it."

"I thought as much." Snape glanced at the clock. "What class should you be attending?"

"I have Arithmancy next, but that isn't for an hour."

"Good. Take a seat." Harry sat down in the front row of the classroom, and Snape sat down behind his desk. "Consider, for a moment: what is the difference between magical power and magical proficiency?"

Harry lowered his head in thought. "Power is the strength of your spell."

"The depth of your perception is astounding," Snape said dryly.

"You're the one who asked," Harry shot back. Then, Harry remembered to whom he was speaking. He looked up slowly, dreading Snape's inevitable nasty response. Much to Harry's surprise, Snape had a tiny smirk on his face.

"Continue," Snape said. There was a small amount of amusement in his voice.

"And… um… I guess that proficiency is the ability to cast spells well? Or the ability to cast lots of spells?"

"An accurate enough statement for our purposes," Snape said. "Imagine a wizard able to cast the most powerful shield charm in the world, but only after five minutes of preparation. Utterly useless in a duel, obviously. That wizard is not proficient in the casting a shield charm. Similarly, a wizard who can only cast a disarming charm and a simple shield charm is not proficient in dueling, because not every duel can be won with disarming charms and shields. Some duels require greater… flexibility. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. At this point in your education, Mr. Potter, you should be more concerned about proficiency than power. Your power will increase naturally as you grow, but now is the only time in your life in which your entire focus can be the improvement of your magical proficiency."

"So you're saying that I can increase my magical power, but only by getting older." Harry frowned. "That won't do me any good."

"Your magical power will increase as your practice spells," Snape said. "However, the gains are made slowly, and over an extended period of time. And there will be a natural limit beyond which you cannot progress. The limit of a wizard such as Albus Dumbledore or the Dark Lord is almost unimaginable. By contrast, a wizard such as that ham-fisted Longbottom boy is more limited in his potential."

"But there's nothing I can do in the short term to improve my power?"

Snape shook his head. "Magical power is similar, in many ways, to singing. Some people will always have a better singing voice than others. All singers will improve with practice, and those with natural talent will improve more quickly. Those who lack natural talent can nevertheless improve, but their improvement will be more limited. And once a person has reached his natural limits as a singer, he could learn the words to as many songs as he wished, but it would not make his voice better. His skill would be the same—he would simply be able to sing a greater variety of songs."

"So, if I'm able to cast a bubblehead charm but not maintain it, it's an issue of power, not proficiency."

"Indeed."

And if it was an issue of power, Harry wasn't going to be able to fix it before he was required to compete in the second task. Harry sighed. "Thank you for your time, sir," Harry said despondently. He was going to have to start all over. He lifted his books and moved to leave the room. Snape's voice called him back.

"Your sudden interest in the bubblehead charm has something to do with the Tri-Wizard Tournament?"

Harry nodded.

"As I said before, while it is not possible to increase your magical power, there is always something else that you can do. Perhaps you should explore other methods for breathing underwater," Snape suggested. "There is more than one way to de-gnome a garden, after all. Please advise me when you discover your solution."

At dinner, Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table and cancelled his evening practice session with Hermione. There was no use practicing the bubblehead charm, not any longer. Harry tried to make eye contact with Ginny as he passed by on his way back to the Slytherin table, but she was speaking with Neville Longbottom and never turned toward Harry.

Despite Snape's encouragement, Harry's malaise continued to follow him for the next several days as he continued to be unable to solve the problem of the second task. In his next Potions class, he earned several sharp comments from Professor Snape about the speed of his work. Harry suspected that Snape's irritation was more related to Harry's inability to solve the problem of breathing underwater than his actual performance in class.

After Snape's third nasty comment, Harry shook off his daze and began to work quickly on his potion. He needed to finish before the end of class, or he would wind up as the rare Slytherin with a poor mark in Potions. As he stirred in the last ingredients, Snape walked past Harry's cauldron.

"Disappointing, Potter. I expect my own students to finish their work. An incomplete potion might as well be water."

"But-"

Before Harry could finish, Snape waved his wand and vanished Harry's potion. "Detention with me, Potter. Tonight at eight."

Harry hung his head. His potion was finished… or, at least, he had thought it was. But when Snape was in a mood, there was nothing to be done.

A/N: I've got nothing for the author's note this week. Thanks to all my reviewers, especially my regulars. As always, I try to respond to every review that is more than a couple of sentences long.