Harry Potter & The Fifth Element

by bexis1

Sixth year fic. Examines H/Hr in context of his unwanted wealth and fame, and her need for independence. H struggles for magical control over a mysterious, powerful fifth element, receives an inheritance and has a dalliance that ends in disaster.

61. Chapter 61 Uneasy Calm

Wherein Harry has a go with McGonagall, resolves that dispute, and performs a Switching Spell; Harry and Hermione visit with Firenze; Harry visits with Hagrid, has a musical interlude, gets initiated, clears the air with Ron, and has an encounter in the Forbidden Forest.

Disclaimer: I neither own nor claim any other rights in the characters and other concepts created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money, nor do I seek any commercial advantage from this work. As such it constitutes "fair use" as defined in 17 U.S.C. §107.

Thanks once again to betas Mark Gardiner, Shane, and Mathiasgranger.

Chapter 61 – Uneasy Calm

As the term moved deeply into November, the relationships amongst the Trio, the six so-called "boomwins" (a term they expropriated as a badge of honour) and the Hogwarts student body gradually stabilised into a fragile state of equilibrium. Harry and Hermione stayed close as they continued sharing and exploring the wonders of young love. Far less often – because their mutual respect ruled out groping in broom cupboards – they also explored the wonders of young lust.

Ron moodily stayed away from both of them. His grievance against Hermione was the same as always –unapologetically, she had said or done something heinous to Cho, although exactly what, he would or could not say. His new grievance against Harry rubbed much rawer – not just its recency, but that it directly impacted Ron's always fragile sense of self worth. Professor McGonagall's rant before the entire team informed everyone that the only reason Ron was still Gryffindor co-captain, indeed, the only reason he remained on the team, was at Harry's insistence.

Ronald Weasley hated feeling indebted to Harry Potter. Even more, the King hated that the whole of Gryffindor House, and inevitably the entire Hogwarts student body, knew full well that he was.

After the blow-up, both Harry and Hermione expected to be seeing more of Ginny. She obviously shared their view (if not their basis for it) that Cho Chang was a very bad influence on Ron – which was the crucial dividing line at the moment.

But for some reason that never happened. Ginny certainly was having nothing to do with Ron – her incandescent glares every time they failed to avoid one another were proof enough of that. Still she avoided Harry, too. Hermione guessed that Ginny must feel intense guilt about injuring him, and thus was uncomfortable around any eyewitness to her not-so-little meltdown.

Some good came from the situation on Sunday evening, when Harry next had Animagus training with the Deputy Headmistress. At first, though, Harry seemed to be regressing.

"Oh come now, Potter, you can do better than that," Professor McGonagall briskly criticised his efforts. "You've done that hindquarters transformation several times before. You even accomplished that as wild magic."

"Well I can't seem to make it happen now," Harry complained. Agitated, he stood up. "You know what? Maybe we should just end this. I mean, what good becoming a Griffin for fighting Voldemort anyway? It takes bang-on trust to learn something this complex, and you don't trust me. And because of that, I'm having a right hard time trusting you!"

That Professor McGonagall was surprised by Harry's outburst was a serious understatement.

"What?" she responded, her eyes narrowing. "Why, that's absurd, Potter. I wouldn't be spending my copious free time teaching you this if I thought you'd misuse it. I wouldn't have approved your extra training with…."

"Look, you just made me look like a grasser, and a sorry excuse for one at that, before the whole team. Before that, you thought I'd drugged Hermione to have my way with her. You took away my Goblin guard for fear I'd misuse them. Worst of all, you kept Hermione's note a secret because you thought I didn't have enough incentive to rescue her," Harry rattled off his list of accumulated complaints.

Professor McGonagall was especially irked by the last of these accusations. "Mister Potter," she said quite heatedly, some of her hair coming loose from its severe bun. "I shall address the first, if you wish. I have admitted I was wrong on the second. You should do the same concerning the third. But I give you my word that you had nothing whatever to do with my keeping Miss Granger's note confidential. I had more than enough confidence in you, it was…."

The Deputy Headmistress stopped abruptly. Harry Potter was not any student, but was a student nonetheless. Certain subjects were not appropriate for student ears.

"I'm sorry, Potter, that is not something I am free to discuss. I had my reasons, and you were not amongst them." Then Professor McGonagall changed the subject. "As for the unfortunate incident at the ball, I have already informed the entire House of my error …."

Harry was not distracted. "Then…, it was Dumbledore, wasn't it?" he bored in.

"It is not proper to discuss the Headmaster with a student," Professor McGonagall answered crisply.

Harry looked suddenly downcast. "He didn't trust me enough to save Hermione…."

With Harry moving full speed down the wrong track, Professor McGonagall had to say something. "No, Potter, not at all," she blurted. "It had nothing – nothing to do with you. I chose not to inform the Headmaster. That's all I've to say on that matter. But … I hadn't the slightest doubt whatever concerning you…."

"But…. But…," Harry struggled. Then his jaw clenched – hard. "That son of a bitch…."

"Mister Potter – language!" McGonagall upbraided him. But she knew she had a more serious problem than his swearing, or even his Animagus training. "You are once again blowing things out of all proportion…."

"Sorry, but it's bloody hard to find anything proportional about Hermione's life," Harry pushed the Deputy Headmistress' words back into her face. "There's only one reason you wouldn't tell Dumbledore something like that. You thought that, once Hermione retrieved me, he'd be willing to let her go…."

"Oh, come now, Mister Potter!" Professor McGonagall answered in a shocked voice. "You know as well as I that the Headmaster not only personally saved Miss Granger's life, but did everything he could to help you do the same…."

Harry could not dispute anything Professor McGonagall said. He started to regret his emotional reaction.

"…but nevertheless you correctly perceive my intentions. I was indeed concerned that Headmaster Dumbledore might consider Miss Granger expendable. His motives are often … complex. I now believe that my precaution was unnecessary."

"Well, that's good to know," Harry said with a fair bit of snark.

Now, however, the professor turned the tables. "Mister Potter, you have raised a matter of trust, specifically my trustworthiness. I'll have you know that throughout your disappearance, I kept Miss Granger's safety paramount, certainly moreso than herself. She was quite cross with me at times for that…."

"I'll say," Harry agreed, remembering some of Hermione's comments about McGonagall.

"I trusted you implicitly to come through for Miss Granger, and you did," she continued. "That's why … after the ball, I was utterly shocked when the evidence seemingly pointed to you. It seemed irrefutable, but turned out to be irrefutably wrong…. All I can say is I should have trusted you then as much as I did before…. But I am trusting you now."

"Well, you did drop all the restrictions," Harry allowed.

"Yes, even though the perpetrators go unpunished," she frowned. "But more importantly, it is not my habit to reveal my differences with the Headmaster to students. I am trusting you to keep that to yourself."

"Yes," Harry began, but then realised what he was saying. "But not from Hermione … no secrets from her…."

Silently he held out his arm, pulled back his sleeve and displayed the back of his right wrist – where the phrase "I must not tell lies" remained faintly visible.

At first Professor McGonagall drew back, repulsed, but her expression soon resolved into a tight, knowing smile. "Yes, not from her. Now, let me explain where you are right, and where you are mistaken, about the rest of it."

Harry and the professor chatted for the rest of their allotted time, as both felt that resolving their differences outweighed one session of Animagus training. Slowly, and not without fits and starts, they aired their various grievances and either reached an understanding (goblins at Hogwarts), or else simply agreed to disagree (Ron as Quidditch co-captain).

Only a couple of minutes remained when Harry remembered a different matter that could use Professor McGonagall's help – something that even the straight-laced professor could not find objectionable.

"Professor, I was meaning to ask for your help on a couple of other things," he began cautiously. "But we weren't on good terms recently…."

"What is it, Potter?" Professor McGonagall inquired neutrally. "You know I cannot show favouritism, but if I can help, I will."

"Umm … I could use some help with Hermione's Christmas present. I have this idea…."

"Do you really need me for that?" the Deputy Headmistress was sceptical. "Your goblin friends would do anything for you, and have more connexions than I for such an endeavor."

"Not for this," Harry continued. "It's not magical, it's Muggle."

Professor McGonagall's eyebrows shot up. "Muggle? And you think I'd provide worthwhile assistance with that? Perhaps you should ask Professor Asimov for help…. Or that Mister Howe of yours…."

"Actually, I don't think you're more qualified for this, I know you are," Harry persisted. "Howe can run errands, but only you can tell him where."

The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth turned upwards just the slightest bit at Harry's persistent flattery. "Then perhaps you'd best explain exactly what you've got in mind," she invited.

Harry did.

"Very well," she agreed at the end of Harry's spiel. "But you used the plural earlier. Is there something else you're after?"

"Umm … yes," Harry admitted. "It's a little different, and some people around here might object, but I don't think you will."

"Well, what is it then?"

Harry told her.

"Unorthodox, indeed," Professor McGonagall commented when he finished. "And you are quite correct; some, even at Hogwarts, who would object. But I think it can be arranged. Let me discuss it with Professor Asimov. Assuming I am successful, where would you like these items delivered?"

"To Château Blackwalls," Harry responded.

---

The class was double Transfiguration, and the subject was advanced Switching Charms. Harry shared a table with Ron, and neither was particularly pleased. Professor McGonagall, however, strictly adhered to assigned seating in her classroom. Harry and Ron had paired up at the beginning of the Term, when Hermione was injured – and that was that.

Professor McGonagall did not change assigned seats for reasons as trite as friends falling out, or even friends falling in love….

When she finally recovered from her ordeal, Hermione was assigned to a seat with Su Li. The Ravenclaw had been the odd person out, so upon Hermione's return, Su Li experienced the double-edged sword of Granger as a table mate: immediate access to her immense knowledge (something Ravenclaws did not underestimate), whilst at the same time feeling hopelessly overshadowed by a bona fide magical prodigy.

Now they were honing Switching Spells by using objects with similar attributes. Even for Ron, whose skill at Transfiguration usually left something to be desired, the lesson had gone swimmingly as long as the two objects' shared feature was easy to discern.

Switching antlers with fangs was no problem – they were both sharp.

So was switching a pillow with a Pygmy Puff – they were both soft.

Switching a pair of glasses (Harry's) with a glass of water was a bit more difficult – but once Ron realised the two items shared transparency, he could perform the switch.

Ron was able to switch a small fire with a cup of steaming Moroccan coffee once he grasped that both were hot. However, he failed to notice Professor McGonagall hovering.

"That took too long, Weasley," she chided in that condescending voice reserved for when a student took too long to figure something out. "Try again. Here, have a doughnut."

Ron gave the professor a confused look, accepted the doughnut, and promptly took a big bite out of it.

"No, Weasley!" she harped. "I didn't mean for you to eat it. I meant for you to switch it."

She rapped his knuckles with her wand, causing him to drop the gooey remains of the jam doughnut. The next flick of her wand vanished the remnant – and replaced it with another, intact, doughnut.

"Now, switch it," she commanded as she swept away.

Ron looked at the doughnut like it might eat him, which would have been a neat but rather piquant reversal of fortune. "Bloody hell," he whispered to Harry. "How am I supposed to switch this? The stupid cup's not even round."

Ron was right. The particular mug in front of Ron was shaped more like a triangle, in a rough likeness of Hogwarts, with the phrase "Hogwarts Millennium 997-1997" decorating all three sides.

Ron groaned and tried a Switching Spell. It failed because the analogy was absent.

Ron tried and failed again, his face growing redder under the combined affects of mental exertion and sheer embarrassment.

All of a sudden, Harry sat bolt upright. 'He needs to think of the holes,' Hermione's Legilimenced voice echoed in his head. Evidently she was observing from her seat near the back. 'It's a rather rudimentary topological problem. He won't listen to me, but might listen to you. Count the number of holes….'

'A what problem?' Harry Legilimenced back to her. 'Topo-who?'

'A topologic…. Oh, forget it,' Hermione returned the thought, sounding a bit put out. 'Just … count the number of holes….'

Unfortunately, Hermione's hint passed Harry by. To him, her instructions were as clear as mud, but he tried anyway.

"Ron… – try looking for similarities … in the holes," Harry hinted in a low and uncertain voice.

Ron gave Harry a profoundly sceptical look, and whispered. "Holes? What bloody holes? Sure, there's a hole in the doughnut, but the coffee cup doesn't leak one bit."

"Well … umm…," Harry floundered. "Maybe not that kind of hole. Take … like…." Harry's eyes landed on the strap that kept his textbooks fastened together. It had two closely spaced rows of small holes running almost its entire length.

Ron wore a chain of some sort around his neck. It also had lots of holes, as it was made from numerous links.

Harry thought it was worth a chance.

"…Holes like this," Harry told Ron as he performed the Switching Spell.

Harry's work was flawless. In an instant, Ron had Harry's strap around his neck and Ron's chain was lying loosely around Harry's books.

Except Ron's chain had a pendant on it – a pendant with a stylised Chinese design. The pattern resembled….

….Cho's tattoo; as stored in Luna's memory…

…Cho's tattoo; as seem by both Harry and Hermione on the Internet…

…the design of the carved stamp Cho had given Harry for his birthday….

Harry could not help but gawk.

Ron could not help but notice Harry gawking. "Oi! Give that back!" Ron demanded in a voice loud enough that the entire class heard.

Professor McGonagall certainly heard.

"If you can't keep your voice down, Weasley, I'll have to deduct points," she threatened in the distinctive tone after which Hermione modelled her own 'annoyed professor' voice. This inflection was only one step below 'fear of God' in the hierarchy of Professor McGonagall voice inflections.

"Shut it, Ron," Harry shushed. "I'll just switch it back, okay?"

And he did.

It was in vain. Both of them were treated to Professor McGonagall's five-minute lecture from about single handled cups being no different from doughnuts in terms of their having only one hole – in the middle for the doughnut and in the handle for the cup. It was near the end of class, so Professor McGonagall ended her lecture by assigning Harry and Ron each a two-foot extra essay on the use of topology in Switching Spells.

Needless to say, neither of them was in a very good mood when Double Transfiguration ended.

Hermione fell in next to Harry, taking his hand. Ron took that as his signal to leave in a huff, as he still was not on speaking terms with Hermione.

Hermione began, "Well, I tried to tell you…."

"Don't you start on me, too," Harry sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, all right, I'll help you with that essay," she backed off. "It's exactly what I was talking about…."

"Later," Harry halted her as soon as he was sure Ron was out of earshot. "I really need to get back to the dormitory. Did you see what Ron was wearing around his neck?"

"Not very clearly, no," Hermione admitted.

"His chain had one of those Chinese-type symbols on it," he told her. "Like Cho's tattoo. I need to get one of those Pocket Pensieves and put this memory in it while it's as fresh as possible…."

He pulled Hermione into an alcove away from the path of student traffic. "Muffliato!"

"Harry, why are you so on edge?" Hermione asked.

"I want to compare that pendant to a couple of things," Harry explained. "I wonder…. Do you think Cho could be trying to control Ron with that pendant?"

Hermione mulled that over. "I doubt it, Harry. That would be extraordinarily risky. Besides, I think she has all the control she needs over Ron by virtue of her lack of virtue."

"Something's going on, and I don't know what it is," Harry insisted. "She's invited Ron to her parents' house for Chinese New Year, and Ron wants me to send his Felix Felicis potion for him to take while he's there…."

Hermione's eyebrows nearly shot through the top of her head. "And you agreed to that?"

"Umm … yeah," Harry admitted sheepishly. "He's my friend, and he said I was the only one he trusted to do it…."

"You know what he's planning, don't you? At minimum, he's going to declare for Cho, and he might even be thinking of proposing," Hermione surmised, her voice rising. "Ronald Weasley is not mature enough to do that."

"He's older than I am, and I've been engaged to you for more than a month," Harry pointed out.

"Age does not equal maturity, Harry," Hermione replied huffily, "and you will recall that my only hesitation was precisely that – the both of us being too young."

"Something you overcame, thank Merlin," Harry said as he pulled her close.

"I could never turn you down, Harry," Hermione responded, giving him a little kiss. "Not once I knew you were serious…."

"Sirius is dead, sorry to say," Harry replied. "I'm just in love…."

With that, Harry snogged her properly.

When they came up for air, Harry was – despite his pun – quite serious.

"I gave Ron my word," he said. "I won't go back unless there's a damn good reason. And with the New Year as a deadline, we need to have this sorted out before we leave on Holiday."

"Actually, we've more time than that," Hermione commented, biting her lower lip. "I don't know exactly when Chinese New Year is this year, but I can find out…."

"You mean it's not the same?" Harry asked, looking rather clueless.

"No, it's not," Hermione started to explain. "It's some sort of lunar thing, so it varies, but the Chinese New Year is always at least several weeks after the one we celebrate."

"But that would mean Ron's visit is after we get back from the Holiday," Harry observed. "How can he do that?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted, "but her family – probably her father – undoubtedly has some influence with the school. After all, Cho has permission to leave the school on weekends for special 'Chinese magic' courses, which I'll bet are recorded in Amsterdam or some such."

"At least we have a little more time," Harry sighed. In reality, they were scarcely further along than when they first began suspecting Cho. Whatever she was doing, it did not seem to be harming Ron. "I'm tempted to send that potion ahead to Blackwalls, simply so Ron doesn't take it into his head to ask her sooner."

Hermione had been thinking hard. "Whatever," she said vaguely. "Actually, it's not a bad idea. I'm having the Order send some stuff from my room at Headquarters along, too, if you don't mind…."

"What kind of stuff," Harry asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Mostly my pictures from Hong Kong," Hermione told him. "You haven't seen them, and I want you to. But also I want to take a closer look at some things…."

"And you think it'll help us with this Cho business?" Harry wondered.

"Can't say for sure, but it might," Hermione answered.

---

Harry rose early and spent a couple of hours in the Room of Requirement working on training exercises. When he finished, he could hardly wait to tell Hermione the good news. He found her, as usual, in their "spot" in the depths of the Library, checking both of their Arithmancy homework lessons – although she seemed to be daydreaming at the moment.

He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and crept up behind her.

She jumped as his invisible arms went around her. "Harry! You could get hexed that way!" she squealed. "Sneaking up on me like that whilst I'm studying."

"I'll take my chances," he whispered in her ear. "You don't seem all that studious right now, anyway."

"Actually, I'm not," she conceded, putting down the quill she had been absentmindedly twirling. "I've just thought of something…."

"Something other than I should next sneak up on you from under the table?" Harry slid both hands down to her hips and gave them a squeeze.

How had he known she had entertained almost that exact naughty idea? "Now there's a thought for late at night," she allowed whilst swinging her hair aside so Harry could nibble on her neck, "but not for now, unfortunately. Ooh…."

She quivered at his little nip.

"You're rather forward this morning."

Harry licked the nape of Hermione's neck. "I have something to tell you, too," he went on. "I did it. For the first time just a few minutes ago…."

"Did what?" Hermione asked. "And if this is another sex joke, I may just hex you anyway. We have to finish this Arithmancy homework."

"More important than sex, right now anyway," Harry suggested, backing away so she could turn around and face him.

"Wow! That's something for a male your age to say," Hermione replied saucily. "Are you sure you're not Professor Binns under Polyjuice?"

"Stuff doesn't work on ghosts; you know that," Harry replied. "Besides … sixteen."

"Fourteen what?" Hermione asked archly.

"Fourteen times I got you off one way or another in that goblin cave. Now you know I'm not Professor Binns," Harry answered. "And that's when I gave out, not you…."

"Harry! Not here. Besides I'm sure it's you from how you nibble my neck. Nobody else knows just how to do that," Hermione carried on.

"I should hope not," Harry grinned.

"Anyway, what's your news?" Hermione asked.

"What's yours?" Harry pressed.

"You first – I have a feeling mine will take longer," Hermione parried.

"Okay," Harry gave in. "Whenever I can find the time, I've been working on freezing spells ever since we discussed that Bose-Einstein stuff. Every morning I run in the Room, I set aside at least a quarter hour to work on the helium. I actually managed to liquefy it today."

Hermione clapped her hands together in glee. "You did? Are you sure?"

"Positive," Harry confirmed. "Damnedest stuff I ever saw. After the balloon broke, it flowed right up and over the edge of the cup … er … I'd stuck the balloon in a cup to hold it in place. It was that super … er … whatever you told me to look for…."

"Superfluidity," Hermione corrected.

"Yeah, that's it," Harry continued. "It dribbled all over until getting outside the area of my elemental magic, then, poof, it was gone."

Hermione gave Harry a hug around his waist. "That's wonderful, Harry! I know you'll get there. Were you using three or four?"

"Three or four what?" Harry asked blankly. "Number of times you got me off?"

"Helium, of course," Hermione replied prudishly. "Stay focussed, Harry."

"Helium whats?" Harry persisted.

"Isotopes," she replied. "Didn't you read that article I printed out for you from the Internet?"

"Umm…."

"You didn't, did you?"

"Not really," Harry confessed. "You know me, I'm better at doing it first and then getting you to explain what the hell I've done."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed. "It's important for you to use four, not three, since you're trying, ultimately, for the condensate. Not only that, it's easier, somewhat, since four goes liquid at a little higher temperature. But anyway … great job, Harry – even though you probably made things harder on yourself. Keep practising, please?"

"Anything for you," Harry replied. "You know that."

Still sitting, she buried her head in his middle as she gave him a huge hug.

"And your news?" Harry asked, as he tried to avoid thinking about sex again.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said as she sat up straight again. "Well, I've been thinking about the Sisters, and how we might contact them about the … you know…."

Both of them contemplated the swastika-imprinted gold bar stashed in Harry's trunk at the foot of his bed.

"…And, well, since their greatest strengths – or so I've read – lie in foretelling the future, as you saw in the Pensieve, I was thinking that I should put aside my prejudices for once."

"Prejudices about what?" Harry broke in.

"Well … Divination, actually," Hermione replied. "We should go ask…."

"No, Hermione," Harry cut across her. "I'm not having anything to do with bloody Trelawney. She's not only a fraud, but also too dependent upon Dumbledore after that run in with Umbridge last term…."

"Not Trelawney, you berk," Hermione huffed, miffed at being cut off. "I mean Firenze – and from the course schedule posted on Madam Pince's bulletin board, I believe he has a free period today around lunch, same as us."

"But the Headmaster's protecting him, too," Harry observed. "He can't go back to the forest. They'd kill him, they would."

"I don't think he'd tell if we asked him not to," Hermione answered. "I've considered that. He's more honest. If he couldn't accept our preconditions, he'd just refuse to help us."

And so Harry and Hermione found themselves, after their separate but simultaneous Arithmancy classes, walking cautiously down the ground floor corridor looking for the centaur's classroom. Having dropped Divination, Hermione had never seen it. Harry was out of Divination, too, after failing to muster more than a "Poor" on his O.W.L. He had not set foot there since last Term, and things tended to move about in the castle.

Harry reached what he supposed was the correct door and knocked. It opened by itself, and Harry smelled a fresh, outdoorsy forest smell – perpetually in late spring, it appeared – mixed with the fragrant odour of burning herbs.

Hermione quickly identified them as hyssop and cedar.

Hermione was impressed at the green canopy of magnificent trees and the shafts of xanthous sunshine that cut between them. The sunlight illuminated curlicues of pungent smoke that rose from abalone shells placed at odd locations, seemingly throughout the room.

"Umm … Firenze, are you…?" Harry's call died in his throat as the shockingly blond and blue-eyed palomino centaur cantered down a path towards them.

"Ah, yes, Harry Potter," the centaur spoke easily as he extended a hand. "And you must be Hermione Granger, the one who introduced Madam Umbridge to my tribe."

"The same," Hermione acknowledged. All centaurs had a certain regal presence about them, and she was briefly unsure whether she should curtsey. She felt the tug of Harry's hand on hers. Looking at him, she saw him subtly indicate that they should simply sit down, which they did on the cool and soft moss-covered floor.

Firenze trotted a small circle in front of them and sat – rear legs first and then his forelegs, until he faced them from a couple of metres away.

"Ah, yes, Venus is bright today," Firenze said in his calm, almost monotone, voice. "It can even be perceived in daylight, if one knows where to look." The centaur's upwardly raised arm indicated direction, but neither Harry nor Hermione could see anything through the dense branches.

"Please, lean back," Firenze directed. "Make yourself comfortable."

As if on cue, the room dimmed, and through the trees, they could now make out a whitish-yellow point of light that, unlike twinkling stars, shone steadily.

"Quite bright, indeed," Firenze commented easily. "But as always the heavens move. One must take care that the red one not eclipse it. The stars speak to no man, but they speak to all…."

Harry shot Hermione a look. She had never been treated to the centaur's more metaphysical musings. He could tell that, instead of paying attention to his Divination-related remarks, she was calculating how to move the conversation to the Sisters of the Moon.

Finally, she did.

"We've come because we need your help with a very serious matter," Hermione intimated. "It's confidential, and if you can help us, we'd ask that you not tell Professor Dumbledore."

"But the Headmaster should know about anything affecting his students," Firenze resisted.

"It's not about me as a student," Harry interjected, taking over from Hermione. "It's about my inheritance – not my studies, or anything else I do here."

"Go on," Firenze directed. His palomino tail swished back and forth, an indication of interest.

"I know that your form of Divination is rather … different … from what most of us humans do," Harry continued. "That much, at least, I got out of your class."

"Do not worry, young Potter," Firenze replied easily. "Your strengths lie elsewhere."

Harry went on. "Still, I was wondering, since it's all Divination of some sort, do you, you know, compare notes with other practitioners – of other forms of Divination, that is?"

"It is done," Firenze answered opaquely. "I am not in the habit of swapping technical points with … humans, since they are more interested in trivial pursuits like divining individual fortunes, outcomes of sporting events or the values of shares. That is truly nonsensical, since the skies are identical to all existing under them. Only the broader currents of history and fate do I, and the rest of my kind, seek to comprehend. Such currents cannot be changed, except at the margin."

"Well, we were hoping you might have some human contacts," Hermione offered. "It is just that we…."

"I would not sully myself to speak of such things with, say, Sibyll Trelawney," Firenze talked over her. "Indeed, I do not even discuss the teachings of the stars with Headmaster Dumbledore, although he has inquired."

"We're not talking about anybody in the Castle, at least I don't think so," Harry tried again. "We need to get contact a group of seers and I don't know what else, called the Sisters of the Moon."

Instinctively, Firenze leaned back just a bit. His tail bobbed into view. "Well, well, well … that is certainly … different," he allowed. "The Sisters…. While they occasionally engage in soothsaying of a sort to which we do not stoop, they do practise the art on a … higher level … than most of your kind."

"So you do know about them?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"I know of them," Firenze corrected. "Within my herd, I was never privy to our exchanges with the Sisters. You must go to Magorian. He holds the position of first amongst equals. He knows."

"But the centaurs in the forest, they were ready to kill us the last time we were dumb enough to go in there," Harry protested.

"I'm afraid I might have insulted them," Hermione added.

"You, Miss Granger, are correct. As for the Sisters, I have nothing more to add, as I know not of them save by reputation," Firenze spoke with finality. "Magorian knows, and he, unlike me, owes nothing to Headmaster Dumbledore."

"You're telling us to go there," Harry said carefully. "By that, do you think they won't hurt us?"

"The heavens are always changing," Firenze answered obscurely, as he rose, first to his haunches and then to his feet, "as is the world. Things are not as they once were, nor will they be as they are now. If you seek the Sisters, and wish to avoid Dumbledore, you must entreat Magorian."

With that, the centaur loped off, the interview obviously over.

"Magorian, eh," Harry shook his head as he closed the classroom door. "Think I should do this one alone? After all, you were right – you did insult them…."

"Harry, you never have to do anything alone again," Hermione responded with more emotion than he expected. "That's the whole point, isn't it? That's one reason – one of many – why I said, 'yes'."

"But I think I may be better suited for this," Harry persisted. "The centaurs might even like me a little now, with that sentient being treaty. Maybe that's what Firenze meant about things changing. Besides, I wouldn't want us both to get captured. There'd be nobody left to get help."

"All right," Hermione conceded reluctantly, "but do talk to Hagrid before you go gallivanting off into the Forbidden Forest. He knows more about them than anyone."

---

The weekend had arrived – and for once Harry had an off day with nothing he had to do and nowhere he had to go. The day was, in short, perfect for snogging and chatting with Hermione, but the fates were cruel. His fiancée had to accompany Madam Pomfrey to St. Mungo's hospital in London.

Harry knew better than to pry into patient confidences. He knew only that the two were consulting with Healer Huxley and several other of the St. Mungo's staff, one of whom Harry supposed was Hippocrates Smethwyck.

Harry made this guess because he knew Hermione was researching treatment for lycanthropy, possibly a breakthrough.

Befitting the subject of Hermione's mission, Tonks was her escort and handled security for the trip. More than that, Harry was not privy, except that Hermione did agree to take along a couple of Slamdor's goblins.

Since Hermione had suggested it, Harry began the morning with a visit to Hagrid. He found the half-giant (not that Hagrid was hard to spot) busily skinning a pile of dead ferrets. In a new pen about halfway between his cabin and the lakeshore, Harry noticed two unfamiliar Hippogriffs.

Harry knew through the grapevine that, after the Ministry incident and Lucius Malfoy's ensuing disgrace, Hagrid had requested and received permission to return Hippogriffs to the third year and above Care of Magical Creatures curriculum.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry called out from about fifteen metres distance.

"'Arry!" Hagrid replied enthusiastically. With his bare hands, he yanked the fur off the ferret he had been gutting and tossed the pelt onto a pile next to one of his largest pumpkins. "What brings yeh down 'ere … an' alone, too. Don' see yeh by yerself much anymore. 'Ermione's allrigh' ain't she?"

"Oh, she's fine," Harry answered. "She's off with Pomfrey to St. Mungo's this morning, and I'm … well I had some time, so I thought I'd come see you."

"Always 'appy ta see yeh," Hagrid welcomed. "Pull up a … pumpkin or somethin' an' 'ave a seat." Hagrid tossed the ferret carcass in the general direction of one of the Hippogriffs, which deftly caught it in its beak.

Harry looked around, and instead parked himself on the low stone fence surrounding the half-giant's garden. "How's Aragog?" he asked.

Hagrid's face darkened. "On 'is last legs, I'm afraid. Don' think there's anythin' anybody can do fer 'im now. Jess a matter o' time…."

Hagrid's eyes started tearing up at the thought of the elephantine arachnid's impending death. "Raised 'im from an egg, I did…."

Hagrid pulled a large blue and white polka-dotted handkerchief from a pocket in his moleskin coat, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose loudly.

Harry did not share Hagrid's fond memories. Aragog had once authorised his brood to eat him and Ron. Without a most timely automotive intervention, that probably would have been a sticky end for them both.

"Aragog's the king … or whatever … of the Acromantulæ, isn't he?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"More like 'ead o' the family, but yeah, he's been in charge," Hagrid answered morosely.

Harry had another question. "Who takes over when he dies, then?"

"Don' even wanna think 'bout it," Hagrid groaned. "I reckon the next level o' males will fight it out, an' the winner'l eat the losers. That's 'ow it usually goes."

"You told me once that Aragog kept his … er … family from killing people – or at least those that, unlike me, didn't go looking for trouble," Harry remembered. "Will that end when he dies?"

"Damn … yer probably right," Hagrid shuddered. "Didn' think 'bout that. Looks like there's goin' ta be another reason why the forest's forbidden."

"What do they eat now?" Harry wondered.

"Jess 'bout anythin' they can catch," Hagrid told him. "Deer, rats an' other regular animals, mostly. Wolves an' dogs, too…. They'll take an injured Thestral iffn they can. They've even been known ta run off with centaur foals…. Won' touch unicorns, though."

That was Harry's opening for the discussion he wanted to have with Hagrid. "The centaurs can't like that very much."

"Spect they don'," Hagrid agreed. "Also another reason they don' like me much no more. Now that the colony's got a taste for 'em, I can' stop 'em. Even Aragog wouldn' listen to me 'bout that."

"If they start going after students, we'll have a big problem," Harry pointed out. "Isn't there something we could do to, you know, get rid of them?"

Hagrid sighed. "After more'n fifty years? Doubt it. Too many o' 'em now. It'd take an army ta drive 'em out. There's jess too many. I 'spose I wasn't all that bright getting' Aragog a mate – but 'e whinged so bloody much…. The Ministry's gonna 'ave me 'ide yet."

Hmmmm…. Harry suddenly grasped the makings of a plan – even before broaching the main subject of his visit.

It was time for that.

"Hagrid, I need to talk to Magorian," he cut to the chase

"Why'd yeh wanna do that?" Hagrid asked gruffly. "He's better'n most o' 'em, but 'e's still a bloody centaur. Struts sittin' down as well as standin' up, they all do. 'Alf man an' 'alf 'orse's arse, I say."

Harry had invented an excuse on the walk down and used it. "I want to sound him out about maybe helping against Voldemort…."

"Don' you say that name 'round me," Hagrid recoiled. "No need ta do that."

"…or at least stay neutral," Harry added. "I discussed this with Hermione, and she reminded me that the equality clause I added to the goblin treaty covers centaurs."

"That's a fine thing yeh did there, 'Arry … a fine thing," Hagrid replied, pulling out his hanky again. When done, he continued. "But I doubt the bloody centaurs are interested in bein' equal. They already think they's better'n us anyhows."

"You may be right, Hagrid, but I ought at least to try," Harry laid it on.

"Oh, all right," Hagrid huffed. "But yeh oughta go alone. They don' like me much, nor 'Ermione neither, I've 'eard. No use exposin' anybody else. Yeh know which path ta take?"

"I figure it's the one you showed us when we had detention with Malfoy, way back in first year," Harry replied.

"Long time ago…," Hagrid responded wistfully, tugging on his wiry beard. "Yeah, that'll do. Iffn yeh keep on goin' past where we ran inta trouble that night, yeh'll reach a fork. Take the left side. In less'n a mile, you'll find a clearin' we've used fer parlays every now an' then over the years. Got white stones 'round the edges. That's where Dumbledore got 'em ta give up Umbridge rather than feed 'er ta Aragog's kin. Use yer wand ta shoot up white sparks iffn they haven' spotted yeh already. Actually…."

"What, Hagrid?" Harry asked as the half-giant paused.

"Yeh probably oughtta go with 'im," Hagrid thought out loud. "That's the ticket.… The 'Eadmaster's probably the best yeh could 'ave with yeh iffn yer tryin' ta negotiate anythin' with that bunch o' nags…."

"Yeah, I'll make sure to do that. You can count on it," Harry blatantly lied. "I'll take care of it."

Once done from his chat with Hagrid, Harry decided it to hazard a talk with Ron, since Cho was also away on one of her off-site "Chinese Magic" lessons – probably having nothing to do with either Chinese or magic. After Ron's "discussion" with Hermione, Harry thought he should reconfirm that Ron wanted him to have custody of his phial of Felix Felicis potion. Maybe Ron would take it back….

Unfortunately, Harry and Ron were not around each other very much anymore, and Harry did not know where Ron might be. Ron had been spending a lot of time with Seamus and Dean, but they were not to be found either.

Harry asked after Ron with whoever happened to be in the common room. Nobody had any idea save Romilda Vane.

"You might try the music dungeon," she told Harry. "That's where Seamus and Dean might be anyway – I heard them talking about it. I might even drop by, once I get this Astronomy essay finished."

"Er … where's that?" Harry asked. In over five years at Hogwarts, this was the first he had heard about a music dungeon.

"Oh, that's right," Romilda added somewhat sarcastically. "You wouldn't have anything to do with magical instruments … no, she's too much of a purist for that."

"Put a cork in it, Rommy," Harry complained. "I like music just fine, I just didn't think Dumbledore did – at least not enough to put it on the curriculum."

Romilda made a face in Harry's general direction, but softened at his looking cute when confronted with a girl being difficult. "All right, Harry, just because it's you…. At the landing for the dungeon level, instead of turning right towards the Potions classroom and the Slytherin common room, go left. Pass the house elves' quarters and the kitchens and turn right at the self portrait of Oswald the Amorphous. It's just down that hall. You can't miss it. If there's anybody there, you'll hear them."

Harry gave her a brief smile. "Thanks, Rommy."

"Ron's been hanging out there a lot recently," she added brightly. "I play too, you know. If you can wait maybe forty-five minutes for this homework, I'll even take you there…."

She was giving Harry an appraising look that made him feel nervous – if he let her lead the way, there might be some detour. "Maybe some other time," he said noncommittally, and was off.

Romilda's directions were quite sufficient. As Harry passed the self portrait – which looked rather like the Dursley's bathroom mirror following someone's overly long, hot shower – he heard some interesting music, quite different from anything he'd previously encountered. It was rock and roll but not exactly….

It was also winding down.

"Stand up for your rights…. Get up, stand up…. Don't give up the fight…."

Before Harry reached the door, the last chord had sounded. From the doorway, he saw Dean Thomas, his hair in what looked like a Gryffindor bandanna but including a green streak, fiddling with a large electric guitar.

Seamus had a left-handed bass slung around his neck. He was facing the other way, laughing at somebody's joke.

A seventh-year Hufflepuff, Titania Prod, was barely visible behind a massive drum set.

Kevin Entwhistle from Ravenclaw was running his fingers up and down an enchanted keyboard.

Tabitha Moon, whom Harry knew only as a Hufflepuff Beater, was choosing another guitar from a selection of over a dozen that hung on the wall.

Even a Slytherin was present – Van Lingle Park, the off-beat Beater who had nearly killed one of his team-mates in the recently concluded match. He had some brassy looking instrument hanging near his waist that Harry recognised, but could not name.

A couple of other people lounged around whom Harry did not know at all.

"Well, I'll be blowed," Dean called out. "If it isn't the Great One himself. Harry, welcome to our own private den of iniquity…. Are you lost or something?"

All eyes turned towards the interloper. "Umm … I was looking for Ron, actually. Somebody said he might be here – but I had no idea what 'here' was."

"This here's the Music Dungeon, mate," Seamus told him. "Lots of us who ain't involved in saving the world and such like … well, we end up here, playing our favourite tunes."

"Well … umm … it doesn't look like Ron's here," Harry responded haltingly, not sure whether he was welcome or not.

"Oh, you can stay. He might show up," came a voice through an open door at the back of the room. A flush sounded, and Harry realised it was a unisex loo. Marcus Belby stepped out. "You can slum with us for a bit, if you like…."

Harry was tempted, but afraid of making a fool of himself. "I-I-I don't know how to play anything…."

"But that's the beauty of it," Dean told him. "The magic does the work. We don't have to know anything about playing, except to keep our fingers moving…."

"And legs," added Titania's laughing voice from deep within the drum set. She let loose with a fifteen-second riff.

"…Yeah, and legs," Dean acknowledged. "Nice ones, those…. Anyway, the fun part's programming the music into the instruments' magic."

"Umm … okay, I'll try," Harry agreed. "After I saw Remus … er … Professor Lupin, at the ceremony, I really was jealous of his being able to play."

"Oh, hell, he can't play a lick, either," Seamus told Harry. "Those were magical pipes…. I think they're over there somewhere. He was in here beforehand, and we jammed some."

"Something easy, then," Harry suggested.

"Here, take my guitar," Dean offered. "I could use a break anyway … been here since eight this morning. You right-wanded…?"

Dean showed Harry how to wear and hold the guitar. "Ready?" he asked.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Harry replied nervously.

"On four, then," Dean told everyone. "Fumeus in æquora."

Somewhere to his left, Tabitha's drums began a light beat.

Abruptly Harry's hands started moving without his brain's authorisation. The guitar was making slow, but recognisable chords. Harry could feel them vibrating though him….

Bom bom bom…, bom bom ba-dom…. Bom bom bom, bom bommm….

That went on for a bit, then Harry heard the low sound of Seamus' bass joining in.

Then somebody, Harry wasn't sure who, started singing. "We all came out to Montreaux, on the Lake Geneva shoreline…."

Although it was the first time Harry had ever played any musical instrument, save a recorder in primary, by the song's end, Harry was almost bored with it. He did not have to do much beyond repeating the same set of notes over and over again….

"Well, you asked for simple, man," Dean laughed when Harry made that comment. "There's nothing simpler than 'Smoke on the Water'."

"Well, maybe something not quite so simple," Harry replied, feeling vaguely euphoric that – even with a huge amount of magical help – he had actually caused something to play recognisable music.

"One bloody song and he's already making requests," Park commented, and then let out a loud laugh.

"Oh, it's all right," Dean said jauntily. "It's not every day we get Harry Potter in concert, after all. Here, try this."

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Rhythm guitar," Dean explained as he Summoned a solid black, somewhat smaller electric guitar. "You'll get to play something a little more complicated, but still not really hard. Just be ready, 'cause you'll find yourself with some rather strange lead ins. Let the magic flow through, and you'll be fine."

Dean made some a couple of hand motions to the others in the room.

"Yeah, you'll like this one, Potter," Van Lingle chuckled as he also switched to another guitar. "Fits you."

"Like a glove," commented Kevin, adjusting another, rather angular, guitar.

Harry had little time to be annoyed at what he supposed were snarky digs at him, because Dean was counting down.

"Ready? One, two, three, four…. Celebritas!"

Now this was more interesting. While still a repetitive motion, it was more herky-jerky and complex. At times his fingers felt like they were flying over the guitar strings. Several other instruments joined in, and Harry felt like he was part of the band, instead of some sort of potted plant.

Seamus sang this one, "Fame!" he sang and everyone else (except Harry) echoed him. "Makes a man take things over. Fame – fame – lets him loose, hard to swallow…."

The first of the odd rhythm guitar entries hit him, and Harry lost track of the lyrics. The funky beat made him want to bounce up and down. Soon he even joined in the one-word "fame" echoes. All too soon, it was over.

"That was cool," Harry enthused when they finished. "What was it?"

"You never heard that before?" Titania challenged him.

"No. It was good, but unless it was on my cousin's or my Aunt's play list, I never heard it before," Harry explained.

"You, sir, have had a sorely subpar musical upbringing," Kevin grinned at him. "That might have been the best thing ole Ziggy Stardust ever wrote."

"Who?"

Everyone groaned.

"No, not the Who. That's David Bowie for the newbie. You wanna try something else?" Seamus offered. "Here, try this bass…. Umm, actually not, since you're not left hand."

Somebody Summoned a very large instrument with the longest neck Harry had ever seen. "That's a bass?" Harry asked.

"Bass … lead bass," chimed in a boy wearing Hufflepuff colours whom Harry didn't know.

"Right, got that double-nought seven?" Seamus joked.

"Think so," Harry replied a little uncertainly as Seamus showed him how to handle this monster.

"Another oldie but goodie, then?" Dean looked over the motley crew. "We'll only need three for this."

"Don't you play anything recent?" Harry asked naively.

He was met with a chorus of boos.

"Techno sux."

"It's for ickle firsties."

"Disco killed rock and roll."

"Nothing good since me pop pop went to school."

"Actually that's not true."

"Oh, yeah? Name one."

"Two letters," Seamus broke in. "U-2."

"Oh, right."

"Never insult the Irish."

"But one of those was a number."

"Oh, shut yer gob."

"Anyway get your arses together, because we're ready to go over here," Dean yelled over the general din. "Paranoius!"

Once again Harry's hands took off and a throbbing, lightning fast beat of six sets of short licks followed by two longer sets rocketed through his hands. By the second time through Harry gasped.

This song, he knew.

This song – dangerous and depressing – might set him off, if anything could.

It was one of Dudley's favourites, and Harry had turned to it when he had thought all was lost – to expel an infection from his body that might otherwise have killed him.

But now – his life had been transformed. All was no longer lost.

"Finished with my woman 'cause she couldn't help me with my mind…."

"Aaauugghh, finite!" Harry screamed out. His bass at once fell silent, which essentially killed the song, since the bass riffs carried it.

"Geeze, what was that for?" Seamus complained. "We were just getting rolling…."

"What's-a matter, Potter, couldn't handle it?" came a new voice from near the door. Romilda Vane, as promised, had arrived.

"It's just…. that song brings back … very bad memories," Harry muttered tersely, sounding a bit wrung out. "Memories so bad – that it's best I don't think about them…."

"Well, we'll just have to stay away from any more Black Sabbath, I guess," Titania called out. "Break here. Rommy, you wanna take over?"

"Sure," Romilda said. She Banished her outer robes, which flew to one of the pegs by the door. Underneath she wore a tight scarlet halter top with a pair of glaringly orange spots approximately over her points. She jumped in behind the drums. "Never had a chance to play with Potter before. Gotta keep him happy."

Harry had already thought the dungeon rather warm. It felt even hotter now.

"Well, I've an idea," Dean let on. "We can use just about everybody on this one. Somebody convert the keyboards to chimes. We'll need that second guitar…. And grab those funky percussions…. I'll do vocals, since it's rap…."

"Rap? Yuck!" somebody protested.

"You'll like this one," Dean promised. "Harry, nice funky bass riff for you."

"One, two, three, four..." He screamed as loudly as he could. "Magnifice septimanus!"

This was the most entertaining song Harry had yet played – and quite long, too. The bass riff was lively, and Harry started to let loose a bit, rather than stand in one place and try to manage the magic. He started to move with the music, walk around a little, swing that big, long bass in time with the rhythm pounding in his chest.

The words were strange; probably why Dean was doing nothing but singing. It started out about going to work – and hating it, but moved on to Hong Kong dollars, lobsters, cowboys, even Karl Marx and Socrates.

Harry was really into it when it ended.

"Look at him – moving to the grooving," Romilda jibed appreciatively. "Maybe there's a cure for white man's disease after all…."

"Yeah, Harry … I didn't know you could let your hair down like that – too busy running with Dumbledore and counting those Galleons, I thought…." Titania echoed the sentiments. The girls were quicker with compliments than the boys.

"I know," Van Lingle said somewhat more snidely. "Let's let Potter pick. Maybe he can even sing more than one bloody word."

"Nope, can't sing to save my life," Harry demurred to the last suggestion. "Not unless you know a spell" – 'like Hermione had,' he thought. "I'd drive all the magic out of the room."

"'Fraid not. But go ahead and pick," the Slytherin persisted.

Harry thought. "Oh, all right, how about 'Something,' by the Beatles?"

Non-starter. Once again, everybody groaned.

"Sorry, Potter," Dean told him, "but if Sinatra can cover it, this crowd doesn't play it."

Harry was instantly embarrassed. Just when he was starting to fit in, he had to do something that showed why, fundamentally, he did not. "Umm … how about 'Gimme Shelter,' then."

"Fine by me," Dean concurred.

"Let's do it, then," Van agreed. "Capital choice, Potter. I've got piano."

"Potter, you should take lead rhythm for this one," Kevin decided. "Don't worry about what that is – you'll see. It'll give a chance for a little solo action, if you're up to it."

Harry was.

"I'll take the female vocals," Romilda volunteered. "You sure you don't want to sing lead, Potter?"

"Positive."

"Sufficio perfugium!" Dean incanted. From somewhere in the back the telltale percussion started.

That was even better than "Magnificent Seven," because Harry's guitar was more essential to the song. As the various instruments joined in, it was like the players coming out, one after another, at the Quidditch World Cup.

Harry was exhilarated. He completely forgot about time, or looking for Ron. After "Gimme Shelter," he picked up the odd brass instrument that Park was playing when Harry first walked in. It was a saxophone. After Harry vetoed another Stones song, "Live With Me," because of the lyrics, they played "Born To Run," and Harry got his first true solo.

After that, Harry played lead guitar on "Where the Streets Have No Name" and a Beatles song the group deigned to play, "Helter Skelter." Then he switched to piano for a song Dudley had called "Teenage Wasteland," but this crowd called "Baba O'Riley." He tried drums for "Smells Like Teen Spirit," but found he liked making tunes rather than just noise. Harry went back to keyboards/synthesiser on "Won't Get Fooled Again."

These blue-collar wizards were a Who crowd.

After they played quite a few songs, Harry gave voice to a peculiarity he noticed. "Why are these all Muggle songs?" he asked. "There's No Weird Sisters, no Warbeck…. My Muggle cousin could just as easily have picked these songs – not that he would have…."

Dean, who acted as the unofficial spokesperson for everyone, answered. "Well, the problem with the magical songs is that they're already composed for magical instruments. The real challenge here isn't the playing – the instruments do that. Rather, it's enchanting the instruments to play the damn songs in the first place. That's why we always work with Muggle songs."

Harry shrugged. He had no reason to doubt what Dean said. However much the others might play at catering to him, he was only a visitor here. Waiting for the others to decide what to do next, he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, having long since discarded his robes due to heat and exertion. The dungeon could definitely use better Cooling Charms.

Harry thought Dean was joking when he pulled an outrageous looking instrument – a guitar with two necks – off the wall and handed it to him. "Think you're up to something downright difficult, Potter."

"How the hell do you play something like this?" Harry asked, wiping the sweat from his brow as he eyed the thing.

"Beats me – the magic does it," Dean said. "Go ahead; let's see what you're really made of."

"All right," Harry took up the good-natured challenge and slipped on the double-necked guitar. "What are we going to do, now, then?"

"Oh, we'll just see what's taller – your shadow or your soul."

Harry didn't catch that, but it elicited comments of "all right" and "let's rock" from the other witches and wizards present – and a scramble for the various other instruments.

"Scala ab ætherius!"

Even the beginning guitar notes, almost acoustic, didn't seem like anything particularly special. His fingers had gone through a far more intricate set of motions with both "Gimme Shelter" and "Streets with No Name."

Harry figured out what was coming when Kevin started to sing, "There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold, and she's buying a stairway to heaven…."

He had heard this song before – a lot – on the Muggle radio…. And now he was going to play both guitar pieces.

It was a long song – a long and complicated song. When it finally finished, Harry was more than ready for a break. With all the ribbing and back-and-forth, and the time it took to set up between songs, he had been playing for a couple of hours at least.

Or so he thought.

That was split second before he heard a familiar voice from down the hall. "That was very good – really. Before you start the next song can any of you tell me if you've seen…?"

Hermione strode into view.

"…Harry?"

"Hi, Hermione," Harry said sheepishly, the double-necked electric guitar around his neck seeming more monstrous by the second.

"Harry? That was … you … I was hearing?" she asked.

"Umm … yeah," he admitted. "Partly."

"You've been found out, mate."

"All hail perfection plus."

"Playtime's over."

Hermione put her hands on her hips and faced this lot. These were what she would call the "Hogwarts chronic underachievers" if she bothered to call them anything.

"Don't blame us, we're just the band," Seamus tried to joke. He had never joked with Hermione before.

"Actually, I thought that was rather splendid," she allowed with a semi-smile on her face.

Harry was amazed. "You … did … er … do?"

"Yes, you've wanted to play something at least since you heard Remus at Sirius' homegoing…. Well, maybe not that," she added, gesturing at the double-necked guitar Harry was cradling, "but something that can let you be musical when you want."

"Why don't you show her what you can do?" Kevin piped up.

"That's bang on; you've had plenty of practice by now," Tabitha said from her place behind the keyboards.

Dean gave Seamus a look – and received a conspiratorial nod in return. "All right, then, I for one think Harry's up for it. Are you ready to play something for your best girl?"

"Umm … yeah," Harry said, with his eyes partially glazed.

"Well, I know just the song," Dean declared.

"Does it sound nice?" Harry asked.

"If you play it that way," Dean responded. "You've got some leeway on this one."

The other people in the room seemed to have an unspoken understanding about what was to happen – as to which both Harry and Hermione were blissfully ignorant.

The usual jostling took place as everyone chose instruments. Harry, with his eyes only for Hermione (much to Romilda's disgust, as he had not noticed in the slightest how she had been covertly shrinking her clothing for the past hour), did not pay attention as two of the others, in addition to him, selected guitars.

Dean took a bright red pointy looking guitar from the wall, hefted it a couple of times, and handed it to Harry.

Hermione looked on, content on one level, but suspicious on another. She had noticed Romilda – even if Harry had not.

"Play it pretty for Hermione, now," Romilda called out sarcastically.

A moment later, Dean incanted, "Libera avis!"

The magic infused his fingers, and Harry found himself playing an almost achingly saccharine slide guitar.

Dean handled the singing. "If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me? For I must be travelling on, now, 'cause there's too many places I've got to see…."

It was a rather sad song, but as it continued, Harry grew progressively less happy with the lyrics. He tried to compensate by infusing his emotion into the instrument's magic. The result was less than satisfactory, as the magically inspired guitar almost seemed to be singing to Hermione.

But those bloody words.

"Bye, bye, it's been a sweet love…."

"Dean," Harry stated clearly over the music. "I don't want to play this song – not for her. It's not right…."

Dean heard Harry. "Bloody hell," he muttered.

Unfortunately, Harry did not know the significance of "Freebird" in the Music Dungeon.

Before Harry could do anything that would end things, Dean waved his wand in an up-and-over motion that modified the incantation, "Finale!"

Hermione shot Dean one of her "you can't possibly be serious" looks.

Dean ignored her, singing, "…Fly high freeeeee biiiiird!"

Harry thought his guitar had gone crazy.

If it were possible for guitars to stampede, that was what had happened. The magic at his fingertips suddenly had his fingers moving faster than they had ever moved before. He had certainly never cast a spell this fast.

His other hand flying across the frets, Harry was soon reduced to desperately trying to hold on to the bloody instrument with no idea what it was going to do next.

He caught a glimpse of Hermione, whose face betrayed not only concern, but more than a little bemusement, as his out-of-his-control fingers picked their way through an almost impossibly fast (and almost impossibly high) series of notes. No sooner than that cascade of music had passed, then one of the other musicians answered with a blue streak of his (or hers, it was impossible for Harry to look behind him) own.

And it seemed to go on that way forever.

Harry's wrists and hands ached from extreme overexertion. His fingertips fairly cried out in pain as the strings tore at them as his fingers tore through the music.

He was almost positive he would need some of Essence of Murtlap when this thing was finally over.

Harry was not even running on epinephrine now. He was hanging on through sheer bloody-mindedness. If the rest of this group could stand doing this, he was damn sure not to be the one slacker amongst them.

When it could not possibly get any worse, it did. His fingers felt like they were burning as they charged through the music so fast that the individual notes were almost indistinguishable.

And then all of a sudden, it was over.

And somebody was laughing.

Harry was simply too knackered to care, but Hermione's face went pale.

The laughing grew louder. "Bloody hell, I'm damn sorry I missed it!" chortled the voice. "Who'd you initiate this time…?"

Almost doubled over with mirth, Ron stumbled into the room. The first person he set eyes on was – Hermione.

She was leaning over the second person he saw – Harry, on his knees under the weight of his exhaustion and the guitar.

Ron was astounded. "Shite! That was you, Harry? How long have you…?"

"Ronald, be quiet and help me get this thing off of him," Hermione snapped as she pointed her wand at the strap that held the magical guitar from around Harry's neck.

"Relax, Hermione." Ron came over and easily lifted the instrument so she could slip off the strap. Ron Levitated the guitar away. Harry groaned in pain as Hermione first examined, and then cast spells on, his torn and bleeding fingertips.

Ron was uncomfortable being around Hermione, especially when she was busy fussing over Harry. She could get very territorial about him…. In that respect, Hermione was little different from Cho.

Evidently, most of the other denizens of the Hogwarts Music Dungeon agreed. This became a convenient time to take five, or at minimum gave Hermione a wide berth.

Once Ron could tell that Harry was coming around, he could hold himself back no longer. "Since when have you been coming down here?"

"Just this morning, Ron. I was looking for you," Harry explained tetchily. "Rommy said you might be down here."

Ron reflexively ran his left hand through his hair the way he did when agitated. "This morning! I don't believe it! I mean, it took more than two bloody weeks before they initiated me."

"Well, remember that you couldn't tell 'Layla' from 'Lola' when you started," Dean snorted.

"Yeah, Harry at least showed some taste," Seamus joined in, "sometimes, anyway."

Ron was plainly frustrated – and jealous. "Dammit, Harry," he blurted angrily. "Why do you have to do every bloody thing … effing better than me?"

Hermione looked like she was ready to explode, but Harry beat her to it. "Ron, I came here looking for you – and I still need to talk to you…. Now, and in private."

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder. "Please, Hermione," Harry asked. "I really need to talk to him alone…. I'll come find you afterwards."

She bit her lip and nodded.

Harry pushed himself to his feet, looked at Ron and made a silent head movement indicating that he the other boy should follow him.

A little while later, they had reached an empty classroom that was half filled with piles of old desks and other furniture. No sooner had Ron entered than Harry rounded on him.

"Ron, a few weeks ago you practically begged me to keep that Felix Felicis potion for you," he began. "That was before all this crap – whatever went on between Hermione and Cho, the Quidditch problems, McGonagall – happened. Do you still want me to do this anymore? Do you really trust me anymore? Because right now I'm not sure you do."

Harry had expected Ron to respond with fury. Instead Ron went thoughtful. After a few seconds, he answered. "No … it's not that I don't trust you. I still think that, if you promise me you'll do something, you'll do it. It's just that you – and her, too … her even more, actually – dammit, it's just … just by now you do everything better than me…."

So, it was the green-eyed monster again.

"Ron, it's not like I tried this morning," Harry tried to tell the boy he still thought of as his best friend. "I was simply looking for you, and well … they invited me to play…."

"That's not the point," Ron replied glumly. "You're Harry fricking Potter. Of course, they'll invite you. All of us down there – we're a bunch of slackers, that's what we are. We're not Head material. We, well, except for me, don't stand a prayer of getting any Orders of Merlin, or even better than Es in our classes. We don't have appointments with Dumbledore or McGonagall. We don't make the Prophet…. The wizards you saw in there, Hell, they were tickled you'd even spend time with them."

"Then why are you there?" Harry asked rather coldly.

"The truth?" Ron scowled. "It's because Hermione can't stand Cho, and won't admit that she's wrong in whatever she did to her … or in anything. And you don't care much for Cho either – after she dropped you for me. Like I said, nothing I do is good enough…. And you think you always have to save me, like with McGonagall and Quidditch the other day."

Harry let the last dig go – it only confirmed what he thought was going on. "It's not that we look down on Cho," he struggled with how to put it so the secret would not come out. "It's just that we're worried, that there's more than meets the eye…. I mean, where is she now?"

Ron went rather red in the face at the inquiry. "If you bloody well must know, she takes a long-distance Portkey every Saturday morning to Soho, in London, where her father meets her to train under some traditional Chinese wizard. I saw her off this morning. It's arranged, between her dad and Flitwick – who was also there by the way – so you and Hermione can just stop worrying about me…. Now can you just drop this?"

"But, off-site training…?"

"I'm not all that happy about it either, okay?" Ron snorted. "But now that she's of age, her father requires training in traditional Chinese stuff that Hogwarts doesn't teach. Her father wouldn't send her here without it, and like it or not, Cho does what her father wants…. And that's why I want you to keep the potion. I'll need to get lucky on New Years if face-to-face he's anything like how Cho talks about him."

"So you still want me to do this?"

"I still want you to do this … because I know that if Hermione tries to stop you, you'll at least have the decency to tell me first…. Now, Ginny…. That devious little harpy wouldn't think twice about nicking and tossing it – or even using it for her own purposes," Ron spat.

"Hermione's already said I shouldn't do this for you," Harry revealed. "I told her I'd promised…."

"Well, there you are," Ron immediately pounced. "That's why I trust you."

---

Harry and Hermione talked, thus Harry found himself, early the next morning, treading through melting slush from an early season snow storm, on the familiar path that passed by Hagrid's hut on its way to the Forbidden Forest.

Actually, the pair did a lot more than talk, but what happens in the Prefects' Bathroom stays in the Prefects' bathroom. That's what the Silver and Gold Charm was for, after all….

One problem was that Hagrid was congenitally incapable of keeping a secret – even when sober. Firenze was stronger, but less likely to feel any obligation to keep secrets from his employer. If Harry was to make contact with the centaurs without the Headmaster's involvement and interference, it was best to act sooner rather than later.

Following Hagrid's instructions, Harry entered the Forbidden Forest. Instead of heading straight back, the way Hermione had led Umbridge to her comeuppance, he took the wider path to the right that more or less parallelled the forest's edge. Moving more quickly with less snow beneath the trees, he passed the low-lying glade where he and Hagrid (and Malfoy, but who cared about him) found a dead unicorn all those years ago.

Continuing on, he was soon in unfamiliar territory. Harry came to the fork Hagrid mentioned, and took the left-side path this time – deeper into the forest. It was less of a path now than a narrow track. He pushed his way through brambles and past seasonally dead blackberry thickets. With the damp weather, it was quite boggy, slowing him down. Harry could not help but notice the numerous hoofprints that made the mud worse for humans like him.

A familiar frisson went up Harry's spine. It was déjà vu. He felt an eerie sensation that out there, not very far away, hidden eyes were watching his every move. He tried to pick up his pace. While by no means acting deliberately noisy, as Hermione had last June, Harry was not particularly trying for stealth either. He did not want his unseen audience thinking he was sneaking around.

He simply hoped the centaurs would let him reach the parlay point before showing themselves.

Harry got his wish. The narrow muddy path with underbrush grabbing at him now opened into an equally muddy clearing – bounded by light granite stones set at approximately equal intervals. Harry slogged to the largest of the stones. He pulled out his wand and shot a stream of white sparks into the air, as Hagrid had instructed. Then he placed his wand on the stone, stepped about a metre away from it, and waited.

His wait was brief. Within thirty seconds two centaurs cantered into the clearing. Their bows held arrows, but their bowstrings were slack and not aimed at Harry. The senior centaur, a gray-bodied specimen with a stony gaze, demanded, "What brings you into our forest, human?" Harry recognised him, and his deep but vaguely wheezy voice, from last June's encounter.

"I-I wish to speak to … Magorian about … er … matters of mutual interest," Harry said, not sounding nearly as confident as he hoped he would.

"A parlay? Why should we be interested in anything you have to say?" the gray centaur replied haughtily. "You are but a foal."

"I'm not that young," Harry protested without raising his voice. "And I speak not only for myself, but for another intelligent race like yourselves." With that, Harry extended his hand so the gray-coated centaur could see his Manmak. The look of comprehension in the centaur's eyes spoke volumes to Harry.

"Samar?" the other centaur, a younger brindled male with a full blond-streaked beard, spoke for the first time. "Could he be the human of whom the goblins speak?"

"Perhaps," the gray centaur answered, eyeing Harry more carefully, "However, I believe he is one of last summer's trespassers, along with that presumptuous girl and the obnoxious witch who should have been fed to the spiders…." Addressing Harry directly, the one called Samar demanded. "Are you, human?"

"Yes, that was I," Harry quickly admitted. "And your companion is also correct. The goblins conferred princely rank upon me over the summer after I saved their king's life…."

"Show me your mark, then, human," Samar demanded in his characteristic harsh voice.

"I can't see it myself," Harry admitted as he rolled up his sleeve. "But they cut the Tladimax right about here. That saved my life, too, one time over…."

"He is genuine," Samar pronounced, returning his arrow to its quiver and slinging his metre-long bow over his shoulder. "You know, human, that we do not help your kind. We do not do your dirty work, as your foolish companion presumed when we last met."

With some difficulty, Harry let the slight towards Hermione pass. "Actually, I have a proposal to help you, all I need…."

"Silence," Samar peremptorily cut Harry off. "Speak of this only to Magorian. Retrieve your wand and repeat the signal. I shall call for the parlay."

With that Samar pulled from a sack about his waist the large, curved horn of some unknown animal. It was intricately carved and had brass fittings on both ends. As Harry's wand erupted in a second flare of white sparks, Samar put the horn to his lips and brought forth a loud, moaning blast that lasted for several seconds. He followed that with two shorter notes.

"Stay where you are," he commanded upon finishing.

Less than a minute passed before the rumble of many hooves could be heard. The sound grew louder and louder until a group of six centaurs, all obviously mature, galloped into view, pulling up as they entered the clearing. Harry immediately recognised Magorian – his magnificent chestnut body and his bronze-skinned human torso topped by long, black hair that flowed like a mane well down his back. The five others bore themselves in a similarly haughty fashion, suggesting they were also herd elders.

"You have returned to the forest," Magorian spoke, his booming, basso profondo voice radiating authority. "Yes, I recognise you, Harry Potter. You are now of more than one sentient race, or so I have been told…."

Wordlessly, Harry raised his arm and displayed his Tladimax to the centaur chieftain.

"Indeed, it is so…." Magorian said, his voice trailing into unexpressed thoughts. "Venus moves to conjoin with Mars, but which will you follow once the event ends?"

Harry had always been frustrated by centaur astrology.

"Am I permitted to speak?" Harry asked.

"As a human, only at my bidding," Magorian chose his words carefully. "But as a prince of the goblins, you may address me as an equal."

Thus encouraged, Harry began explaining himself. "Umm … I've only come here after talking to Hagrid and Firenze…."

"Not the best of references," Magorian interrupted, distaste quite evident upon his wide, weather-beaten face. "Hagrid is at best a fool. Firenze is a traitor to this race. Do you wish to begin again?"

Harry could practically feel his face redden. "Umm … yes, if you don't mind."

Magorian made a hand gesture to continue.

"I know that centaurs are very wise in the ways of the heavens," Harry tried again. "And while I appreciate that you choose not to use your knowledge in ways that humans comprehend, I understand that your herd, and I hope you, Magorian, have some contact with other intelligent beings who share your interests, if not necessarily your inclinations."

"You speak obliquely," Magorian observed accurately. "If you wish to parlay, parlay, then."

Harry gulped at being accused, by a centaur no less, of obliquity. He had managed to sound a bit like Dumbledore at his worst. He decided to take the bicorn by the horns – perhaps, he thought, the centaurs would appreciate honesty.

"I need to speak to the Sisters of the Moon about this," Harry said directly, whilst pulling a piece of lightweight paper from his robes.

At Harry's mention of the Sisters, Magorian's expression grew grave. The other centaur elders cast glances at one another that were at once knowing and uncertain.

"The Sisters, you say," Magorian answered slowly, again taking care with his words. "And what of them … of this?" he reached down and took hold of the paper Harry was offering.

"Are these some sort of unknown runes?" Magorian asked after squinting at the dark markings on the page.

"Sort of the Muggle equivalent," Harry answered. "Those markings are traced from a Muggle gold bar. I have it in my room at Hogwarts Castle. My … er … a friend made a rubbing of them. I didn't want to bring the bar itself, because … well … I didn't want to be misunderstood as trying to bribe you somehow…."

At the mention of bribery, several of the centaurs snorted with annoyance, the steam from their breath visible in the cold, damp air. The noises stopped when Magorian raised a hand to indicate that Harry should be permitted to continue.

"…I've lots more of them – those bars – with the goblins," Harry went on. "It's all cursed, in a way. These symbols are sort of like runes left by evil Muggles who stole the gold from its rightful owners many years ago. I was hoping the Sisters might know of a way to … well, make good on the theft, I guess…."

Magorian's brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed a bit. "Why should you or the Sisters care about any of this?"

"Because I inherited the gold, and I will not be party to such evil," Harry declared. "And the Sisters? Because of history…."

Harry could not tell from Magorian's expression whether he was impressed by these motives or not. The centaur's ambiguous reply provided no clue, either.

"You have made a request of us," Magorian observed. "As you should know, we do not ordinarily assist humans. You, however, have still not truly parlayed. Is there anything else?"

"Yes," Harry answered quickly. "I think Hagrid made a big mistake…."

"Hagrid has made many such mistakes," Magorian's acid voice cut across. "He is known for little else."

"He brought Acromantulæ to the forest," Harry continued as the centaurs frowned at the mention. "And now he's told me that their leader, Aragog, is dying. Because Aragog respected…."

"Then it is as we suspected," one of the other centaur elders, a blue roan with a pointed goatee, addressed Magorian. "The progenitor has not been leading their hunts, and the spiders have shown indiscipline."

Harry waited until the centaurs finished their conversation, and then resumed. "As I was saying, because Aragog respected Hagrid, he stopped the spiders from hunting humans…."

"But not our foals!" Magorian angrily interjected, his voice booming through the clearing. His compatriots pawed the ground, their faces stormy in agreement.

"That's exactly my point," Harry hastened to reply to the irate centaurs. "For years, your herd has been alone in having to deal with this. That's now going to change. The humans … er … we will now have the same problem. It's in our mutual self-interest to do something…."

"Hah!" Magorian snorted. "Your kind has foolishly done nothing whilst all along the herd has suffered. Now I am afraid you are too late. There are simply too many of them…."

"That's what Hagrid said too, when I raised this with him not long ago," Harry hastened to agree with the agitated centaur. He was afraid of being silenced – or worse – before being able to make his proposal. "He said it would take an army to get rid of the Acromantulæ now…."

"Perhaps for once in his life, Hagrid was right," Magorian replied testily. "I do not know what this has to do with anything. Perhaps you should…."

Taking a chance, Harry acted impolitely and cut off the imperious centaur. "And I can bring that army…."

"What?" The question sounded simultaneously in several centaur voices.

"…since I'm a goblin prince," Harry finished.

"Are you proposing to send your goblin subjects against the Acromantulæ?" Magorian answered – for the first time betraying overt interest in what the young human might have to say.

"Yes," Harry replied, "and not just to help you out. I know better than to think that you'd want human charity. I'm frankly scared that, with Aragog gone, the Acromantulæ could easily be recruited by Voldemort. All he'd have to offer is to feed them Muggles and Muggle-born wizards. I can't let that happen. I've confronted the spiders myself – their intelligence, if that's what it is, doesn't extend beyond their stomachs."

"It is proposal … worthy of consideration," Magorian answered noncommittally. "It will require consultation amongst the herd. When we have an answer, we shall let you know. Now you should go. Samar, will you and Pequod kindly escort the young Mister Potter to the edge of the forest?"

"But when will I hear back from you … and how?" Harry asked as the centaurs started to shoo him away.

"When the stars indicate it is propitious," Magorian pontificated, as he and his party vanished into the forest.

---

Author's notes: Eventually Harry will appreciate how the griffin Animagus form helps in fighting Death Eaters

There's a very specific Muggle thing Harry wants to get Hermione, and McGonagall does have the best qualifications

As stated back in Ch. 11 – before canon named any Muggle Studies professor – my Muggle Studies professor is Arthur C. Asimov, a melding of Arthur C Clarke and Isaac Asimov, two of my favorite childhood authors. I've decided to leave it as is

The similarity between a doughnut and a coffee cup is a classic illustration of basic topology

In this story, Harry's seventh year is also Hogwarts' 1000th

Disparate New Year dates become important

Liquid helium is a superfluid, and behaves as described

The differences between helium 3 and 4 are accurate

The aromatic combination of hyssop and cedar dates back to at least the Old Testament

Venus can be seen in daylight, and would have been visible in the morning in Leo in 11/96

Like most divination, Firenze's comments can be interpreted in a number of ways

The Sisters of the Moon are described in Ch. 45

The treaty occurred in Ch. 14

Smethwyck is canon, a healer specializing in bites

I'm going with canon about Aragog dying, although I don't use it the same way

Sticky end is from Boris the Spider by the Who, not from genetics

I've thought of having a nearby Acromantula colony as a loose end in canon. I try to clean it up

Strut sitting down is the same insult used in Ch. 15

Romilda's jealosy of Hermione shows through a bit

Dean's headband is red, yellow and green – African liberation and/or Rasta colors

The left-handed bass is a salute to Paul McCartney

Titania Prod is not canon, but could be the daughter of the Prods in canon

Kevin Entwhistle is a semi-canon name, not to be confused with the Who's John Entwistle

Park is playing a saxophone

Smoke on the Water is a popular beginner's song

Ziggy Stardust = David Bowie

Seamus' "left hand" is a reference to the "played it left hand" line in Ziggy Stardust

Bass, lead bass = Bond, James Bond

The incident involving Paranoid occurred in the seaside cave in Ch. 35; an album containing it is mentioned in Ch. 25

"Moving to the grooving" is from "Play that Funky Music," by Wild Cherry

"White Man's Disease" = lack of rhythm

Frank Sinatra, who did cover Something, said it was the greatest love song ever written

Taller … shadow … soul, is a line from Stairway to Heaven, by Led Zepplin

"Play it pretty for Hermione," is a takeoff of "Play it pretty for Atlanta," which is heard on a well-known live recording of Free Bird

Depending on which version they enchanted, the finale three-guitar duel in Free Bird could go on for ten minutes

The green-eyed monster is a Shakesperian (Othello) reference to jealousy

How much Cho does what her father wants will become apparent in coming chapters

Pequod is the name of the whaling ship in Moby Dick

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