I had to take this one down and repost due to some formatting issues. Sorry for the inconvenience. This should be the last prologue type chapter before things get more interesting. Next chapter starts 4th year and things should begin to get better from there on out. Hope you enjoy.

After a moment the mood in the room sobered a bit, and Harry sat in his chair, staring glumly at the floor. He heard the door close and looked up. Dumbledore was still there, but Snape had left.

"Why so miserable, Harry?" he said quietly. "You should be very proud of yourself after last night. "

"It didn't make any difference," said Harry bitterly. "Pettigrew killed Ron and he got away. "

"Didn't make any difference?" said Dumbledore quietly, "It made all the difference in the world to Sirius, Harry. You helped uncover the truth. You saved an innocent man from a terrible fate."

"But at what cost, sir? I may have saved Sirius but I caused Ron to die…"

"It is truly a terrible feeling, losing someone so close. Especially when you feel that it is your fault. I have been there more than I care to remember my boy. The pain will ease in time though you may never forget it entirely. Simply try to think of the good rather than the bad. Sirius will receive a trial and gain his freedom and you made that possible, Harry."

"Yea…" Harry murmured, not sounding too sure of himself. "Uhh, Professor - yesterday, when I was having my Divination exam, Professor Trelawney went very - very strange. "

"Indeed?" said Dumbledore. "Er - stranger than usual, you mean?"

"Yes. . . her voice went all deep and her eyes rolled and she said . . . she said Voldemort's servant was going to set out to return to him before midnight. . . . She said the servant would help him come back to power. " Harry stared up at Dumbledore. "And then she sort of became normal again, and she couldn't remember anything she'd said. Was it - was she making a real prediction?"

Dumbledore looked mildly impressed.

"Do you know, Harry, I think she might have been. " he said thoughtfully. "Who'd have thought it? That brings her total of real predictions up to two. I should offer her a pay raise. . . . "

"But -" Harry looked at him, aghast. How could Dumbledore take this so calmly?

"But - I stopped Sirius and Professor Lupin from killing Pettigrew! That makes it my fault if Voldemort comes back!"

"It does not," said Dumbledore quietly. "The consequences of our actions are always so complicated, so diverse, that predicting the future is a very difficult business indeed. . . . Professor Trelawney, bless her, is living proof of that. . . . You did a very noble thing, in saving Pettigrew's life. "

"But if he helps Voldemort back to power. . . "

"Pettigrew owes his life to you. You have sent Voldemort a deputy who is in your debt. . . . When one wizard saves another wizard's life, it creates a certain bond between them. . . and I'm much mistaken if Voldemort wants his servant in the debt of Harry Potter. "

"I don't want a connection with Pettigrew!" said Harry. "He betrayed my parents!"

"You may find that such a connection can come in handy though. Magical life-debts are a rather mysterious force, after all."

Harry thought about what the Headmaster said for a moment; it did make sense when he stopped to think. He figured he would have to do some research on life debts to see how this affected things. "Sir, I want you to train me. Teach me how to prevent this from happening again. If I were stronger, I could have stopped Pettigrew, and I might actually stand a chance against Voldemort."

"Harry, you are but a child, you should be spending this time enjoying your youth, not training to be a soldier."

"Sir, with all due respect I think that choice has been made for me already. I have already had to deal with several dangerous situations, and I only survived due to dumb luck. Trouble has a knack for finding me and I just want to have the means to defend myself. Pettigrew killed my best mate because I was too weak to stop him; who will they kill next time? What about when Voldemort comes back?" by the end Harry was fighting back tears again, nearly in hysterics despite his best efforts.

Dumbledore was moved by the boy, no- Harry definitely qualified as a young man, and his drive. It was true that he had coddled Harry, partially to protect his innocence, and partially due to his part in the greater scheme of things. "Perhaps," he thought "It is time to move forward." Harry was correct in his assertion after all; he was near constantly facing some sort of danger, and with Voldemort bound to return sooner rather than later these situations would only become more frequent and dangerous.

Dumbledore sighed, the normal twinkle in his eyes dimmed considerably. "You've got a point, Mr. Potter. As this year is almost at it's end, let us get past Sirius' trial and this summer and I shall have a plan made out by the start of the new year."

Harry was somewhat shocked at the turn of the conversation. He had asked for training before, a few times actually since the incident with the Philosopher's stone in his first year. Every time it came up Dumbledore would always say roughly the same thing- some variation of being too young or it wasn't the right time. "Thank you, sir, thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me yet my boy, for if you wish to train under me then you may soon learn to hate me. I believe if something is worth doing then it is worth doing right, and we have a lot to cover and not so much time to do it in."

With that said, Harry left the office in a slightly better mood than he was in before.

XXX XXXXX XXXXXXX

"We are gathered here today for the trial of one Sirius Orion Black, on the charges of fourteen counts of murder, two counts of accessory to murder by betraying James and Lilly Potter to Lord Voldemort." Dumbledore said before taking his seat at the front of the room. He was joined by Amelia Bones, Cornelius Fudge, and Rufus Scrimgeour. Sirius was seated directly in front of them in a nice tailored black suit with a grey shirt underneath. He was still looking a bit on the thin side but he was doing much better than he was when he escaped. He wore a neutral expression on his face, bordering on the side of cold though he was a bit nervous; he couldn't show any weakness in front of the Wizengamot.

Off to the side of Sirius was a row of seats occupied by Harry, Hermione, and Snape all dressed in their finest. They would provide testimony when required.

"Mr. Black, on October 31, 1981, you are accused of betraying the location of James and Lilly Potter to He-who-must-not-be-named and then murdering Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles. How do you plead?" Dumbledore read out in a loud and clear voice.

Sirius stood up and clearly said "Not guilty, Chief Warlock."

Dumbledore nodded before continuing. "What says the prosecution?"

Madame Bones stood up and smoothed out her robe. "Sirius Orion Black is charged as stated. The prosecution, though, does not have anything further on the case."

Murmurs broke out around the courtroom at this. No case? It was a pretty cut and dry case; the evidence was pretty straightforward.

"Please elaborate, Madame Bones." Dumbledore continued with a small wave towards the woman.

"Chief Warlock, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has no case against Mr. Black. No evidence was ever entered, nor does it appear that there was a trial in any case." More murmurs sounded out momentarily before being silenced by Dumbledore.

"Mr. Black, what do you have to say about the 31st of October 1981?"

Sirius then told the events of the night as he knew it, pointing out that Pettigrew was the secret-keeper and that he was the one who killed the muggles while escaping before he moved on to tell of his escape and the events at the shrieking shack. Once he was done, he was administered veritaserum and testified that everything he had just said was true. Harry, Hermione, and Snape all provided their sides of the story, also under veritaserum.

With the DMLE not having any evidence against him, and the testimony of himself and the witnesses, the court overwhelmingly voted to acquit him of all charges. He was given an official apology on behalf of the Ministry by Fudge, as well as given reparations for 12 years of wrongful imprisonment totaling to 12000 galleons. Sirius couldn't care less about the money though, with his acquittal he was now officially the head of House Black, meaning he had more money than he could spend in a dozen lifetimes.

"How does it feel to be a free man Sirius?" Harry said as he came up and hugged Sirius with a wide grin.

Sirius returned both the smile and the hug both in full. "I have to say, it feels pretty good. I believe I've got a lot of catching up to do."

In short order the group had made their way back to Sirius' home at Grimmauld place, if you could call it that. The place was an absolute wreck, having been abandoned for more than a decade. The house elf left in the manor had all but gone crazy, though if you asked Sirius, he would say that he was already crazy beforehand. It would seem the place needed more than a little work before it was ready to be called a home, but Sirius figured between himself and Harry, they could knock it out soon enough.

Which brought about his next point. "Well Harry, welcome home." He said with a grin as he gave a wave around the filth.

Harry grinned right back. "Yea this looks like more of home than I've ever known… it's beautiful."

And he meant it. No matter how dirty or ran down the place may be he felt more at home than he ever had with the Dursleys. They were despicable excuses for human beings, and while he hadn't known Sirius long, he obviously cared more than they ever did. Just the fact that he welcomed him into his home with open arms showed that he wanted him more than the Dursleys; they acted like it was physically painful to allow him into their house.

XXX XXXXX XXXXXXX

A large gathering stood in the field with the towering, crooked house in the background looking over them. They had waited a few extra days to wrap up the school term before bringing everyone together here to lay Ron to rest with his family. As you would expect the mood was somber; Even the normally jovial twins were unable to keep their composure today. In the flurry of activity since Ron's death, Harry had been able to suppress his emotions and deal with all that was happening; today that wasn't the case. He and Hermione stood crying in each other's arms to the side of the Weasleys while Dumbledore stood at the front of the crowd delivering the eulogy. Even the normally infallible old man was struggling with his emotions today; he looked at Harry, Ron, and Hermione like grandchildren. Dumbledore had lost more than a few friends and family members in his just over a century of life, including losing his sister far too early; as he grew older though, it seemed to affect him more.

It could have been that he felt partially responsible for the death; he knew all too well that Harry and his friends were exposed to an excessive amount of danger during their time at Hogwarts, yet he never intervened. The families of his students trusted him to take care of their children for three quarters of the year and he had failed at that. Arthur and Molly were closer to him than most and had let their son die under his protection.

As he delivered the eulogy his mind wandered back to Harry's request. He had promised to make an effort to better ready Harry for his upcoming struggles, and while he meant it, it was mostly just to pawn the idea off for later discussion. He had thought about giving him some extra lessons in DADA but nothing particularly advanced. Thinking of his failure to the Weasleys though, he decided then and there that he would honestly try to prepare Harry for the dangers he would undoubtably face; there wouldn't be any more student deaths on his hands if he had to go toe to toe with Merlin himself. His thoughts came back to the funeral at hand as he decided to call in some favors for his future endeavors.

XXX XXXXX XXXXXXX

The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "the Riddle House," even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied; or so they thought.

"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"

"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over. "

The muggle who had managed to sneak to the door and was eavesdropping on the conversation, Frank, inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.

"The - the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" said Wormtail. "Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"

"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So, we wait."

Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words "Ministry of Magic," "wizards," and "Muggles." Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code: spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more and listened more closely still.

"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.

"Certainly, I am determined, Wormtail. " There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

A slight pause followed – and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.

"It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord. "

Another pause, more protracted, and then -

"Without Harry Potter?" breathed the second voice softly. "I see. . . "

"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -"

"I could use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that is true. . . "

"My Lord, it makes sense," said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. "Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected -"

"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder. . . perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"

"My Lord! I - I have no wish to leave you, none at all -"

"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me. . . "

"No! My devotion to Your Lordship -"

"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"

"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord -"

"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"

Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. The second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.

"I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. For the ritual to work properly we need both Grindelwald and Potter. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort's wrath -"

"My Lord, I must speak!" said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkins disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -"

"If?" whispered the second voice. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition. . . Come, Wormtail, a couple more deaths and our path to Harry Potter is clear. The world already thinks Gellert to be dead though that old fool never had the fortitude to see the job through. I am not asking you to do this alone. By the time we move for Potter, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -"

"I am a faithful servant," said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfill neither requirement. "

"I found you," said Wormtail, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins. "

"That is true," said the second man, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"

"I - I thought she might be useful, My Lord -"

"Liar," said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform. . . "

"R-really, My Lord? What -?" Wormtail sounded terrified again.

"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end. . . but I promise you, you will have the honor of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins. "

"You. . . you. . . " Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. "You. . . are going. . . to kill me too?"

"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice silkily, "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns. . . "

Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech.

"We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail. "

Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse - with amusement. He was dangerous - a madman. And he was planning more murders - this boy, Harry Potter, whoever he was - was in danger -

Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village. . . but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might.

"A couple more murders. . . my faithful servant at Hogwarts. . . Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet. . . I think I hear Nagini. . . "

And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure.

And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look and found himself paralyzed with fright.

Something was slithering toward him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realized with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - What was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where the two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him -

But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.

There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea. . . This man could talk to snakes.

Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again.

"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," it said.

"In-indeed, My Lord?" said Wormtail.

"Indeed, yes," said the voice, "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say. "

Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps and then the door of the room was flung wide open.

A short, balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm in his face.

"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"

The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn't see the speaker. the snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.

Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip on his walking stick and limped over the threshold.

The fire was the only source of light in the room; it cast long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.

"You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.

"What's that you're calling me?" said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.

"I am calling you a Muggle," said the voice coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard. "

"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said Frank, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"

"You have no wife," said the cold voice, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows. . . he always knows. . . "

"Is that right?" said Frank roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"

"But I am not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "Tonight, I am your God... However. . . why not? I will face you. . . Wormtail, come turn my chair around. "

The servant gave a whimper.

"You heard me, Wormtail. "

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug.

And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

XXX XXXXX XXXXXXX

Harry stared at the ground from his kneeling position, breathing hard as though he had been running. He had been hit with a sudden searing pain and some sort of vision for he somewhat blacked out and awoke in his current position. He pressed a hand to his scar, trying to dull the pain but having no suck luck. The scar was burning beneath his hand as if someone was pressing a red-hot wire to his skin.

He sat there panting for a moment as Dumbledore made his way to the fallen boy. Harry ran his fingers over the scar again. It was still painful. He turned to the aged headmaster and said a single word. "Voldemort." Without so much as a word or wave or goodbye to the others Harry, Hermione who happened to be holding onto his shoulder to comfort him, and Dumbledore disappeared with a crack only to reappear in the Hogwarts infirmary.

Harry tried to recall what he had seen in the vision. It had seemed so real, almost like he was there. . . There had been two people he knew and one he didn't. . . He concentrated hard, frowning, trying to remember. . .

The dim picture of a darkened room came to him. . . There had been a snake on a hearth rug. . . a small man called Peter, nicknamed Wormtail. . . and a cold, high voice. . . the voice of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt as though an ice cube had slipped down into his stomach at the very thought. . .

He closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember what Voldemort had looked like, but it was impossible. . . All Harry knew was that at the moment when Voldemort's chair had swung around, and he, Harry, had seen what was sitting in it, he had felt a spasm of horror, which had jarred him back to reality. . . or had that been the pain in his scar?

And who had the old man been? For there had definitely been an old man; Harry had watched him fall to the ground. It was all becoming confused. Voldemort and Wormtail had been talking about someone they had killed, though Harry could not remember the name. . . and they had been plotting to kill someone else. . . him!

While Harry was caught up trying to remember his vison, he didn't even notice as he was ushered into a nearby bed, until finally he was brought back to reality by the headmaster's voice. "Now that we are in better company can you tell me what you saw?"

With a nod, Harry told Dumbledore what he could of the vision even though he didn't necessarily understand what it meant. When he was done Dumbledore settled down with a thoughtful look on his aged face. "It would seem," He paused for another moment "That you were witnessing some events through Voldemort's eyes. Is this the first time you have ever noticed this sensation?"

"Yes, sir. My scar burned when I was around the possessed Quirrell in my first year and again when I talked with the spirit of Tom Riddle from the diary, but I've never actually had a vision like that before."

Once more Dumbledore pondered on Harry's words before replying. "I believe that you may share a certain link with Tom. This may be due to the killing curse he used on you as a baby destroying his body. It would seem that in doing so, a piece of his soul may have clung to you when…" he trailed off there and went dead silent.

"Sir?" Harry questioned as the headmaster stared blankly away from everything. It wasn't normal to just stop in mid-sentence like that. "Is everything okay?"

Dumbledore quickly shook himself out of his stupor and continued on. "Ahh, I just had a thought pop up that required some pondering. All is well. As I was saying before; I believe a bit of his soul may have latched on to you as you were the closest living thing. The part still with you also has a connection back to the original, the 'main soul' if you will."

"What does that mean for me though? Will he be able to see through me as well? Or my thoughts? Or what if he could even possess me like he tried to do in the chamber?" Harry was somewhat worked up over the fact that he had a piece of the dark lord's soul creeping around inside him, and the thoughts of what all the evil bastard could do through that link troubled him greatly.

"I don't believe you have anything to worry about, my boy. At least for now I think him too weak to utilize the connection even if he was aware of it, which I doubt. I do think though that you should begin learning occlumency as soon as possible, for if he was to become aware of the link the results could be catastrophic if you are unable to defend against him."

"Occlumency?" was Harry's not so elegant reply.

"Occlumency is the act of magically closing one's mind against Legilimency. It is ancient and has existed since time immemorable. It can prevent a Legilimens from accessing one's thoughts and feelings, or from influencing them." Hermione spoke up for the first time since their arrival. Leave it to Hermione to answer a question with a quote from a book.

"That is correct." Dumbledore added on. "Legilimency is the branch of magic focusing on probing into another's mind, while occlumency is the branch devoted to defending against it. Occlumency also has other uses, such as blocking out visions like the ones you had or even centering one's emotions in order to remain calm during otherwise stressful moments. Tom was very accomplished at both during his past, though particularly in Legilimency."

Harry nodded his understanding. "And what of you, sir, can you do both as well?"

"Yes, I am quite proficient with both branches if I must say so." The headmaster paused again for a moment before continuing. "In both disciplines, you may practice the skills in both a passive and active variety. For instance, once you become familiar enough with occlumency you will find that it is much harder to lose your temper, and you will much easier notice if someone it is attempting legilimency on you. The same goes for legilimency; with enough skill, all one needs is eye contact to initiate the probe, and against someone with no skill in occlumency that is all it takes to dig freely through their thoughts."

"So, you can read someone's mind just by looking into their eyes? Harry was shocked at the apparent ease of violating someone's privacy. "Have you ever read mine?"

"Basically, yes. It's not exactly reading their mind; it is more akin to seeing images and memories like reading a book. And to answer your second question, yes. I rarely employ my skills in order to maintain trust and privacy; but when you told me of your adventures in both your first and second years, I used a passive probe to view your memories to get a better understanding of what transpired."

Harry wanted to feel violated but deep down he knew that Dumbledore had done it innocently to supplement his story. After all, a worked up 11-year-old isn't going to be the most graphic storyteller.

"Sir, if Harry is able to learn legilimency wouldn't he be able to read You-Know-Who's thoughts through their link as well?" Hermione was working this information over in her head trying to see it all from a logical perspective, and this seemed as logical as anything.

"Yes, technically he could, but I do not think it wise. As I said, Tom is an accomplished occlumens and would likely be able to detect the probe. At that point he could do a number of things such as feed fake information to Harry or even launch a counterattack, and it will be some time before Mr. Potter is skilled enough to block out someone with Tom's level of talent. Not to mention that if he is not aware of the link yet that such a probe would alert him to its existence and allow him to begin his own attacks."

"Yes, sir I understand." Hermione replied, deflated slightly that she had missed out on the finer points.

"Now, Miss Granger, it isn't completely without merit so don't berate yourself. It just is not a good idea at the current time. Once Mr. Potter is proficient enough with both arts then it may be a viable tactic. We shall just have to reevaluate later when his skill is up to par."

"How am I to learn these things though, Professor, if it isn't taught at Hogwarts?" Harry chimed in, determined to learn but unsure of how he would.

"Well, as you will be taking up residence with your godfather now, perhaps he would be able to assist you. While he never was much for Legilimency, I believe he was adequate with Occlumency. The Black family library may also have some texts to help you out, as they were once known to be quite talented in the mind arts. Just be sure not to get involved with anything unless approved by myself or Sirius; there are most certainly some very dark materials to be found in there, given the family's past."