Disclaimer: Standard stuff (I don't own anything, I won't be making profit, any resemblance to previously published content is purely coincidental, JK Rowling is the coolest, etc.). If I make any legal errors regarding copyrighted material, inform me and I will correct them immediately.

Harry Potter and the Lightning Scar

Once the school settled down in the wake of the second task and its attendant drama, the months of March and April remained fairly uneventful, with only a few major exceptions.

The first event of note fell on the first Friday of March, just as the chaos over the second task had begun to die down. About halfway through the double potions lesson with Snape, Igor Karkaroff visited the class. Though Snape clearly wanted to avoid the conversation, Karkaroff was equally persistent, and lurked near Snape's desk for the remainder of the class. Harry winked and mouthed "Chamber" at Daphne as she and the rest of the class bustled out at the end of the period, and she "accidentally" kicked a doorstop into the door's path, keeping it halfway open. Once the hallway was clear, Harry slipped back into the classroom beneath his invisibility cloak, while Daphne called Winky to transport her to the Chamber's study.

Only a few minutes later, a disturbed Harry met her in the study, and described the scene that he had just left.

"Karkaroff showed Snape something on his left arm," Harry said. "He said something about it not being so clear in a long time. Karkaroff kept going on about how his hand had been forced the last time, and that he would have nowhere to turn. Snape told him that they had already talked about this at the Yule Ball, and that he would cover for Karkaroff if he decided to flee."

Daphne's eyes grew wider and wider as Harry recounted the brief tale. "Harry, you know that they were both Death Eaters in the first war, right?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "What's that got to do..."

"Remember the Dark Mark, his mark, at the Quidditch World Cup? Every Death Eater had it tattooed on their left arm! Just from being in Slytherin, I've heard that they faded almost completely after the Dark Lord's defeat in 1981—Karkaroff must have meant that his Dark Mark is coming back!"

It didn't take long for Harry to start putting things together. "Wormtail on the run...Dumbledore taking Moody out of retirement...Bertha Jorkins gone missing in Albania, Albania...it's first year all over again, Voldemort is working on getting his body back! We need to call Sirius and Remus!"

As it turned out, Sirius and Remus had already reached essentially the same conclusions as Harry, but the Dark Marks getting clearer on the former Death Eaters was a recent development even for them. Even during their hunt for Wormtail over the summer, the Death Eaters they had encountered (and killed) still had mostly-dormant Dark Marks. They promised to forward the information to Director Bones and Chief Warlock Longbottom (though Augusta was in fact a witch, the title remained "Warlock"). As far as the Marauders were concerned, they were currently just private citizens enjoying some well-deserved vacation time, and had no real intention of doing the Aurors' jobs for them; the hunt for Wormtail had only been to clear Sirius's name, and that had been accomplished without finding him anyway. Though both deeply desired vengeance for the deaths of James and Lily Potter, they both recalled how their choices in 1981 had led to Harry living with the Dursleys, and decided that they would sit this war out as long as possible to remain available to Harry. Plus, Sirius and Remus, fresh from their "wenchin' 'round the world" tour, wanted to go on a second "wenchin' 'round the world" tour—in their (or at least Sirius's) words, there was "no such thing as too much wenchin', Harry, and we've got to make up for lost time!"

Less than a week later, on the second Thursday of March, Harry had an unpleasant surprise. About halfway through Transfiguration, while the entire class was busy attempting the spells that McGonagall had demonstrated—and thus nobody was paying any attention to Harry—Harry felt a brief warming sensation, and, for less than a second, gave off a soft blue-white glow.

Cursing himself for letting his guard down—whatever happened to "Constant Vigilance!" you idiot!—he realized immediately that it had been some form of revealing charm, similar to the one he had used at the end of the first task to determine whether the dragon had survived his attack. He could cross off vitas revelio and homenum revelio right off the bat, since nobody would bother casting either of those spells on him when he was already obviously alive and obviously a human. Then he considered where he was, and who was in the room...

McGonagall was master of transfiguration.

McGonagall was also an animagus.

If anyone knew a spell to reveal animagi, it would be McGonagall.

Everyone in magical Britain now knew—as it had been part of Sirius's testimony under Veritaserum—that James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black were animagi. Therefore, the one student at Hogwarts most likely to have outside knowledge of the animagus transformation was Harry.

Shit.

The remainder of the class dragged on, and Harry spent most of that time glaring at McGonagall, who, to her credit, at least had the decency to look apologetic.

It was probably bound to happen sooner or later, Harry thought; while the Marauders had never been discovered while they were at Hogwarts, they had never been subjected to the same levels of prolonged or intense scrutiny that Harry had to deal with. He resigned himself to a tense conversation with McGonagall (though he suspected that Dumbledore would stay out of it, in the wake of the second task), and spent the rest of the class glaring stubbornly at McGonagall. As the rest of the students left Transfiguration to go to lunch (and perhaps work on hex deflection, Moody having previously announced his intention to test the fourth years that afternoon—Harry, of course, was already roughly as prepared for that test as the average Auror trainee), Harry remained at his desk.

McGonagall's cheeks colored slightly, and she looked even guiltier.

"Mr. Potter—"

"Professor," Harry interrupted, his voice flat, "if you were hoping that casting that spell against my person would endear you and the headmaster to me, I think you'll be sadly disappointed."

"Mr. Potter, I think you will find that as the Hogwarts professor of transfiguration, and as the Deputy Headmistress of this school, I am both within my rights and entirely justified—particularly in light of your lack of self-control in the headmaster's office last week—in performing that spell on, not against, your person."

Harry considered this; she actually had a point, as he reasoned that the professors had probably thought that Harry had come dangerously close to letting loose in the headmaster's office. He had been in total control of himself, but it had probably not seemed that way to Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, and they might reasonably fear for the safety of the other students. There's a first time for everything, I suppose, Harry mused bitterly.

"Fair enough," he allowed, and stood to leave.

"Mr. Potter, surely you are aware that you must register your animagus form with the proper authorities? I can assist you with that process. Simply transform for me, and I will be able to provide my seal on the documentation."

"Thank you for your kind offer, Professor, but as it happens, I am already registered," Harry responded. His cordial tone was not quite reflected by the look in his eyes, and it was clear that he not interested in revealing any of his abilities to her. "I'm running late for lunch, and I've got a tiring test in Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon, so I should get going. You can always request an official copy of my registration, if you're interested. Good day, Professor."

Harry strode from the room, torn between immense irritation at having been discovered for an animagus, and mirth at the thought of McGonagall and Dumbledore spending a small fortune on postage and office fees requesting records from every possible animagus registration authority under the ICW, only to find that those records would only be released to law enforcement personnel or solicitors for use as evidence in court. Anyway, he highly doubted that he'd be publicly outed as an animagus; as much damage as Harry had heaped onto Dumbledore's political career and reputation, he couldn't see the man taking away a potential surprise advantage against a resurgent Voldemort just out of spite.

Reassured that his secret would remain safe—or, at least, would not spread much further than it already had—Harry shrugged, and went to lunch.

Only minutes later, while the students ate lunch, Dumbledore and McGonagall met in the headmaster's office to discuss this latest development regarding Harry Potter.

"You were right, Albus," McGonagall said firmly. "He's definitely an animagus."

"Were you able to ascertain his form?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes bright with interest. "Did he transform for you?"

McGonagall sighed. "No, and no, he didn't transform. He was...displeased, to say the least, that I had cast that revealing spell on him. He told me that he was already registered, and that I could always request a copy of his registration."

"A pointless exercise," Dumbledore said, frowning. "Considering my low standing with the DMLE these days, we'd be hard-pressed to get an investigation started, and we'd look even worse if it turned out that Harry was in fact registered properly. On top of all that, he's most likely not registered in Britain, so we'd just be wasting our time and resources on a wild goose chase. Anyway, it wouldn't do to have word of his ability spread; though I do not believe that the animagus transformation is the power Tom knows not, it is still a useful advantage—all the more useful for not being known—which I would not wish to remove from the side of the Light in the coming war. And yes," Dumbledore said, holding up a hand to forestall McGonagall's unasked question, "despite his differences with me, I firmly believe that Harry will oppose Tom."

"You must at least have a theory, Albus," McGonagall said after a pause. There was a reason her animagus form was a cat, after all; once a puzzle piqued her curiosity, she was always tenacious in uncovering the truth. "You wouldn't have had me check otherwise. What are you thinking?"

"Ah, Minerva, you know me too well," Dumbledore said fondly. "I would have liked confirmation, but I do indeed possess what I believe to be a fairly good guess."

Dumbledore handed her a book, which she looked at with keen interest. It was a biography of one Benjamin Franklin. The name rang a bell, but she couldn't quite place it. McGonagall brought her eyes back to Dumbledore's face, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"My dear Minerva," Dumbledore began, "I think I know why this has been such a stormy year."

After his encounter with McGonagall, which had exposed him as an animagus—and Harry had noted that both she and the headmaster were absent from lunch, so Dumbledore probably also knew by now—Harry was definitely in the mood to hex something. Thankfully, Moody was testing the fourth-year Gryffindors (and Harry, whose schedule remained the same as when he had been a member of that house) on hex deflection that afternoon.

Moody began class with a typical short lecture, randomly interspersed with exclamations of "Constant Vigilance!," and then tested each student. Harry was greatly amused to watch both Ron and Hermione go down after blocking only one and two stunners, respectively; apparently, without Harry's help in practicing for the wanded classes (particularly Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts), Hermione's wandwork had been suffering somewhat, and without Hermione to force Ron to study at all, his wandwork had steadily degraded to roughly equal to that of a fairly average third year student. Most of the rest of the class was able to block or deflect between two and four stunners, and only Lavender Brown had done worse than Ron, having been knocked out by the first spell.

Finally, it was Harry's turn. Moody had long since taken to having Harry go last for demonstrations and practical examinations, because it had rapidly become quite clear that he was significantly more skilled at combat-oriented spellwork than all of his classmates. Constant training for the Triwizard Tournament, deliberate physical conditioning (rare for wizards), the reflexes and speed from the thunderbird and the Hunter ritual, and a large, non-standard spell repertoire made Harry a better fighter than most Hogwarts students, regardless of year.

"Yeh ready, Potter?" Moody growled, a terrifying smile on his face.

"Hit me with your best shot, Professor," Harry called from his side of the room.

The class watched in growing amazement as Harry blocked, deflected, or dodged spell after spell. After protecting himself from well over a dozen stunners (and obviously passing the test), Harry winked at the professor, adjusted his stance to the one that Moody had suggested for the rest of the class (it happened to be particularly well-suited for spell deflection), and flicked his eyes toward the side of the room where the fourth-year Gryffindors had gathered to watch the examinations.

Moody's crooked grin widened, and he cast one final stunner as powerfully as he could. An astute and knowledgeable observer would have noticed that he was aiming directly where Harry was maintaining his deflector shield, and Harry was carefully adjusting the angle such that it would bounce the scarlet spell toward the other students. However, the fourth-year Gryffindors were still shaking off the lingering wooziness of their own tests, and only Hermione—who was currently taking notes on the stance that Harry had just adopted—would have been observant enough to notice it anyway. Ron Weasley, though, had his head turned, and was busy snickering at one of Seamus Finnegan's undoubtedly lewd jokes.

"STUPEFY!" Moody roared.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Harry bellowed as he deflected the brilliant crimson blast of energy. Harry had just enough time to grin savagely as Ron Weasley turned toward the sound—his mouth forming an "O" of surprise—just in time for the stunner to strike him directly between the eyes. The class erupted in laughter, and Harry allowed himself a swell of vindictive pleasure; Ron had proved himself to be a fair-weather friend at best, and Harry had no qualms about making him look like a fool.

"Nice work, Potter," Moody growled, his scarred face contorting into a twisted grin. "Full credit. You, Granger! Wake that idiot up! What don't you fools understand about Constant Bloody Vigilance?!"

Harry strolled out of the class to wait for Daphne down in the Chamber, feeling much more relaxed than he had since his chat with McGonagall.

Barty Crouch, Jr. sat in the office of the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Considering his true purpose at Hogwarts, it was ironic that he was likely the best Defense professor that the school had seen in decades. He was thinking hard about his mission, and how he would accomplish it, when he was briefly distracted by thoughts of Harry Potter.

To his shame, he had originally been doubtful of the Dark Lord's plan—surely, he had thought, Albus Dumbledore or Alastor Moody (or really any number of skilled, powerful witches or wizards who had opposed the Dark Lord in the first war) would be more useful than a mere boy! However, Potter's brilliant showing in the Triwizard Tournament so far, his casting down of Albus Dumbledore (in this, the boy had already served the Dark Lord's cause more perfectly than all of the Death Eaters combined), and even his performance in class...Crouch was beginning to see his master's wisdom. The boy was powerful and cunning, and truly only a lack of experience kept him from being a legitimate threat. Experience was meaningless, though, in matters of blood, and that was why it had to be Potter.

Crouch chuckled, and continued to plot.

The other major event that took place in the early months of spring was Easter break.

Once again, Harry did not sign up to stay at Hogwarts over the break (despite McGonagall's not-so-subtle suggestions that he should). On the morning of Sunday, April 11, Harry kissed Daphne goodbye and repeated his Christmas-break-stealth-escape from Hogwarts. Easter would be the following Sunday, and all of the students going home for break were leaving on the Hogwarts Express after breakfast, and would not return until Sunday, April 25.

Less than an hour later, Harry walked through the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, and was immediately bowled over by a large, shaggy dog. Harry quickly lost the impromptu wrestling match, but felt that he had won the moral victory, having charmed the dog's fur a brilliant, eye-watering lime green.

"Harry! We didn't expect you for another hour or so!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Ah yeah, I wanted to escape before breakfast," Harry replied. "Daphne sends her best."

"Hmm, when exactly are we going to meet this mysterious Daphne?" Remus said, poking his head into the corridor. A moment later, he got a good look at Sirius and promptly burst into laughter—when he had transformed back from his dog form, the color-change charm had had an interesting effect, keeping his hair and eyebrows lime green, and (for some reason) turning his face bright pink.

"What?!" Sirius asked, looking around. "I don't get it!"

Thus began the best Easter holiday of Harry's life. Shortly after Harry arrived at Number 12, the three wizards arranged a portkey to Italy, and spent the next two weeks hopping from city to city and touring the local magical and non-magical attractions. The trio always kept separate hotel rooms, and Harry was unsurprised to see a steady stream of gorgeous women leaving Sirius's (and even Remus's) room each morning.

Hedwig got in a fair amount of exercise, flying back and forth between Italy and Spain (where Daphne's family was spending the Easter holiday), and Harry, Sirius, and Remus found ample time to practice dueling and spellwork. Without any of the stress associated with Hogwarts (such as classes, homework, and dodging Dumbledore's prying eyes), Harry's skills progressed even faster than ever before. By the end of the holiday, he had reached the point where he could regularly defeat Sirius and Remus, and could roughly match them together, without resorting to any of the "high-impact" or lethal spells (which were obviously unsuited for practice duels).

After a prolonged series of fond farewells and pranks, Harry departed from Number 12 Grimmauld Place (the trio had returned to London after a late lunch in Naples) on the afternoon of April 25. He planned to get back to Hogsmeade at the same time as the Hogwarts Express, and was pleased to find that his timing had been perfect. Harry simply blended in with the crowd, and made his way back to Hogwarts with the rest of the returning students.

Later that night, Harry and Daphne curled up in the bed down in the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry let out a contented sigh.

"It's good to be home."

Author's Note

Harry gets found out for an animagus! Harry plinks Ron in DADA! More wenchin' 'round the world!

As of the end of Chapter 31, HPatLS is at 86537 words.

There's not much to say about this chapter, as it is mostly just build-up to the next few.

Review! Apparently, I'm a huge review-whore. I read every single one of them. Review!

See you next week!

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