Harry tripped over the trunk at the foot of his bed, making a dull thud that echoed through the darkened room. He heard a shifting nearby, and a bleary-eyed Michael Corner poked his head out of the curtains to squint at him.

"Potter?" he croaked. "What're you doing up at this hour?"

"The early owl gets the rat," Harry quipped, lacing up his trainers and heading for the door.

The sun was barely peeking out over the horizon, but Harry could not afford to sleep in any longer. He had to get in his morning run before the day began, to release some pent-up frustration. He'd served his first detention with Percy the night before...after two hours of helping him grade the first- and second-years' essays and realizing how poorly they were being taught, he almost yearned for Umbridge's blood quill again.

Early morning was also the only time he was able to dedicate to his girlfriend, who had been the one to introduce him to pre-dawn workouts in the first place. She was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall, dressed in a red-and-gold tracksuit. "You're late," Katie tutted, tapping her foot impatiently as he scurried down the steps.

"Overslept," Harry yawned. "C'mon, let's go."

They took off across the grounds, taking their usual path along the shore of the lake. It was a testament to Harry's growing stamina that he was able to hold a conversation during these long-distance runs, as they caught up on the previous day's events. Katie filled him in on Gryffindor's Quidditch tryouts, which had apparently gone quite well.

"Ginny Weasley's a surprisingly strong flier," said Katie. "She says she wants to move to Chaser next year when Angie and Alicia graduate, but she can hold her own at Seeker."

"What about Keeper?" Harry asked. "Must hurt to lose Oliver."

"It does," Katie shrugged. "But McClaggen isn't half-bad. He seems a bit thick, but he's a good athlete."

"I see," said Harry. "How about Slytherin and Hufflepuff? Any word on how their teams are looking?"

"I hear Draco Malfoy is just loading the Slytherin team with his mates," Katie scoffed. "I don't think we have to worry about them too much this year. Hufflepuff looks really formidable, though. Cedric is an excellent captain, and their Beaters are going to be a problem for years now that your cousin is aboard. Dunno much about their new Keeper, though – the twins' little brother."

"He's talented," Harry shrugged, remembering Ron's first matches with the Gryffindor squad in his first timeline. "A bit inconsistent, though. You might have a chance if you attack him hard."

"Are you giving us pointers?" Katie asked with a mirthful grin. "How un-sporting of you."

"Hey, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help my girlfriend win second place?" Harry grinned back. Katie promptly tackled him to the ground, and they playfully rolled around in the muddy banks for a while, laughing hysterically.

They eventually returned to the castle, the sun now fully visible above the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Harry and Katie re-entered the Entrance Hall hand in hand, still laughing, but their smiles evaporated when they came face-to-face with Percy Weasley, surveying them with crossed arms and a stern expression.

"Out of bed early this morning, are we?" he demanded.

"Just went out for a quick run, Professor," Katie said apologetically.

"And you are aware that curfew extends from eleven at night to six-thirty in the morning?" said Percy, arching an eyebrow at them.

"Yes, well, it's six forty-five," Harry huffed, consulting his wrist watch. "So we're fine, aren't we?"

"And I imagine you woke up, left your dorms, then managed to get this sweaty and muddy in less than fifteen minutes?" Percy scoffed, examining their dirtied clothes. "I don't think so. That'll be fifteen points from each of you for breaking curfew."

"Come off it, Percy—" Harry groaned.

"That's Professor Weasley to you, Potter!" Percy spat. "And that'll be another detention for talking back. Want to make it two detentions? Or perhaps I ought to send a letter off to your parents, explaining your misdeeds?"

Harry held his tongue, burning with exasperation at the redhead. Of course writing to his parents was a threat he was unconcerned about...he knew James would take his side in this instance. It was the unspoken threat that worried him: the threat that Percy might write to Fudge, ABOUT his parents. That he could not abide.

"What a self-righteous prick!" Katie fumed as Percy strode away. "Students get up this early to exercise all the time! Why is he picking on us?"

"He's picking on me, not you," Harry sighed. "Sorry you had to get caught in the middle."

"None of the sixth-years like him either," Katie muttered bitterly. "And based on what Angelina and the twins say, neither do the seventh-years. We're all on your side, you know."

"Best not advertise that to Percy," Harry sighed. "He'll hold it over your head wherever possible." Percy may not have been as bad as Umbridge, but he did possess one obnoxious trait that Dolores never did: he had a knack for holding the letter of the law over your head to punish you for minor infractions. Years of lording over his peers as prefect and then Head Boy had instilled a real superiority complex within him.

Harry returned to his dorm to shower and gather his books for the day's lessons, before heading to the Great Hall to eat breakfast with his peers. He spotted Neville over at the Hufflepuff table with Ron and Hermione, rubbing his scar absent-mindedly as he ate. He looked exhausted, with deep bags under his eyes as though he hadn't slept in days. It reminded Harry of something he'd meant to check in on much earlier, and he headed over towards the Slytherin table.

He found Daphne Greengrass sitting with Tracey and Mark Davis, and took a seat beside them. "Hey, Daph," he greeted the girl. "Got a minute?"

"Well well, if it isn't the infamous Potter brat," Daphne said, her mirthful grin betraying her sarcasm. "The Prophet has had a lot to say about you and your father this summer."

"It's all rubbish," Harry muttered. "You lot don't buy into it, I hope?"

"Just pulling your leg, Potter," Daphne winked. "Everyone knows Fudge has the Prophet in his pocket. What can I help you with?"

"Neville," Harry muttered in an undertone. "I'm worried about his sleeping arrangements. All of the Slytherin boys in his year are sons of Death Eaters."

"Allegedly," Daphne added carefully, glancing about to make sure they weren't being overheard.

"Is it safe for him there?" Harry asked. "I mean, what if they decide to jump him in the middle of the night while he's sleeping?"

"We've already dealt with that particular concern ourselves, actually," spoke up Mark Davis. "See, us sixth-years have had issues with one of our own this year, too. Mulciber...real bigoted prick. We ended up chucking him from our dorm and taking in Longbottom instead."

"Really?" asked Harry, surprised. "And none of your dorm mates have an issue with Neville?"

"Not all of us snakes are all Death Eaters, Potter," Mark said in a lightly chiding voice. "Works better for everyone this way. The blood purist scum can all have their own room, and we'll look out for Neville in ours."

"That's...surprisingly elegant," Harry admitted. "Is that allowed?"

"Snape doesn't give a shit," Tracey scoffed. "He prefers to let Slytherin House sort out its own internal problems. As long as we present a unified front to the outside, he lets us figure it out ourselves."

"Good to know," Harry nodded. He felt marginally better about Neville's situation in the snake den knowing he had people watching over him from the inside.

"What can you tell us about what's really going on, Harry?" asked Mark, looking concerned. "What's happening with You-Know-Who?"

"What makes you think I know anything?" Harry asked innocently.

All three Slytherins gave him an exasperated look. "That act won't fool anyone anymore," Daphne scoffed. "Everyone knows you're in the thick of it."

"He's still in Britain," Harry said in an undertone. "But he's in hiding. He's after something, and he won't move out into the open until he has it. That's all I can say."

"Are we safe here?" Tracey asked worriedly.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "It's not anything at the castle he's after. Just keep your heads down, and keep an eye on Malfoy and his lot. They know more than they're letting on too, and their fathers might have asked them to gather intel from within the school."

"Blimey...we're really at war here, aren't we?" Mark whistled.

"Unfortunately, yes," Harry grimaced. "Stay out of it as best you can, and you'll probably be fine. I'd better get going." Harry eyed Malfoy down the table, leering at him suspiciously, and stood from his seat, returning to the Ravenclaw Table for the remainder of the meal.

The bell rang far too soon, and Harry reluctantly joined his classmates to walk to their first class of the day. He had a full schedule today, meaning he would spend nearly the remainder of his daylight hours in stuffy classrooms, bored out of his mind. It was unfortunate that the primary activity of his daily routine was such a waste of time, preventing him from progressing in all of his other pursuits.

He did his best during such lessons to catch up on other things he needed to do, whenever he could get away with it. In Defense, that was nigh-impossible, as Percy was watching him in the front row like a hawk. But in Charms, which he had this morning, he was often left to his own devices in the back of the room, as Flitwick rarely called on him or even bothered to check what he was doing.

Normally Harry would spend Charms lessons working on homework. Today, he was especially groggy after such little sleep, so he hoped to catch a couple minutes of much-needed shut-eye. He propped up his textbook in front of him and closed his eyes, planning to wake before anyone even noticed he was out. Unfortunately, when he came to, he found himself in an empty classroom with Professor Flitwick shaking his head at him disapprovingly.

"Sorry, Professor," Harry yawned, packing his things. "Long night."

Flitwick gave him an exasperated look – he clearly adored Harry, but this was not the first time he'd caught his favorite student slacking during lectures. "See me this afternoon after your final lesson, Mr. Potter," he sighed.

Harry grimaced: Flitwick almost never called him by his surname. "Yes, sir," he muttered, hurrying out of the room to rejoin his classmates. Great, another detention to cut into my already-limited free time. Will I ever get a moment to rest?

After a stressful double-Potions lesson that afternoon, Harry returned to Flitwick's office, already dreading whatever lecture he was in store for. To his surprise, the diminutive professor beamed at him as he entered.

"Harry, so glad you could join us!" Flitwick smiled. "Please, have a seat."

Professor McGonagall was also in the room, sitting in one of the two chairs opposite Flitwick's desk. Confused, Harry gave her a polite nod before taking the empty seat.

"Is something the matter, Professors?" Harry asked.

"Well...yes and no," Flitwick muttered. "Professor McGonagall and I have both noticed a worrying trend in our classes lately. Specifically with you."

Harry frowned. "What kind of trend?" he asked.

"You don't seem to be engaged with your lessons like you used to," McGonagall cut in. "In both my class and Filius', you seem bored and uninterested in participating."

Harry sighed; he should have realized that was what this was about. "I apologize," he said. "I already read my textbooks over the summer and know everything that's expected of me. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I don't feel that I need to be there."

"You are not in trouble, Mr. Potter," said Flitwick. "In fact, quite the opposite. Minerva and I have discussed this habit of yours before, but it has never been an issue because you always demonstrate your mastery of the material when prompted."

"This is a rather...unusual situation," said McGonagall slowly. "But we want to offer you a choice."

"What kind of choice?" Harry asked.

"The Headmaster has approved you to complete a selection of your O.W.L.'s early," said Flitwick. "If you are interested, you would need to set aside a weekend to complete your exams in Charms and Transfiguration. If you pass, you would be able to move on to N.E.W.T. level with the sixth-years."

"Wow," said Harry; he had never considered this possibility. "And that's allowed?"

"It has only been offered to a select few students throughout the years," said McGonagall. "We do not recommend it lightly. We only bring it up if we believe it would benefit the student to move ahead, and we both feel that you are ready."

"Really?" said Harry. "Erm...thank you."

"But this is not to be taken lightly," McGonagall chided him, as Flitwick nodded solemnly beside her. "If you fail to perform on your exams, it will reflect poorly on both of us with the Department of Magical Education. We are taking a risk on you, Mr. Potter...do you believe you are up to the task?"

Harry considered it. He had felt reasonably good about his performance on both his Charms and Transfiguration O.W.L.'s in his previous timeline, even though he never found out his scores. And he was vastly more powerful and knowledgeable now, having dabbled in N.E.W.T. level material already in his independent studies.

"Could I also take my Defense O.W.L.?" he asked. "I don't feel challenged in that class either."

"I would advise you to only sit the exams you feel confident in," McGonagall warned him. "This will be a difficult undertaking."

"I'm ready," Harry said eagerly. "When can I take them?"

"I will owl Madam Marchbanks to set a date," said McGonagall. "I would suggest at least a month of preparation, to ensure you know the material inside and out."

"I am happy to provide study material if you think you need it," Flitwick smiled. "Not that I believe you do. I support whatever decision you make."

"I want to do it," Harry nodded. "How about the first weekend of November?"

"Very well," McGonagall nodded. "You will sit the written exams for Charms, Transfiguration and Defense on that Saturday, followed by the practicals on Sunday. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"Do not squander it," McGonagall said sternly, though the ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Harry couldn't believe his good fortune...while it would mean a more stressful month ahead, he would be able to move on to material that actually challenged him, material he hadn't learned already! The past four years had felt like one prolonged period of deja vu, stuck taking the same tests and writing the same essays he had in his last timeline. Now perhaps the biggest waste of his time – lessons – would actually challenge him to grow and learn again.

He broke the good news to Katie that afternoon, but to his surprise, she seemed disappointed. "The first weekend of November?" she repeated, frowning. "But that's when Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff in Quidditch! You're not going to be able to watch?"

"Oh...I guess not," Harry grimaced. "The next weekend is Ravenclaw against Slytherin, and the weekend after that is Hogsmeade, so it's the only time I could do it."

"Hmph," Katie sighed dramatically. "Well, you'd better pass, then. Hey, that means we might share classes soon!"

"Sure does," Harry grinned. "Then I'll be able to explain all your homework to you!" Katie playfully leapt atop his shoulders, and they giggled and faux-wrestled together in the corridor until Filch limped past and barked at them to separate.

Harry knew he would have to dedicate significant time in the next month to prepare for his exams. Unfortunately, he was unable to shirk his other duties, like conducting Quidditch practices and tutoring Neville in Occlumency. The latter in particular was starting to grate on him, as the poor boy was having immense trouble clearing his mind and mastering even the simplest of concepts within the Mind Arts.

Harry was beginning to wonder if he was a lost cause and Snape should just take over his training, but he was determined to see it through to the end. If he could impart the boy with anything to help him deal with his mental distress, he would. So on yet another sunny Sunday afternoon, when he'd rather be doing anything else, he headed for the empty classroom on the third floor that had become their usual meeting place.

"Hey, Neville," Harry greeted the teen. "Ready for some practice?"

Neville nodded, looking somewhat uncertain. "D'you think you can practice on me today?" he asked. "I want to speed things along if possible."

"You do?" said Harry, surprised. "How has your meditation been going?"

"Erm...it's alright," Neville muttered. "I'm just tired of feeling this way, y'know? Angry and frustrated all the time."

"I understand," Harry sighed. He remembered the feeling all too well in his original fifth year, compounded of course by the isolation he felt and Umbridge's daily torment. "Have you ever practiced Occlumency against a psychic invasion before?"

"No...does it hurt?"

"Not physically," Harry reassured him. "Though it may be a bit distressing. I'll try not to probe too far."

"Okay," Neville sighed. "What am I supposed to do?"

"There are two primary methods you can use," Harry explained. "One is to physically block the invader, by imagining some sort of physical barrier and putting it between yourself and the other person. I personally think of it like an iron grate, like on Muggle storefronts, coming down to stop anyone from entering, but feel free to envision your own."

"Got it," Neville nodded. "And what's the second method?"

"Well, any determined Legilimens can break through a barrier given enough time," said Harry. "So your second method of defense should be redirection. Lead the person away from the memories you want to protect, and towards other memories you don't care as much about."

"O-okay," said Neville, clearly unsure how to accomplish what Harry had suggested. But there was no better teacher than experience, so might as well get it over with.

"Get ready," Harry warned, drawing his wand and making eye contact with Neville. "Legilimens!"

At once, Harry was met with a rush of stray thoughts and memories floating around in Neville's subconscious. The boy was clearly nervous, which was both a benefit and a crutch...Harry couldn't quite grasp onto any one scattered thought, but there were plenty of avenues to attack from.

Harry caught a glimpse of Neville's Gran floating around in the memories and went after her. "Keep me away from her," he ordered, as he delved deeper into Neville's memories after Augusta.

"How?" Neville asked, sounding panicked. More images of Augusta were appearing now, as his efforts to keep Harry away from her only amplified her presence in his subconscious. Harry caught fragmented glimpses of Neville's childhood: his Gran chastising him for his clumsiness, berating his lack of talent compared to his parents, openly speculating if he might be a Squib in front of him…

"Okay, enough," Harry muttered, pulling out of Neville's mind completely. Neville sank to the ground, trembling and clutching his head. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Neville muttered. "Just not fun to have someone nosing around in there."

"I know," Harry commiserated. "Listen, you made a beginner's mistake there – by focusing on the thing you didn't want me to see, you're instead calling forth those very memories and made it easier to for me to access them. You have to do the opposite: clear your mind of your Gran and focus on everything else besides her. Overwhelm the invader with useless memories he has to sort through to get to what he wants."

"What kind of memories?"

"Anything, really. School assignments, your last meal in the Great Hall. The more boring, the better."

"The more boring, the better," Neville repeated under his breath. "Okay. Let's try again."

"You sure? We can take a break if you want—"

"Voldemort isn't taking any breaks," Neville said resolutely. "Do it. Go again."

Harry reluctantly drew his wand and made eye contact with Neville once more. "Legilimens."

Harry once again was given an unbidden, chaotic glimpse at Neville's memories. Laughing along with Ron and Hermione at some inside joke...shrinking away from Professor Snape in Potions class...witnessing Voldemort's return in the graveyard…

A familiar face floated by, one Harry didn't expect to see: that of his sister, laughing and smiling at him in passing in the corridor. He knew he shouldn't, knew it was potentially an invasion of privacy, but curiosity got the better of him. "Keep me away," he instructed Neville, as he followed his sister.

More brief glimpses of Dahlia flitted past his vision: her whispering and giggling with Ginny at the Gryffindor table; laughing at some joke Cedric made in the tent at the World Cup; face scrunched in concentration in the library as she pondered a difficult Arithmancy equation. Harry wondered if these were all real memories – if Neville had really singled her out in all of these obscure situations.

Slowly, Dahlia's face began to blur and morph before his eyes. She became Professor Binns, droning on about various goblin riots...she became a wall of text, as Neville studied for his Transfiguration exam...a plate of food, as Neville indulged in the Opening Feast…

"Good, Neville," Harry appraised him. "Keep pushing me away."

But Neville was unable to keep it up for long. Harry caught more stray glances of Dahlia in his peripheries, and changed course, ignoring the memories Neville was feeding him and chasing his sister once more. He could feel Neville fatiguing, trying to keep in front of him, to put up barriers in his path...but Harry had near-limitless access, his journey through Neville's mind almost trivially easy…

Then, one memory rose to the surface, more powerful than all the others. Dahlia, smiling up at him during the Yule Ball...dancing with her through the night...looking deeply into her eyes at midnight, heart aflutter, leaning in for a goodnight kiss…

"No!" Neville bellowed. And with a force Harry had not expected, he was expelled violently from Neville's mind, causing him to physically stagger backwards several steps. Harry shook his head to stop his ears from ringing, and he and Neville stood looking warily at one another, both breathing heavily.

"T-th-that's p-private," Neville stammered, face flushing red at the intrusion into the intimate moment. Harry did his best to ignore what he had seen and focus on the positives.

"That was well done, Neville," said Harry. "You managed to force me out on your own. Now it's just a matter of preventing me from getting there in the first place."

"I don't know how," Neville sighed dejectedly. "You're too fast for me to keep up with...every time I try to slow you down, you're somewhere else, and I start to panic."

"Don't focus so much on where I am in your mind," Harry corrected. "Focus on where you want to lead me. Remember, it's easier to redirect me somewhere else than to stop me in my tracks entirely."

"I'll try," Neville muttered. "I've been doing those nightly exercises you taught me about, but it's difficult to clear my mind completely."

"Just keep at it," Harry encouraged. He could only imagine how much Voldemort's presence was messing with Neville's ability to find inner peace. "You're making good progress, honestly."

"If you say so," Neville sighed. He fidgeted in place, still looking uncomfortable, as though he wanted to say more.

"Something the matter, Nev?" Harry asked.

Neville contemplated in silence for a moment before answering. "Can you teach me how to fight?" he blurted out.

"Fight?" Harry repeated, eyebrows raising. "Why?"

"I-I just feel so out of my depth," said Neville. "Every time I've faced danger, someone else had to come and rescue me."

"Well, a lot of people are working hard to make sure you aren't put in danger like that again," Harry offered. "With any luck, this war will be over before you have to fight anyone."

"I don't think it'll be that simple," Neville retorted. "Voldemort wants me dead, and he'll do everything he can to get me alone again. When that happens, I want to be ready."

"I dunno if you noticed, mate, but Voldemort wiped the floor with me last time. You were the one who overpowered him, not me."

"Yes, but still…" Neville sighed exasperatedly. "People look up to you. People fear you. I want to be respected like that, too. So maybe people will think twice before targeting me."

Harry considered this. He did still worry for Neville's safety within Slytherin House, even with his new sleeping arrangement. And who's to say Neville wouldn't find himself on the receiving end of a spiteful Death Eater's blows one day in the future? Harry himself had been, in the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps some self-defense training was in order – training he certainly wouldn't be getting from Professor Weasley.

"Alright, then," Harry sighed. "I can teach you a few things. But I can't promise that you'll be at my level anytime soon. I've been training for longer than you know."

"I'll take whatever you can teach me," Neville said eagerly.

"I also don't have a ton of time to spare these days," Harry grimaced. "But I can at least give you some homework for today."

Harry twirled his wand and conjured a small practice dummy across the room, some fifteen feet away. He then launched a Stunning Spell at the dummy, striking it directly in the chest, the red jet of light splashing across the wooden frame.

"Fire ten Stunning Spells at the dummy," he instructed Neville.

Neville did so. His casting was erratic and uneven, and most of his spells were far off-target. Only one struck the dummy's body as intended, while a second merely clipped the shoulder – not enough to incapacitate a foe.

"Accuracy takes time, patience and practice," said Harry. "Spend at least half an hour per day on target practice. If you can't even hit a stationary target from close range, how do you expect to hit a real foe in a fight?"

"Right," Neville nodded forlornly. Harry knew it was not the exciting training the boy expected, but the fundamentals were important. They went their separate ways soon after, and Harry hoped he had at least set Neville on the right track for success.

But for now, he had O.W.L.'s to prepare for. He spent nearly all of his free time studying Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense, memorizing as much of the textbooks as possible. Flitwick and McGonagall seemed to take pity on him, assigning him less homework than usual to accommodate him, though Percy had no such grace, forcing Harry to juggle copious essay assignments with his studies.

October passed in a haze of crammed notes and obscure principles swirling about in his brain. Harry did little else besides eat, sleep, and study, with only the occasional Quidditch practice to break up the monotony. But Harry knew it would be worth it in the end. This would clear up his workload significantly, and make his classes actually useful for learning things he didn't already know.

He awoke on the first Saturday of November feeling a bit nervous, but nonetheless ready for whatever came his way. He'd already taken these exams in his prior timeline, so he knew more or less what to expect – it was simply a matter of retaining all the information he would need to earn a passing grade. After a quick breakfast in the Great Hall and a good-luck kiss from Katie (who was on her way out to the pitch for her match against Hufflepuff), he headed for the second floor.

McGonagall had offered up her Transfiguration classroom for his exams today. There was only one person present when Harry arrived: an elderly witch he vaguely recognized from his past timeline. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," the witch said sternly. "My name is Griselda Marchbanks, head of the Department of Magical Education."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Harry said with a polite bow.

"Filius and Minerva tell me you're quite the gifted young man," said Madam Marchbanks, though her face remained stoic and unconvinced. "I will be proctoring your exams today. I hope you realize the importance of what you have decided to undertake today. Failure now would be an irrevocable stain upon your academic career, as well as the reputations of your professors who put such faith in you."

"I understand," Harry nodded. "I'm ready." But her somber words had rattled him somewhat – he knew that anything less than success would mean a much tougher road ahead for him.

Harry sat at the lone desk in the center of the room, and Madam Marchbanks placed a test booklet face-down in front of him. "We will begin with Defense Against the Dark Arts," she informed him. "You have precisely two hours to complete your exam. You may begin."

Harry flipped over the booklet and read the first question: 'In your own words, describe Gilbert's Second Principle of Defense and how to apply it to your spell-casting.' He grinned at the mental image of Percy slamming into the wall that popped into his head, and began to write.

The Defense exam was a breeze, just as it had been in his previous timeline. He stumbled a bit on some of the more obscure laws and principles, which he knew Percy had likely committed to memory, but handily identified each curse and hex described to him and how to counteract them. By the time Madam Marchbanks called for time, Harry was certain he would earn his 'O' mark, especially after tomorrow's practical exam.

Charms was equally as simple to get through, though it required a slight bit of creativity on his part. He didn't know how to describe some of the charms he could cast in his sleep, having not had to really think about incantations and wand movements in a long while. But he felt he was able to convey his thought process well enough, and once again knew that he would be fine once the practical came along the following day.

Transfiguration was by far the trickiest, and the one he'd spent the most time studying. So much of the written exam involved memorizing charts and obscure principles that set limitations on what one could achieve. He was able to use some of his prior experience on the essay portion, however – for instance, he was able to prove Gamp's Fourth Law of Transfiguration by arguing that the crow of a transfigured rooster would not be able to kill a basilisk, as it is only imitating a thing rather than embodying its essential nature. In the end, he felt that he'd walked away with a passing grade on all three exams.

Mentally drained, Harry walked into the Great Hall for dinner, listening to the excited chatter about that day's Quidditch match. "Your cousin's a right menace of a Beater, Potter!" Anthony Goldstein chuckled. "Knocked the poor Weasley girl off her broom twice."

"Is she alright?" Harry asked.

"Course she is, the Weasleys are tough as nails," Anthony shrugged. "She looked mad as hell, though. Doesn't help that Diggory caught all three Snitches, of course."

Harry knew his old teammates wouldn't be happy with that result in the slightest. He glanced over at the Gryffindor table, spotting the team huddled together at the end, looking miserable. Harry tried to meet Katie's eyeline, but she either didn't notice him or deliberately ignored him, before she eventually retreated to her dorm to wallow some more.

But no matter. Harry would treat her to a nice Hogsmeade trip in a couple weeks' time. For now, he needed to sleep, so that he would be well-rested for tomorrow's practical exams.

Madam Marchbanks was once more waiting for him in the Transfiguration classroom when he arrived the next morning. Also present were Flitwick and McGonagall. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion, Harry," Flitwick smiled at him. "We hoped to perhaps sit in on your practicals today – it isn't often we get the chance to witness someone as talented as you show off what they can do."

"Oh...alright," Harry shrugged. He didn't mind an audience, and he trusted both professors implicitly.

"Shall we begin with Charms?" Madam Marchbanks suggested. Harry nodded, drawing his wand – he was actually looking forward to this.

Madam Marchbanks walked him through a series of elementary spell-casts, instructing him to perform various tasks however he saw fit. He cycled a parrot's feathers through a series of colors, directed a tiny ball through a series of hoops around the room, and animated a miniature puppet and made it do cartwheels around the room.

Midway through the exam, Madam Marchbanks had to pause and request that Harry stopped casting his spells non-verbally so that she could verify that he knew the incantations. He complied, and based on the looks of amusement on Flitwick and McGonagall's faces, this meant that he was doing quite well.

"I think that will be all for Charms," said Madam Marchbanks. "Unless...and I do hope you will indulge me, Mr. Potter...I heard some spectacular rumors about a Body-Mirroring Charm during the Triwizard Tournament last year?"

Harry glanced at Flitwick, who nodded encouragingly at him. "Homunculi speculo!" he shouted, and felt his consciousness split into three, as he looked at Madam Marchbanks through three separate perspectives.

"How remarkable!" she exclaimed. "For someone your age...I daresay I couldn't tell the difference between the fakes and the real thing!" For good measure, she fired a Disarming Charm at one of the Harry's, but it passed straight through. "Two bonus points ought to be in order!"

They moved on to Transfiguration next. Harry methodically went through each of the exercises he was instructed to, demonstrating a series of basic transformations. He actually felt impatient as Madam Marchbanks insisted on putting him through each and every elementary exercise McGonagall had subjected them to over the past few years, completing each almost instantly and perfectly.

Madam Marchbanks seemed to sense his impatience, as she quickly moved on to more advanced transfigurations. She gave Harry several open-ended exercise, inviting him to interpret her instructions however he saw fit. When she asked him to turn a goblet full of water into a weapon, he transfigured it into a shard of ice, the metal goblet forming tiny spikes along its edges. She also placed a series of seeds on a nearby table, asking him to turn them into whatever he saw fit. He turned the pumpkin seeds into a glowing Jack-o-Lantern; the birdseed became a massive Thunderbird crackling ominously overhead; and the grass seeds became a sentient hedge, running up the nearest wall and lashing out at anyone who got too close.

"That's quite enough of that!" Madam Marchbanks chuckled, swiping her wand to Vanish all of Harry's creations. "Shall we take a break for lunch before completing your Defense practical?"

"Can't we just complete it now?" Harry requested. He felt warmed up and ready to go, and Defense was the subject he was most looking forward to.

"Very well," Madam Marchbanks shrugged.

Harry didn't know how long the Defense exam lasted, but it felt like no time at all. He effortlessly performed each counter-curse and jinx requested of him, and she did not reprimand him for casting non-verbally this time. It was almost like a duel, the way Marchbanks would announce a spell, cast it at him, and he countered it before resetting for the next one. After what felt like less than ten minutes, it was over.

"Very good, Potter," Madam Marchbanks nodded. "That will conclude your exams for today."

"When can I expect my results, ma'am?" Harry asked politely.

"Your results?" Madam Marchbanks scoffed. "My dear boy, I've never seen anything quite like your performance today, not since Albus Dumbledore himself. Rest assured, you've passed with flying colors – 'Outstanding's across the board."

"Oh...brilliant!" Harry grinned.

"I'm of half a mind to have you sit your N.E.W.T.'s in these subjects as well," Madam Marchbanks scoffed. "I threw in a couple seventh-year exercises to try and throw you off, but you performed those perfectly as well."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Griselda," said McGonagall, though a small smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. "We aren't quite ready to see Mr. Potter test out of our subjects entirely."

"Well, he likely could if he wanted to," Madam Marchbanks shrugged. "Best of luck to you, Mr. Potter. I'll be watching your academic career with great interest." And she trotted out of the room, leaving Harry alone with his two professors.

"Splendid work, Harry!" Flitwick beamed. "I never doubted you for a second, but I didn't realize quite how far ahead you've gotten in your studies."

"I did a lot of reading to prepare for the Tournament last year," Harry shrugged. And a lot of fighting to prepare for the graveyard, he left unspoken.

"Do you have your class schedule on you, Mr. Potter?" asked McGonagall. Harry nodded, fishing it out of his bag and handing it over. "You will now be attending lessons with the sixth-years for these three courses. I will also leave you with a list of textbooks you will need to order for your new lessons. You will have some catching up to do, but I imagine it won't take you long."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry, accepting his altered schedule back. He felt elated, and a little bit light-headed...three straight practicals with no break had finally caught up with him somewhat. He headed for the Great Hall to eat, with intentions to head up to the Owlery to write to his parents and share the good news.

Harry felt as if a significant burden had been lifted off his shoulders. That was three fewer end-of-year exams he would have to prepare for, giving him significantly more free time than he had before. Finally, he could afford to stop and take a break after a hectic start to the term.

But he knew he couldn't rest for long. O.W.L.'s and N.E.W.T.'s meant little to him in the long run...he was on a far more constrained timeline than anyone but him realized. A Dark Lord loomed large on the horizon, and Harry had to prepare for his next confrontation with the man. The graveyard had proven he was not ready to face the man yet, but Harry was determined to one day vanquish Tom Riddle once and for all. He would have to be proactive to ensure he could fulfill his quest.

The early owl gets the rat, after all.

A/N: A few short chapters in a row...I could have padded them up some more, but didn't want to artificially inflate this fic's length and waste your time with inconsequential details. Fifth year will pick up in excitement soon, I promise!