The 1st of September was usually a day of excitement and whimsy in King's Cross Station, but no longer. Anxiety lingered in the air as wizarding families entered the station, which was full of undercover Aurors, keeping an eye out for any signs of trouble. Parents had not so easily forgotten the incident of last June, and knew that good-byes this time could be more permanent.

Harry's tight-knit group drew a lot of attention as they crossed over onto Platform 9 3/4, considering all the coverage of the Potter administration and the incident in the Department of Mysteries last June. Harry could feel the look of awe on students' faces as they passed by, that discomfort of being put on a pedestal he'd hoped to avoid. He would just have to get used to it, he supposed.

Harry spotted Damian Dursley talking to a group of fellow Hufflepuffs and made his way over to him. "Hey, cousin," he greeted the boy. "Have a good holiday?"

"Oh, hey," Damian said in greeting. The fourteen-year-old seemed to have undergone a major growth spurt over the summer, adding six inches of height to his already massive frame. "It was alright, I guess."

Harry sensed reluctance in his tone, and figured he didn't want to talk about it. Fair enough – Harry had also preferred to leave his summers with the Dursleys in the past where they belonged. "You trying out for the Quidditch team this year?" he asked. "Ron Weasley's been made captain, if you didn't hear."

"Really? Good on him," Damian remarked. "Yeah, I've been training all summer, playing baseball with Dudley and his friends. They think I'm some kind of savant at hitting home runs – turns out Muggle balls are way easier to hit when they're not actively trying to kill you."

"I can see that," Harry chuckled. "Say, want to sit with us on the train?"

"Oh," said Damian. "Well, I was probably going to sit with Anna and her friends...maybe I'll catch up with you later."

"Ah, got it," said Harry. He spied Anna Watson among the group Damian had been talking to, giving her a polite wave. "Catch you later then, cuz."

Does Damian have friends of his own now? Harry wondered. He'd worried how the boy might fare now that his mentor Cedric had graduated. Apparently his reputation must be better among his year mates now – perhaps the combination of his Quidditch prowess and his involvement in the Department of Mysteries fiasco (not to mention his uncle being the Minister) had bolstered his popularity.

The Hogwarts Express sounded its whistle soon after, and students scrambled aboard to find seats. Dahlia and Neville disappeared together almost at once, while Ginny located Astoria and went her own way as well. That left Harry, Ron, and Hermione to locate a compartment of their own. It was a rare reunion of the original "Golden Trio", even if the other two didn't realize it...Harry was glad to spend some quality time with his first good friends.

Ron challenged Harry to a game of wizard's chess as the train rumbled out of the station, and he begrudgingly agreed. The redhead had long ago surpassed Harry in skill at the game, and it would no doubt result in Harry being thoroughly trounced. Ron generously offered him the white pieces, and even the pieces themselves looked dismayed at the prospect, eyeing Harry suspiciously as if wondering if they should bother listening to his instructions.

Hermione sat quietly in the corner, scribbling on a note pad as the match played out in predictable fashion. After Ron checkmated Harry for the third time, the white pieces flatly refused to play for Harry again, so they turned their attention elsewhere. "You writing a novel over there, 'Mione?" asked Ron.

"I'm writing a letter to Viktor," said Hermione as she began her fifth page of cramped cursive.

"Krum?" asked Ron, surprised. "You're still in contact with him?"

"Oh, yes," said Hermione. "Didn't I tell you? I spent a week in Bulgaria visiting him at the beginning of July. He wants to visit Britain this December while I'm on winter break."

Ron and Harry shared a surprised look at this. "Are you two an item, then?" asked Harry with a grin.

"No, nothing like that!" Hermione said, reddening furiously. "We didn't, er, do anything...I stayed in a guest bedroom at his manor and he showed me around the country. That's all, I swear!"

"Y'know, Hermione, most girls would be bragging about all the things they did do with Krum, not the other way around," Ron teased.

"Don't listen to Ron; he's just jealous that it's not him in your place," Harry winked, drawing a playful shove from Ron. "Seriously though, we wouldn't judge you if anything did happen."

"Viktor isn't like that!" Hermione protested. "He's a perfect gentleman. He did nothing more than kiss me on the cheek when he said goodbye."

"But he wants to see you again during your next break?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow. "Sounds like he's interested in being more than just pen pals."

Hermione blushed even deeper. "He h-hasn't made any moves on me like that!" she insisted. "N-not that t-there would be anything wrong with that!"

"Relax, 'Mione, we're only teasing," Ron smirked. "I hope you and Vikky go on to make beautiful babies together."

"Hmph," Hermione huffed, rolling her eyes before turning to Harry. "Have you been seeing anyone, Harry?"

"Nope," Harry said adamantly. "And I don't think I will be for a while. Too much going on in the world to make time for that."

"Oh, that's no excuse!" Hermione smiled. "You never know when the right person will come along! Who knows what the future will hold, right?"

"Dahlia says that you've been spending a lot of time with Fleur Delacour," Ron smirked. "Putting moves on the Veela, eh, Potter?"

"Fleur's still dating your brother Bill, if you hadn't noticed," Harry chuckled. "And no, she's just a friend. We went through a lot in the Tournament together, and it's good to have someone to commiserate with."

"Well, you'll always have us," Hermione offered. "I wish you would spend more time with us and Neville. I thought we'd be much closer friends when we met on the train five years ago."

So did I, Harry lamented. He'd had pure intentions when he kept his distance from the trio all those years ago, giving Neville the chance to form close bonds of his own he would need in the dark days ahead. But Harry would be lying if he said he didn't miss his prior relationship with the two people sitting across from him.

"Potter's too cool for us, 'Mione, just accept it," Ron chuckled. "His dad's the bloody Minister; he doesn't have time to waste on commoners like us. But enough about him...I have been writing with Sally-Anne Perks all summer!"

"You have?" Hermione beamed. "She's really nice. One of the only other Muggle-born girls in our year."

"Yeah, but get this," Ron smirked. "She's like, super into Quidditch! Weird, right? I guess her older brother plays some Muggle game called footer or something that it reminds her of. She gave me her owl address after we beat Ravenclaw in the Final last term...sorry again about that, mate."

"No worries," Harry grinned – he had missed the match due to his expulsion. "Say, whatever happened between you and Daphne Greengrass? I thought you two made a good match at the Yule Ball."

Ron crinkled his nose. "Daphne's gorgeous and all," he groaned, "but she's a total buzzkill! All prim and proper about following all the rules of pure-blood courting and whatnot. We're just too different for each other."

"That's not always such a bad thing, Ronald," said Hermione. "Look at Sirius and Amelia! He needed someone to tame his wilder side, and she needed someone to help her loosen up a little."

"Well, I'll leave Daphne's loosening up for some other bloke," Ron snorted. "Besides, I don't need to be 'tamed'. I'm a catch as I am, and Sally-Anne recognizes that." He puffed his chest and pretended not to be hurt when Harry and Hermione shared a hearty laugh at his bravado. These were the moments Harry missed the most from his old life: the quiet moments of fun, of casual banter between good friends. He hoped for a future where he could indulge in these moments even more.

Halfway through the train ride, Hermione's watch beeped, and she stood from her seat. "Time for the prefects' meeting," she announced. "Coming, Harry?"

"Huh?" he said absent-mindedly. "Oh! Right, yeah." He'd already forgotten that he had prefect duties this year on top of everything else. Was this yet another ploy by Dumbledore to tether him to the school, to give him more responsibilities to keep him in check? That remained to be seen. He bade Ron farewell as he and Hermione made their way up the hall.

The prefects were seated in the very front train car, which was situated in a more open layout with chairs lined up in rows facing the front. Each House had two prefects per year, and Harry recognized the others in his year at once: Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil for Gryffindor; Zacharias Smith and Susan Bones for Hufflepuff; and Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass for Slytherin. He and Hermione made their way over towards the latter pair.

"Hey, Daph," Harry greeted the Slytherin girl. "How was your holiday?"

"Dreadful," Daphne grumbled. "I was stuck in hiding at our summer home in the countryside."

"Oh, right; sorry to hear about that," Harry grimaced. "Looking forward to another year of school?"

"Yes, I suppose," Daphne sighed. "It's a very important year for me, after all."

"Is it?" Harry frowned. "You don't take your N.E.W.T.'s until seventh year, right?"

"Yes, but I come of-age in April," Daphne sighed. "There will be a lot of pressure to find a suitable partner by then."

"Erm...a partner?" Harry repeated. "For what?"

"For marriage, Potter," Daphne sighed, as though it were obvious. "Pure-blood heirs are expected to have a marriage contract lined up by their seventeenth birthday. Otherwise it is assumed that there is something wrong with you, and your future prospects become quite limited."

"That sounds awful," Harry muttered. "And there's no way you can get out of it?"

"I'm not being forced into it, if that's what you're asking," Daphne sniffed. "I just happen to care about marrying well. If I'm not proactive, I might end up with someone twice my age who doesn't care about what I can offer beyond my dowry."

"Huh," Harry said thoughtfully. "Well, best of luck to you, I suppose." He continued to be baffled by pure-blood customs and culture, and was grateful he didn't have to conform to them himself.

"Have a nice summer, Potter?" a voice asked from behind him; Harry turned to see Mark Davis enter the train car, grinning at him.

"Hey, Mark," said Harry, shaking the boy's hand eagerly. "Not so bad, yourself?"

"Bit strange, truth be told," Mark sighed. "Went with the parents to South America to get away from the madness for a while. Frankly, we might not have come back to Britain at all, if not for your dad becoming Minister."

"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "Erm...thanks for the show of confidence, I guess."

"He'll be a brilliant Minister, I know it," Mark smiled. "If anyone can get us through this mess in one piece, it's him."

"I hope you're right," Harry chuckled. "Are you a prefect this year, too?"

"Even better," Mark grinned, flashing the badge pinned to his breast. Harry's eyebrows rose when he read 'Head Boy' imprinted on the front.

"Wow, congratulations!" Harry beamed. "You've earned it, mate."

"I suppose I deserve some credit for babysitting you lot in that blasted Department last year," Mark winked. "Seems like a fair consolation prize for having my girlfriend stolen by Longbottom."

Harry opened his mouth to express his condolences again, but saw from the twinkle in Mark's eye that he was just joking. The seventh-year slapped Harry amicably on the arm before striding forward to the front of the train and getting everyone's attention.

"Listen up, you lot!" Mark announced. "Name's Mark Davis, Head Boy for this term. You've all been selected to represent your Houses as prefects this year. For those of you who were chosen last year, you know what an honor this is. For those who are new here, I'm going to explain your duties and what you can expect from the coming year."

Harry listened attentively as Mark detailed what was expected of him as a prefect. He was to conduct one dorm inspection per month in Ravenclaw Tower, plus one shift of night patrol duty every other week. Otherwise, he was expected to "represent the House well" and set a positive example for the younger students, while monitoring poor behavior and docking points as necessary. Overall it didn't sound too bad, and as selfish as he felt thinking it, Harry figured he could foist most of the responsibilities onto Hermione if he needed a reprieve.

Once Mark had completed his prepared speech, he dismissed them to conduct an inspection of the train. Harry and Hermione were assigned to the very back of the train, which was usually where the younger students were forced to sit as the older ones claimed the ones towards the front for themselves. Harry groaned...he wasn't looking forward to being lionized by the youngest students in the school, who were the ones who openly gawked at him and whispered about him to their friends. Being the son of the Minister of Magic and the 'Hero of Hogwarts' would only amplify that effect.

He and Hermione made their way through the crowded halls, as the latter barked at students to stay in their seats. They couldn't exactly take House points away, as there were none to be had yet, so they had to resort to empty threats of detention if students didn't behave. Luckily, Harry's presence seemed to be enough to get most of them in line and back in their respective compartments.

A bathroom door swung open right in Harry's face, and he nearly collided with a student exiting the stall. "Mind where you're stepping—" Draco Malfoy began, going quiet when he realized who exactly he'd run into.

Harry glared directly into the cold gray of Draco's eyes, searching them for answers. Are you a Death Eater? he silently wondered. Did you sell my sister out to Voldemort? These were the questions he was dying to know, the determining factors in if he would respect Dumbledore's wishes and leave Malfoy alone this term.

He half-expected Draco to tell him off, to make some snarky remark at the Potters' expense. It was their first encounter since the incident that led to Harry's expulsion, and a lot had happened between their respective families since then.

"Got something to say, Malfoy?" Harry asked coolly. "Can't go running off to Daddy this time, as he's tucked away in Azkaban, isn't he?"

Draco blinked as he processed Harry's words. Then, to Harry's surprise, a flash of what looked like fear crossed the blonde boy's face, and he hurriedly brushed past Harry down the hall, eager to return to his compartment.

Harry watched him go, surprised. Draco was not one to shy away from a fight, especially with Harry. What had changed? Did he fear that Harry would discover his secret? Had he heard what Harry did to his Aunt Bellatrix last June, and feared similar retribution? Or was it simply a reflection of their fathers' respective power stations, with Lucius in prison and James in the Minister's chair?

No matter, Harry thought. If he is guilty, I'll find out one way or another. You can't hide from me forever, Draco Malfoy.

He and Hermione conducted their rounds, which went more smoothly than he expected. The rowdy pre-teens at the back of the train went deathly quiet at his very presence, and all Harry had to do was politely request that they remain seated and keep their voices down. A few of the Muggle-born first-years tried to rebel, only for the others to quickly inform them of who Harry was and stop any further shenanigans from taking place.

"You're quite good at this already, Harry," Hermione remarked. "Everyone listens to you."

"Yeah, well, it helps when most of the students are scared shitless of me," Harry quipped.

"They respect you," Hermione corrected. "You should use that more often. I bet if you built a closer relationship with some of the younger students, you could—"

"I don't have time for all that, Hermione," Harry groaned. "I'm going to be quite busy this year. I can't be everyone's best friend."

"I'm not saying that," Hermione scoffed. "I'm just saying...you could be less aloof is all."

"Aloof? I'm not aloof!"

Hermione shot him an exasperated look. "Half the students in Ravenclaw haven't even heard you speak to them once," she said. "You don't have to be everyone's friend, just...be friendly. And maybe don't disappear for hours or days at a time so people think you're scheming."

"Maybe I am scheming," Harry smirked. "But seriously, I have more important things to do than make every student more comfortable with me."

"I'm just saying," Hermione sighed. "Everyone's scared of the war right now. Your dad becoming Minister helped with that a little bit, but I just think if they knew you weren't afraid...if you acted like a normal kid around them...they might be less afraid too."

Harry considered this. It was a similar argument that Dumbledore had made to him, when he offered Harry his spot at Hogwarts back. People looked up to him as a symbol, whether he wanted them to or not. He could choose to discard that mantle, or use it to bolster morale in the student population. When framed in those terms, it seemed obvious what he ought to do.

He decided to take Hermione's words to heart as they continued their rounds, forcing a smile on his face and warmly greeting every compartment-full of students. He badly wished to look away, to cringe at the looks of awe and adulation he was getting. He would never get comfortable with them – might as well get used to it at least.

Harry also noticed that the attention he was receiving shifted subtly as they moved on to the train cars containing older students. Nearly every fifth-year girl and above was falling all over themselves to greet him with a smile and/or a hug, before breaking out into giggles with their friends once he moved along. A few years ago Harry might have reveled in such attention from the pretty girls in his class, but now it just made him feel uncomfortable.

The train arrived at Hogsmeade Station soon after, and Harry assisted in shepherding the first-years along to Hagrid before catching a carriage up to the school. The sight of the castle appearing over the hill would never not fill him with wonder and excitement. He felt fortunate that he got to savor his time as a student for an additional five years over everyone else...if only those years had been more care-free for him to fully appreciate them.

Harry filed into the Great Hall and looked for an open seat at the Ravenclaw table. Several girls, including Cho Chang, eagerly waved at him to get his attention so he would sit beside them. He nodded politely to each of them, but instead sat next to Luna Lovegood, who was humming a little tune to herself and staring fixedly at the ceiling.

"Hi, Luna," Harry greeted the girl. "It's good to see you again."

"Hello, Harry," she said without looking at him. "Quite an unusual weather pattern tonight, isn't it?"

Harry frowned as he followed her gaze upwards; the enchanted ceiling was swirling gently with wisps of cloud. "Is it?" he asked.

"Seems quite calm," Luna remarked serenely. "Doesn't quite fit the atmosphere, does it?"

Harry wondered if she referred to the chaotic energy of the restless students around her, or the general atmosphere of the nation with a war raging on in the background. "Maybe it's intentional," he pointed out. "It's hoping to bring a sense of calm, so we don't have to feel like a storm is raging all the time."

"Hmm...I suppose that makes perfect sense," Luna concluded, finally tearing her bright blue eyes from the ceiling to look at him. "It's good to see you too, Harry. You look well-fed."

"Likewise," Harry chuckled, bemused as always by her odd choice of words.

"I would take care if I were you, though," said Luna with sudden seriousness. "I heard some troubling things about you on the train today."

"Troubling?" Harry said, frowning. "Like what?"

"Well, it could be nothing," Luna said fretfully. "But some of the girls in my year said they wanted to do 'unspeakable things' to you this term. You don't think they meant the Cruciatus, do you?"

Harry stifled a laugh at her expense. "No, I don't think that's what they meant," he said kindly. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

At that moment, McGonagall marched into the Hall with the first-years following nervously behind her. Harry once again marveled at how tiny they were...it was hard to imagine that he and his peers were that small only five years prior. Thus began the agonizingly-long Sorting process, as each new student stepped up to the stool to have the Sorting Hat placed upon their head.

Harry zoned out as name after name was read, staring thoughtfully at the Hat from afar. How could he convince Dumbledore to let him borrow it? He doubted he could get away with stealing it, and Dumbledore would probably know right away if Harry was lying about his motives. He hoped that he could at least buy himself a few minutes alone in the Headmaster's Office with the thing, so that he could put it on and ask a few questions.

Finally, the last name was called, and Dumbledore walked up to the podium and raised his hands for quiet. "Welcome back to another year at Hogwarts!" he announced. "Your food will be arriving shortly, but first, a few quick announcements.

"We have had a handful of changes to our staff this term," said Dumbledore. "Taking over as your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is Professor Snape."

A chorus of groans rang out at this announcement, but the Slytherin table broke out in polite applause for their Head of House. Snape nodded curtly at the praise, looking quietly smug...he finally got the job he wanted all along, Harry grumbled.

"This means that we are in need of a new Potions professor," Dumbledore went on. "Fortunately, we have found a more than capable replacement. Please give a hand for Britain's latest Potion Master, Lily Evans-Potter!"

The reception was far more enthusiastic this time around. Harry whooped loudly and stood to clap for his mother, who stood meekly from the Head Table and waved at the students. Dumbledore let the raucous applause continue for a moment before finally raising his hand for calm once more.

"Secondly, I know that many of you are concerned about the state of the world outside these walls at the moment," Dumbledore said gravely. "Just know that the staff is fully committed to your safety in the castle this year, and Minister Potter has asked me to reassure you that Aurors will be posted here around the clock to ensure the students are protected at all times."

Harry glanced around the room to gauge the reception to these words. While some of the first-years looked confused, the older years looked nervous, many of whom had parents working at the Ministry who might become targets of Voldemort in the future. Maybe Luna had caught on to the unspoken anxiety of the room even better than he had.

"I understand that many of you will be eager nonetheless to learn how to defend yourselves," said Dumbledore. "I am happy to announce that Hogwarts will be establishing a Defense Club for all ages, meeting once a week in the evenings. You will have the opportunity to learn from a very capable teacher, someone many of you already know. Please give a round of applause for Mr. Harry Potter."

The applause that followed started slow, but built to an eventual crescendo as the entire student body got to their feet to acknowledge him. Harry wanted badly to melt into the floor, to run and hide from all the attention. But he forced himself to stand and smile politely, waving at the many eager faces looking to him for strength and comfort. Only the Slytherins looked less than enthused, with Draco Malfoy and his posse staring skeptically at him.

"I'm confident that you will all have much to learn from Harry, if you choose to apply yourself," Dumbledore smiled. "With that said, let's eat!"

He clapped his hands, and food appeared on the tables before them. This fortunately diverted attention away from Harry as the ravenous students dug into their meals. A few nearby Ravenclaws were still eager to speak with him, however.

"Welcome back, Harry," said Terry Boot, reaching across two second-years to shake Harry's hand. "Always knew your expulsion was bullshite. Glad to have you with us again."

"Hear hear," said Anthony Goldstein, raising a goblet towards Harry. "After everything Fudge and Professor Weasley put you through last year, you deserve all our respect."

"Thanks," Harry grinned sheepishly. "By the way, Anthony...I'm sorry you lost your prefect status. I didn't ask for it, and I never would have tried to steal it from you—"

"Don't mention it," Anthony grinned. "It should've been you from the beginning anyway. Flitwick admitted to me last year that he nominated you for the job, but Dumbledore overruled him."

That was news to Harry. Why did Dumbledore not want him to be a prefect last year? Was it as he originally feared: retribution for telling Neville the truth about the prophecy? And why had he changed his mind now? Was it simply a ploy to regain his trust, to draw him in closer after failing to control him last year?

It only reaffirmed his desire to tread carefully around Dumbledore this year. He would be spending a lot more time with the man, and it was clear from the Headmaster's speech that he wanted to fashion Harry as a sort of figurehead for the other students. Why, he couldn't yet be certain.

I'll play along for now, Dumbledore, Harry thought as he ate his meal in silence. I'll be your Golden Boy to make you feel more comfortable. But I won't let it get in the way of what I have to do, either.


The first day back to classes was always an interesting experience, but this particular Monday had Harry ambivalent. He got to start the day with Potions, which was now taught by his mother, but it was followed by a double afternoon session of Defense Against the Dark Arts, now taught by Snape. A curious dichotomy: his least-favorite class taught by one of his favorite people, and his favorite class taught by one of his least-favorite people.

The energy outside the Potions classroom was palpable as the sixth-years queued up for their first lesson of the term. All of them had fond memories of Professor James Potter, yet most had never met his wife before, and were eager to see if she measured up to their lofty expectations. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Lily would soon be a class favorite.

Harry also spied Draco and a small handful of other Slytherins who had progressed to N.E.W.T. level. They were more muted than usual, speaking in a hushed circle apart from the other students. Don't you dare try anything against my mother, Harry thought, his glare boring a hole through the back of the blonde boy's head. It'll be the last thing you ever do.

Lily let the class in soon after to take their seats. Harry deliberately took the seat directly behind Malfoy, in order to keep an eye on him, settling in beside Michael Corner as Lily began her lesson.

"My name is Professor Lily Evans-Potter," she said. "You can call me Professor Potter, Professor Evans, or even Professor Lily if you wish...so long as you treat me with respect, I'll treat you the same. Now, you've entered into N.E.W.T. level, which means we'll be dealing with far more dangerous potions than you've encountered thus far. I therefore hope you'll pay extra close attention to avoid any mishaps."

Lily cast a nervous glance towards the Slytherins as she said this. Fortunately Crabbe and Goyle were not continuing with Potions, as they had a knack for blowing up whatever concoction they attempted. Malfoy did not react, continuing to twirl his quill absent-mindedly in his palm.

"Now, I've written a recipe on the chalkboard," Lily continued, gesturing to the wall of text behind her. "If brewed correctly, it will produce the Draught of the Living Death. Who here can tell me what this potion does to the consumer?"

Hermione's hand shot up into the air at once until Lily called upon her. "The Draught of the Living Death mimics the effects of death by rendering the consumer unconscious and disguising the vital signs of life until the antidote is applied," she recited flawlessly.

"Very good; take two points for Ravenclaw, Miss Granger," Lily nodded, earning a pleased smile from Hermione. "Now, this particular potion is unique in that, despite the obvious negative effects upon the user, it is not classified as a poison. Can anyone tell me why?"

Even Hermione seemed stumped by this question. Everyone pondered it in silence, and Harry knew the hesitance was partially due to confusion. Snape had never asked such questions of them before; he merely expected them to learn the material from the textbook and follow the instructions on the board.

"I'll give you a hint," Lily smiled. "It has to do with the sixth line of the recipe."

Harry squinted up at the board, locating the sixth line: 'Cut open twelve sopophorous beans and add juices within to cauldron.' They hadn't worked much with sopophorous beans in O.W.L. year...Harry could only recall using it once before, for a very specific brew—

He raised his hand at once. "Is it a type of Sleeping Potion?" he asked.

"Very good, Harry!" Lily beamed proudly. "Take three more points for Ravenclaw! While the potion produces poison-like effects, its true nature is that of a sleep inducer, putting the consumer in an indefinite state of slumber. Now, can anyone wager a guess as to the purpose of the sloth brain in the recipe?"

Once again a prolonged, thoughtful silence followed this question. Harry had never seen Hermione look so puzzled before...she badly wished to answer, but clearly had not considered the question herself before. It was Ernie Macmillan who hesitantly raised his hand first.

"Is it to slow the vital functions of the organs?" he wondered aloud. "To fool outside observers into believing they've stopped completely?"

"That is exactly right, Mr. Macmillan; take three points for Hufflepuff," Lily smiled kindly. "You see, the key to success with potions is to understand not only which ingredients to use, but why they are used. I hope that by the end of this year, you will all be able to think outside the box and improvise rather than simply follow instructions to a tee."

Harry glowed internally at the looks of surprise and awe in his classmates' faces. They had never been so engaged with a Potions lesson before...Snape may have been brilliant at the subject himself, but he was terrible at making others understand it. Lily had a knack for breaking it down so that anyone could grasp even the most complex of concepts.

At the conclusion of the lesson, students filed out of the dungeons, already buzzing about their new favorite professor in the school. Harry was pleased to see his mother already proving popular with his classmates, as he spent the lunch break listening to his peers gush about how much fun she had made the normally-dull subject. He wished he could remain with them and their high spirits, but he had an afternoon with Snape ahead of him, filling him with dread.

The Defense classroom, once an inviting space that filled Harry with warmth, now suddenly felt cold and lifeless as he filed in with the seventh-years. He sat beside Mark Davis as Snape stood impassively at the front of the class, waiting for everyone to take their seats.

"Welcome to your final year of Defense," he sneered. "At the conclusion of this term, you will be subject to the most grueling and challenging exams you have faced thus far. As such, I will expect nothing but excellence from all of you, for if you cannot handle the day-to-day activities in this class, you will not be able to handle the final exams."

That's a failing on your part, not ours, Harry grumbled to himself. Snape's arrogance had always grated on him – now that he was no longer a frightened eleven-year-old boy, it appalled him how this insecure man-child mistreated and abused vulnerable children who didn't know any better.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly barked. "Up here, with me."

Harry suppressed a groan as he stood to join Snape at the front of the class. Snape had his wand drawn, and Harry, while his own hands were empty, remained ready to plunge his hand into his robes for his wand at a moment's notice, recognizing the malicious glint in his professor's eyes.

"One of the most important tenets of this course is nonverbal defense," said Snape, flicking his wand at Harry without warning. "Stupefy!"

Harry was ready. He calmly whipped out his wand and erected a perfect Shield Charm, deflecting the red jet of light with a satisfying gong. Harry stood impassively, watching Snape, anticipating his next move.

Snape, who clearly hadn't expected such a quick reaction, merely sneered. "Good, Potter," he said. "And if I had instead cast a more complex hex, one that a simple Shield Charm could not deflect, what would you have done?"

"Personally, I would just dodge it," Harry shrugged. "But if that was not an option, I would conjure a solid object like stone or metal to intercept the spell."

Snape studied him for a moment. "That would work," he acknowledged, "but this is not Transfiguration class, Potter. If such a question comes up on your N.E.W.T., you will be expected to answer using methods taught in the book, such as a Barrier Charm, which you will all be expected to master by the end of this term."

"But the book's wrong!" Harry insisted. He'd read about the Barrier Charm in his personal studies years ago: a stronger variant of the Shield Charm, reinforced to handle darker and more sinister spells. However, it took far more magical energy to produce and could only defend in one direction, making it too inflexible and unreliable for his liking. Hell, he was pretty sure even the Aurors didn't bother with the spell themselves.

"It is not your job to decide whether the book is right or wrong," Snape spat. "It is your job to learn its contents and pass the exam using them. Leave the interpreting to me, Potter. Now retake your seat."

Harry did so, silently fuming. As usual, Snape preferred to be technically correct in his lessons rather than actually teach them actionable, useful things.

He spent the remainder of the lesson listening to Snape drone on about the various topics they would be covering, and the (copious) amounts of homework they would have to complete. Snape ended the lesson by assigning them all a two-foot summary on the Barrier Charm, drawing groans from the entire class.

The bell rang, and Harry hastily packed his things, eager to get out of the classroom. But before he could make his escape, Snape called after him: "Potter. A word."

Harry suppressed a groan and turned to face the man as the class emptied out behind him. "Sir?" he asked coolly.

Snape studied him for a moment, his cold black eyes peering suspiciously at Harry. "I had a curious conversation with the Headmaster this morning," he said.

"Did you?" Harry asked neutrally.

"He informed the staff that you intend to come and go from your lessons as you please," said Snape. "That you seem to believe yourself above the rules that govern the rest of your classmates."

"I don't think I'm above anybody else," Harry shrugged. "I just feel that my time might be better served elsewhere than repetitive lessons in subjects I don't need the help in."

"Such arrogance," Snape sneered. "Be warned that I have no interest in what concessions the Headmaster may have made to wrangle you back to the castle. As long as you are a student of mine, I will not tolerate absences, and if you plan on skipping my lessons, it will reflect poorly upon your grades."

Harry was prepared to retort, to tell Snape to shove it and skip the rest of his DADA classes anyway. But he held his tongue and considered his options. Staring the year off with a contentious relationship with Snape may prove detrimental to him down the line. He needed information, information that only Snape could give him, and he would never get it if he treated the man poorly.

"Understood, sir," Harry said, suppressing his urge to fight back. "As it so happens, this is the subject I am most keen to improve at, so I had no intentions of skipping your lessons."

Surprise registered in Snape's expression for a moment, before it was replaced with the usual thinly-veiled disdain. "A wise decision, Mr. Potter," he remarked.

"But know this," said Harry. "Unlike with Potions, you're teaching my best subject now. If you intend to belittle me or criticize every misstep of mine, you'll have a much tougher go of it. We both know I'm the best student in this class and give full effort on every test and assignment, so I won't put up with your abuse any longer."

"Such arrogance," Snape muttered once again. But he seemed to consider Harry's words honestly. "I acknowledge that your utter incompetence in my potions lab may not extend to this subject matter. So long as you give full effort and do not prove a nuisance in my lessons, I see no reason we cannot have a peaceful working relationship."

"Glad to hear it," said Harry. Again, he had a million retorts in mind, such as the fact that he aced his Potions O.W.L. without Snape's help, or that every other teacher gave Harry exactly the 'peaceful working relationship' Snape seemed so reluctant to foster. "Anything else I can do for you, Professor?"

"Dismissed," said Snape curtly. "Be warned, Potter: you are being watched very closely in this castle. The Dark Lord no longer views you as a personal threat the same way he does Longbottom, but you remain a powerful enemy he does not take lightly. Take care not to give him any further reason to wish you or your family harm."

Harry considered these words carefully. Was that just a warning, or a threat? Did Snape know something he didn't about Voldemort's plans? Had he perhaps caught wind of some scheme against him or his family members, and wished to give Harry forewarning against it? He left the classroom with his head buzzing, hoping to speak to Dumbledore about it as soon as he could.

He did not hear from the Headmaster until later that week. On Thursday morning at breakfast, Harry received a small slip of parchment along with his usual mail delivery. When he unfolded it, he read Dumbledore's neat handwriting within: "Meet me tonight in my office at 7:30 PM for our first meeting. The password is 'Bertie Botts'. -A.D."

Harry found himself anxious as he headed to the Headmaster's Office that evening. What exactly would they be doing? Would Dumbledore follow through with his promise to train Harry? What form might that take...assigned reading? Dueling practice? He also had plenty of questions built up from a strange first week back at Hogwarts that demanded answers.

"Come in, Harry, come in!" Dumbledore beamed as Harry peeked through the door. "Have a seat. How has your first week treated you?"

"It's been...unique," Harry shrugged as he sank into an armchair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"I imagine so," Dumbledore chuckled. "Unique times we are living in, after all! But I trust you are settling in alright?"

"Fine," Harry shrugged.

"I couldn't help but notice," Dumbledore remarked, "that you had dropped Divination from your schedule."

"And Care of Magical Creatures," Harry nodded. "To lighten my workload."

"Understandable," Dumbledore said slowly. "But why Divination? It seems rather pertinent to your particular skill set—"

"I told you I wouldn't submit myself to questioning about my visions," Harry said firmly.

"Of course not," Dumbledore said patiently. "I only wondered if perhaps Firenze's teaching methods are not to your satisfaction?"

"He's fine at teaching the material," Harry shrugged. "That's not the issue. He's not a Seer like Trelawney was, and I prefer to self-study rather than learn branches of centaur divination that do not pertain to me."

Dumbledore considered this. "I suppose that makes sense," he conceded. "If there is anything I can do to assist you in your private studies – books I can point you towards, advice I can give – please do not hesitate to ask."

He's really bending over backwards to accommodate me, Harry thought. It felt like Dumbledore had particular reason to want Harry here, in the castle, rather than out in the real world. But why? Harry couldn't entirely trust that altruism was the old man's only motive, not in a time of war like this. There had to be some ulterior motive at play, and it frustrated Harry to no end that the man continued to play coy with him…

"Why did you overrule Flitwick when he tried to make me a prefect last year?" he blurted out.

Dumbledore blinked in surprise at the question. "I have told you my regrets in how I treated you in years past," he said. "That is indeed one such mistake. I worried that giving you prefect status would encourage you to distance yourself further from your peers, to isolate yourself as you so often did in your first four years here."

"So what's changed now?" Harry demanded. "You feel like you need me as a figurehead, so you're willing to make concessions you weren't before? Or are you kissing up to the Minister by showering his son with gifts?"

"Not at all," said Dumbledore. "I am merely rectifying my past lapses in judgment and extending an olive branch. I have made concessions I normally wouldn't for a student, it is true, but it is because you have proven to be a better man than I assumed, and I trust you to do the right thing with the power I've granted you."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt at his words. But were they genuine? Did he mean what he said, or were they merely lip service to make up for his repeated failures in the past?

"Snape told me something interesting earlier this week," said Harry, moving right along to his next point of contention. "He says Voldemort has people watching me inside the castle. Does he mean Malfoy and his cronies? What are you going to do about this?"

"Voldemort does indeed have spies planted within the castle," Dumbledore confirmed. "Snape himself being one of them. But they have strict instructions not to harm a fellow student, especially yourself and your family members, because Voldemort learned the hard way that retribution will be swift and merciless if any harm comes to a member of James Potter's family."

"So says Snape," Harry retorted. "How d'you know Voldemort told him the truth? What if he's withholding his true plans from Snape, since he knows he'd only report it back to you?"

"I have no reason to believe that is the case," said Dumbledore simply. "And after decades of fighting against Voldemort, I like to believe I know how he thinks. He is a monster, there is no doubt, but he is also intelligent and risk-averse. And, no offense Harry, but he does not see you as important enough to take such a risk in targeting you inside these walls."

"I'd like to see him try," Harry growled. "I know what you said earlier, sir, but if Draco came after me or my family, all bets are off. He'll regret ever being born."

"Voldemort knows that, and Mr. Malfoy knows that too," Dumbledore nodded. "And therefore I do not think such an outcome is likely. I know you still distrust me, but believe me when I say that Draco is being watched very closely, by both myself and Professor Snape."

"If you say so," Harry grumbled unhappily.

"Now, I'd like to get started before it gets too late," said Dumbledore, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I promised you that I would teach you more advanced magic for combat – and I shall – but tonight I wish to have an open and frank conversation."

"What about, sir?"

"Dark magic," said Dumbledore with a frown. "You have spent the past five years having it drilled into you by your Defense professors, but I must nonetheless stress how dangerous Dark magic is for the user. I know you intend to better yourself by any means possible to fight the threat of Voldemort, but I need you to understand that there is a right and a wrong way to do so."

"I know, sir," Harry sighed. "I don't plan on running around casting Avada Kedavra on everyone."

"I certainly hope not," Dumbledore chuckled. "But Dark magic isn't only limited to the Killing Curse. Many powerful Dark spells also draw upon the soul of the user. You witnessed Voldemort cast one yourself, in the Atrium...the spell that cost me my left arm."

"What spell was that, sir?" Harry asked. He remembered those odd tendrils of black smoke; the horrific screaming they emitted when neutralized by Dumbledore's shield.

"A deeply evil curse invented many centuries ago," Dumbledore said somberly. "The creator was so horrified by his own invention that he attempted to destroy any trace of its existence...but Voldemort has a particular knack for dredging up arcane knowledge that was meant to be lost to time."

"What does it do, exactly?" Harry asked.

"I will not repeat the incantation or the wand movement necessary to perform it," said Dumbledore. "As a matter of fact, if I did it myself, nothing would happen...you, however, would perform a lesser version of the curse."

"I don't understand," Harry frowned...how could he possibly cast a spell Dumbledore himself could not?

"The curse calls upon the souls of the dead and warps them into an offensive weapon," Dumbledore explained. "Those black tendrils you saw were souls that Voldemort himself extinguished, called back to the land of the living to briefly do his bidding. A terribly evil act, one that I find even more detestable than the creation of Inferi."

"So you would be unable to cast it, because…" Harry deduced.

"I have never murdered another human being," Dumbledore nodded. "You, however, would produce a single soul: that of Bellatrix Lestrange. And I imagine her soul would be none too happy to do your bidding. Like Fiendfyre, the curse is especially dangerous because it requires an iron-clad will to prevent the summoned souls from turning back on the caster."

"That's horrifying," Harry shuddered. Voldemort using his own past victims as a weapon? Were Frank and Alice Longbottom among those smoky tendrils he used to attack them? Was Saul Croaker's the soul that latched itself to Dumbledore's arm and tried to eat him from the inside out? It was a chilling thought he didn't like to dwell upon.

"The downsides of the curse are drastic," Dumbledore went on. "Each soul Voldemort summoned that night tormented his own soul afterwards, as he was forced to experience their collective rage and displeasure at being summoned against their will. Severus informed me that it took Voldemort several weeks to recover after fleeing from the Ministry...you'll notice he only cast it when backed into a corner, in a moment of pure desperation, knowing the toll it would take on him."

"Well, I'm not going to search out the incantation for myself, sir," Harry reassured him.

"Good," Dumbledore smiled. "That curse is a particularly egregious example of what I am talking about, while the Killing Curse is another. Other Dark spells may seem more benign, and you may find yourself drawn to them as powerful tools with minimal drawbacks. But these tiny drawbacks build up over time, and the soul is not meant to take such a beating over a prolonged period. Your own soul remains intact after a single use of the Killing Curse, but it is now more fragile than it was before, and you'd do well not to push the limits any further."

"Right," Harry muttered. "But how do I know what's considered Dark and what isn't? I know Britain takes a far more strict approach to the subject than other places do."

"Yes, I am aware," Dumbledore nodded. "Durmstrang, for instance, takes a more liberal approach to Dark magic, allowing minimal use to let students experience the highs and lows for themselves in small doses. I myself tend to value the human soul higher than most, and prefer to take caution in such matters."

"That doesn't answer my question, though," Harry said pointedly. "If I did want to expand my arsenal, how will I know which methods will harm my soul and which won't?"

"That is what I hope these lessons of ours will accomplish," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I will guide you through the methods I myself have used to better myself over the years, while showing you what branches of magic are best avoided."

That's not very helpful, Harry thought. With respect to Dumbledore's abilities, Harry did not have a hundred years' worth of free time to grow strong enough to fight Voldemort. He had to get stronger much faster than that, and he doubted Dumbledore could teach him all that he knew in just a year or two. Ravenclaw or not, Harry knew he was nowhere near as smart as the man sitting across from him.

"How do you propose we do this, then?" he sighed.

"We will begin by assessing your strengths and weaknesses to determine the best path forward," said Dumbledore. "Every wizard has different tendencies, different approaches to a fight. I must determine what yours are so I know what magic you would be best served mastering first."

"Alright," Harry shrugged. "When do we start?"

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Harry flinched; he hadn't expected company this late. "Next week, I'm afraid," said Dumbledore. "I have another engagement this evening. We will need to find an appropriate place to meet with much more space...I seem to recall that you used such a place to train your defense group last term?"

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry sighed. "Yes, I suppose we could meet there."

"I hoped you might agree to such a thing," Dumbledore smiled. "I am aware that this room has become something of a sanctuary for you, and did not wish to intrude."

"It's fine," Harry shrugged. He did feel somewhat possessive of the Room, but supposed he could hold no more claim over it than the Headmaster of the school it resided in.

"Come in!" Dumbledore announced, turning towards the door. It clicked open, and to Harry's surprise, Neville stuck his head in the office.

"Oh...is Harry joining us for our lesson, sir?" Neville asked, eyeing Harry with surprise.

"No, he is on his way out," said Dumbledore. "I'll send you a note when I've decided on a time and date for our next meeting, Harry."

"Alright," said Harry as he got to his feet. "Oh, and one last thing, sir: you said I could have permission to leave the grounds on weekends?"

Dumbledore looked displeased by this question; perhaps he'd hoped Harry had forgotten that part of their agreement. "Very well," he sighed. He reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a folded piece of parchment, levitating it over for Harry to catch. "That should give you free passage if Mr. Filch or anyone else attempts to stop you. But I hope you know it only applies on weekends, and you are expected to be back in the castle by curfew on Sunday night."

"Understood," said Harry, pocketing the note. "Good night, sir. Neville." He nodded politely to the teen, who looked puzzled by the interaction, before departing the office.

He still hadn't quite made up his mind about Dumbledore's motives behind all of this attention. He seemed sincere enough, but Harry still got the sense that there was a lot that the Headmaster wasn't telling him. Why was he reluctant to tell Harry how to distinguish Dark magic from the rest? Did he really expect Harry to sit quietly and wait for Dumbledore to teach him everything he knew, a few hours at a time?

And since when was he giving Neville private lessons, as well? Was he also teaching the teen how to fight? Or did he have other plans for the boy, other goals to aspire towards? Did he intend to train Neville on how to use the 'power of love' to vanquish Voldemort, or some nonsense?

Harry knew he shouldn't be so flippant about these matters. He had no more idea what the prophecy meant than Dumbledore, and couldn't make heads or tails of what this 'power the Dark Lord knows not' might mean. Dumbledore had been doing this for a long, long time, after all...maybe Harry should learn to trust and respect the Headmaster a bit more.

But something still felt off about the Headmaster's treatment of him this term. Sure, he was being amiable and accommodating – almost suspiciously so. Harry couldn't quite place his finger on where his uneasy feeling came from, and he intended to find out before divulging any of his secrets with the man.