Sentinels' Walk

Sentinels' Walk

Chapter Three: Discordant Potential

* * *

It was just after midnight on July 31, and Harry Potter grinned broadly as he looked at the small pile of letters and packages that had been dropped off by owl post. Even if he couldn't spend his birthday with his friends, the simple reminder that they hadn't forgotten him was enough to make him happy.

Harry pulled the paper off the present that Hermione had sent him, then laughed. I should have guessed, he thought. Of course it would be a book--he had known that even before the package arrived via Flourish and Blotts delivery owl--but the title was proof of the fact that, for all her penchant for organization, even Hermione could leave some things to the last minute. He had owled her the previous day about his troubles with the Arithmancy in his books, and now he had a brand new copy of Teach Yourself Horrendously Complicated Arithmancy in 21 Days sitting on his desk, complete with attached note from Hermione assuring him that it really wasn't horrendously complicated at all.

Moving the book to the side, he picked up the other package, looking for the note from Ron that he assumed would be stuck to the outside. He had been a little worried after never receiving a reply to the letter he had sent, as Ron had never taken more than a week to answer him, even the previous summer when none of his letters had actually said anything, but was reassured when a madly twittering Pigwidgeon flew into his room and dropped a small package like he was some sort of bizarre dive-bomber.

Examining the envelope, Harry was surprised to see his name written not in Ron's messy scrawl, but in Ginny's only slightly less untidy cursive. Curious, he slit it open and read further; it looked like she had written a fair amount.

Dear Harry,

You're probably wondering why I'm sending this to you, instead of Ron. He's in the hospital right now, though--stop it, Harry, and just keep reading before you do anything--so he asked me to send something for him. Mum said to tell you she's sorry she couldn't bake you a cake this year, but she's been a little busy. Fred and George offered to send you something instead, but I wasn't sure you'd like that too much.

Anyway, about the whole Ron and hospital thing...well, first of all, just promise you'll read all the way to the end. Trust me.

Following this were a number of crossed-out words, as if she had tried to start a sentence several times but had been unsatisfied with the results.

It's pretty stupid to ask if you remember what happened to him at the Ministry, I guess, so I might as well just out and tell you that it's because of that. A week ago or so, he started having these...I don't know, visions, I guess. Mum got worried and took him to St. Mungo's for a checkup, but then some really creepy guy from the Department of Mysteries showed up and talked with her and the doctor for a while. Mum says Ron will be fine, but...I'm a little scared, Harry, even if she doesn't seem worried. I just wish I knew what that guy told her.

Ron wants to say something, so I'm going to give this to him now. I think I know what he's going to say, so I want you to know I feel the same way.

With love,

Ginny

The parchment sheet trembling in his fingers, Harry scanned the rest of the page, looking for Ron's writing. The phrases "Ron," "in hospital," and "Department of Mysteries" seemed to hang in his vision, filling it so completely that he could see nothing else. Then, out of nowhere, a voice--scratchy and tired-sounding, but recognizably Ron's--began to speak.

"Hey Harry," he said. "Mum charmed the paper for me, since I'm not really supposed to be reading or writing right now--too much stress on my eyes or something. Anyway, happy birthday...not much of a gift, I know, finding out your mate's in hospital, but they told me I should be out before too much longer. Good thing, too, since it's been so boring in here I actually started wishing I could do my summer work. Scary, huh?"

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but grin at this. The thought of Ron being so bored he would willingly do work was indeed a scary one, though from all his time in the hospital wing at Hogwarts, Harry could sympathize.

"So, anyway, I hope you like our real gift for you," Ron's voice continued. "It's kind of from all of us--me, Ginny, and the twins, that is. Hope you'll be able to come visit us later on...you'll love some of the stuff Fred and George have come up with. I think they finally impressed even Mum with--well, never mind, I'll tell you later. Not sure how long this charm lasts.

"I guess..." Ron's voice trailed off, returning a moment later. "Ugh, I'm no good at this stuff, but Ginny said I should tell you, and she's probably right. All of this, it's not your fault, and I don't care what you think. You didn't hold a wand to my head and make me go with you, and you sure didn't break that tank. If you dare to tell me you're sorry, or that I shouldn't have gone with, I'll hit you a good one, best mate or not. In case you haven't figured it out already, I'll always go with you, no matter where."

After this, Ron's voice, which had been fierce with some emotion Harry couldn't identify, but humbled him to hear it, brightened suddenly. "Whew, I'm glad that's over with. Think I've got some tests soon, so I'll stop now. I'll write you again when they let me out and we know when you can come over."

For several minutes after Ron stopped speaking, Harry sat silently, staring at the letter as he turned it over and over in his hands. Finally, after promising himself that he would think about it later, he set it aside and reached for the package, which was heavier than it looked. Opening it, he pulled out several swathes of soft wool padding, finally reaching a small crystal sphere set on a wooden stand. A small note fluttered free as he lifted the sphere out of the box, and, curious, he picked it up and read it.

Harry,

No, it's not a crystal ball...we get enough of that Divination junk in school, no need to do any over the summer, right? We weren't really sure what to get you, but we finally decided to make this. All of us helped a bit, but if you don't like it, we're sorry.

Your friends,

Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George

P.S.--To turn it on, just pick it up.

Now even more curious, and a little bit wary, Harry tentatively reached out and picked up the sphere, almost dropping it in surprise when it proved to be much heavier than it appeared. Cupping it carefully in one hand, he peered into it--then did drop it when he saw what was inside it. Frantically grabbing for it as it rolled across his desk, he looked into it again, to make sure he hadn't been imagining things the first time.

Under a full moon that drenched the meadow displayed in the ball in silvery light and painted black shadows across it from the tall trees that stood off to one side, two forms slowly appeared. Looking like moonbeams woven together and given shape, a majestic stag stood in the meadow, seeming to be waiting for someone--a wait ended when a great mastiff, molded from shadow yet somehow glowing as if lit from within, emerged from the trees. Slowly, the two walked toward each other until they were close enough to touch, then turned as one and, as the dog gave a joyful bark, raced away and out of the area displayed in the crystal.

Over and over again Harry watched the scene play itself out, not realizing how tightly he was gripping the crystal ball until one of his hands gave a painful spasm. Setting the ball back on its stand, he massaged the offending hand until the cramp eased, looking anywhere in his room but at the ball on its stand. His eyes ached from looking into it for so long, and he wasn't sure whether to be grateful to Ron and the others--though he had a feeling it had been mostly Ginny's idea--for giving him something that reminded him so viscerally of Sirius's death, or furious with them.

How can something feel so right, but make me want to start crying and never stop? he wondered, burying his head in his arms. Not just Sirius, but my dad too...it just isn't fair!

Then again, was it fair that Cedric had died for no reason other than Voldemort's whim? Was it fair that Neville's parents had been in a ward at St. Mungo's for the last fifteen years? He was hardly the only person to lose someone in the battle against Voldemort and the other dark wizards, he knew, thinking guiltily of Professor Lupin. It's just that sometimes it's so hard to remember that.

Finally, he stood up, stretching his sore muscles, and began to get ready for bed. The rest of the letters and packages could wait for tomorrow; he really didn't feel in much of a birthday mood at the moment.

* * *

A loud buzzing noise shattered the unquiet surface of Harry's dreams, and he blindly reached out with one hand to smack the snooze button on his clock. "Just another few minutes, Aunt Petunia," he muttered sleepily as he attempted to burrow deeper into his bedcovers, then shot bolt upright as he remembered that all of his relatives were gone for the next two days.

A whole weekend with no Dudley, he thought wonderingly, still not entirely able to believe his good fortune. And on my birthday, too. The Dursleys couldn't have given him a better present than this, no matter how hard they tried.

All through the time he was showering and brushing his teeth, he thought about what he might do with his Dursley-free birthday. Definitely a nice breakfast, first, he decided, grinning as he pulled a shirt over his head. Might as well finally get to eat something of what I cook.

For some reason, even though he cooked virtually the same thing he cooked every morning, there was something about it that looked especially appetizing today. He puzzled over it for a while, munching idly on some toast as he played with his eggs and bacon, then finally decided it must be that he didn't have to watch the fruits of his labors disappear into Dudley's cavernous mouth. He wondered how his cousin was coming along on his search for a girlfriend--apparently not well, judging by Uncle Vernon's displeasure with him.

"Good luck, Big D," Harry said solemnly, raising his juice glass in a mock salute. "You'll need it." After holding the pose for a few seconds, he began snickering, unable to help himself. It wasn't that Dudley wasn't prime dating material, really--just that he was lazy, cruel, spoiled, and...well, maybe he wasn't prime dating material after all, Harry decided.

Grabbing his dishes to wash them up--he didn't want to give the Dursleys any reason to regret leaving him home by himself--he found his thoughts turning away from his cousin's plight to his own. As he ran the water, the double shock he had received from the Weasleys last night filled his mind. There really wasn't anything he could do about Ron, he decided after a little while. It was his fault--Ron had been wrong about that, though Harry had no intention of discussing it with him, as he didn't particularly feel like being hit--but at least it sounded like he was being well taken care of.

About Sirius, though... He avoided the thought for a while, hanging around the kitchen looking for anything else that needed washing, then grimaced. Last night he had realized the right thing to do, so why was it so hard to do it now? Finally, he went back up to his room and took out a sheet of parchment.

Dear Professor Lupin, he began.

I'm sorry I've taken so long to write to you, but I wasn't sure you would want to hear from me. I'm still not sure, really, but if you don't, I'm sorry. I got a gift last night that made me think of Sirius, and I realized that I needed to apologize to you.

I seem to be doing a lot of that recently, but I think I mean this one the most. I was horribly stupid last spring, and now he's gone. I don't know if you can forgive me. I'd understand if you can't, but I needed to tell you anyway.

Harry

There; it was done. He sighed as he set down his quill, not entirely happy with what he had written, yet not having any idea what else he could say. After blowing on the ink to dry it, he folded the letter and tied it to Hedwig's leg.

"Take this to Remus Lupin," he told the owl. "Not to anyone else, not even Professor Dumbledore." He didn't want any repeat of what had happened with the letter he wrote to Snape, especially with something like this.

After hooting a bit indignantly--whether at the implication she would deliver something to the wrong person or at being told to go out during the day, when she would really rather be sleeping, Harry didn't know--Hedwig flew off out of the window, swiftly becoming just another speck against the clear blue sky.

Well, now what? he asked himself. It was still only mid-morning, and the only thing he still needed to do was water the garden; Aunt Petunia had been positively frightening in her insistence that the flowers would wither up and die in the blazing summer heat if they went without water for even one day, and Harry grudgingly had to admit that she might be right. Shrugging a little, he decided to put that off until after lunch and finish opening the other two letters and one package he had received last night.

The package was, as he had expected, from Hagrid, and it contained the usual load of rock cakes. Idly, Harry wondered if his aunt needed anything to shim up uneven pieces of furniture with, since the cakes certainly weren't fit for human consumption. The accompanying note was highly uninformative, merely wishing him a happy birthday without giving any clues as to how the half-giant groundskeeper was spending his summer.

Harry laughed as he opened the first letter, which was from Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Tonks, who had drawn a cartoon picture of herself at the bottom of the page, complete with color-changing hair. The letter itself was, like Hagrid's, fairly short, telling him that it would be at least another two weeks before the new Order headquarters would be warded enough for him to be able to move there from the Dursleys' house.

To his surprise, Harry found that he was not as disappointed at the news as he had thought he might be. His lessons with Mr. Chang ensured that he was able to hear at least some of the news from the wizarding world, which helped a lot, and the Dursleys really weren't all that bad when they decided to act like actual human beings. Granted, only his aunt was actually making the attempt to talk to him, but silence far exceeded verbal abuse, in Harry's opinion.

Setting aside that letter, Harry picked up the second envelope. It was somewhat heavier than most other letters he received, and when he turned it over, he saw the insignia of the Ministry of Magic imprinted on the blue wax seal.

Who at the Ministry would send me a birthday letter? Harry wondered. Perhaps it was a bill for damages, after what had happened earlier in the year; replacing that hideous fountain would no doubt be an expensive project, and it would be just like Minister Fudge to bill Harry for destruction caused by Voldemort. What amused Harry was that it almost seemed like a fair trade, if it would at least get Fudge to acknowledge the dark wizard's return to life.

Shrugging, Harry slit open the seal and pulled two sheets of thick, pale cream-colored parchment out of the envelope. It was very unlike the school parchment he used for notes and assignments, and he guessed it was probably quite expensive.

Harry James Potter, the letter began--probably not a birthday letter, then, Harry decided.

Pursuant to Section 4.1 of the Rules and Regulations of the Department of Heraldic Registries, Ministry of Magic, Great Britain, on this your sixteenth birthday you are required to confirm your status as blood-born heir of the Potter family within one lunar month. Upon confirmation, you will be installed as Head of Family, and will be required to name an heir in transitum until such time as you have produced an heir of your own body. Failure to respond within the designated time span will result in forfeiture of title and all associated privileges and responsibilities, as outlined in DHR R&R, Section 4.3.

You will find enclosed a listing of forms required, which may be obtained by return owl from the Department of Heraldic Registries for a nominal fee. Additional inquiries should be directed to Mr. Thomas White, Liason (Welsh Districts).

Sincerely yours,

Daniel Mulbourne, Esq.

Department of Heraldic Registries, Ministry of Magic (Great Britain)

P.S. Please be aware that this notice does not constitute a declaration of emancipation and does not exempt you from the requirements set forth in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, with the exception of the Kinship Charms required to prove your eligibility.

"Err...huh?" Harry blurted out, reading the letter over again to see if it might hopefully make more sense the second time through. The second sheet appeared to be the list of forms mentioned in the letter, but the titles listed made somewhat less than no sense to him; half of them didn't even seem to be in English, not that they were any less comprehensible than the ones that were.

Blood-born heir? Head of Family? The phrases in the letter made sense individually, but when put together they painted a rather confusing picture. Was this sort of thing normal to expect on one's sixteenth birthday? He certainly didn't remember Hermione mentioning anything like this, but perhaps it was because she was Muggle-born.

Dumbledore would know what to do. Harry still didn't fully trust him, not after the events of last year, but so far he had lived up to his promise to treat Harry like an adult. Besides, it wasn't like he knew anyone else who might be able to help him with this.

Pulling out a sheet of parchment and a quill, he tried to think of what to write to the Headmaster. Dear Professor Dumbledore, I just got a letter from the Ministry that makes no sense at all...

No, that probably wasn't the best way to put it. There were undoubtedly plenty of things that came from the Ministry that didn't make sense, so he needed to be more specific. Finally he just copied down word for word what the letter said, addressed the copy to Dumbledore, and set it aside to send with Hedwig when she got back--hopefully soon, since the letter made it sound as though time was definitely a concern.

Now what? He supposed he could work on his Transfiguration essay, but a Dursley-free day--no, a Dursley-free weekend, even--seemed like far too fine a thing to waste on homework. Weeding and watering the flowerbeds would only take an hour or so, which left him with more than enough time to do...what? Dudley could have made any number of suggestions, Harry was sure, though most would probably be illegal, immoral, or some combination thereof. Unfortunately, what Harry wanted most was simply to spend some time with his friends, which was quite impossible.

For a moment, he let himself be angry at the restrictions that had been put on him this summer. Not to leave the property of Number Four, Privet Drive for more than half a day's time, until a month and a half has passed, he recited to himself. Granted, it wasn't really any different from how he had spent any of the previous summers, but having it spelled out so explicitly made it seem somehow more oppressive despite having more contact with the wizarding world this summer than any previous one.

Truthfully, though, the moments he had spent directly in contact with Voldemort at the Ministry had scared him enough that the protections didn't seem quite so unreasonable any more. Oh, he still wished he had more of a say in things--it was his life they were talking about, after all--but he could no longer find so much fault in measures that he knew were quite possibly the only things standing between him and a very painful death. He had always know that in the abstract, of course, but hearing the prophecy and feeling Voldemort in his mind had driven it home in no uncertain terms.

"And I am not going to sit here and ruin my birthday by thinking about that," he muttered to himself before getting up from his desk.

* * *

And...just a little more pepper. The gravy bubbling in its pan on the range looked about ready, and Harry had just taken a small roast out of the oven. There was a salad already mixed and sitting on the table, which he had quite happily set for just one person. For the first time in...well, ever, at least that he could remember, he was going to have a real birthday meal, even if he had to cook it himself. The food itself wasn't anything special, he knew, not after experiencing Hogwarts feasts and Mrs. Weasley's superb cooking, but the idea of doing something just for himself felt better than even he had thought it might.

Just as he set the gravy boat on the table, though, he felt the familiar, if still rather unsettling, hooking-forward sensation that accompanied Portkey activation, and he only barely suppressed the urge to mouth off a string of the more inventive curses he had picked up from Uncle Vernon. It would have been too much to hope for that he could have had a break from his Occlumency lessons on his birthday, he supposed, and for a moment he wished he had just left the mini-Snitch on his desk that day.

Stupid, stupid Potter, he berated himself as he mechanically stood up and brushed himself off, standing beside the path leading to the Changs' house. Got so busy with that game on Dudley's Playstation and then going to the store for groceries that you completely lost track of time. What a total waste.

By the time he got back from his lessons, he would be lucky if the food he had just cooked wasn't completely spoiled, though at least he had turned off the range. He had a feeling that even the new, improved Dursleys would have had a problem if their house had burned down while he was away doing "freaky stuff."

The cake, he thought gloomily, remembering the chocolate fudge cake mix he had bought. The batter was all mixed up and ready to pop into the oven, but he had wanted to wait until he was almost done with supper to start it, thinking that he could let it bake while he was away at his lesson. Obviously, that wouldn't be happening now. The good mood he had been in all day abruptly deserted him, and it was with a scowl on his face that he trudged into the enchanted grove.

* * *

"You seem distracted today," Mr. Chang said, cupping his chin in his hand as Harry sat across from him. "Normally you do far better in resisting my probes, but your shields are thinner than usual today. Is something the matter?"

Yes, Harry thought, feeling annoyed. I missed my supper to come here so you can poke at my mind and annoy the hell out of me, then frustrate me some more by not telling me anything even remotely useful about stopping my dreams. While part of him was more than a little tempted to say just that, he sighed and shook his head after a few moments.

"Not really," he answered, feeling a little silly. Mr. Chang was giving up his time too, after all, and it wasn't the other man's fault that Harry had waited too long to begin cooking. "Just...annoyed about something, that's all."

Mr. Chang nodded, seeming satisfied by his answer. "Not altogether bad, then," he said. "You need to train your mind to defend itself regardless of your emotional state, and now seems as good a time as any to practice clearing your thoughts."

Upon hearing this, Harry groaned audibly, provoking an amused glance from his tutor. With the way his thoughts were running at the moment, he doubted there was even the slightest chance he would be able to clear his mind. If he couldn't do it while he was totally relaxed and lying in bed, he certainly wasn't going to succeed with all the thoughts running through his mind at the moment.

"I need to go take care of something," Mr. Chang said as he stood up from the table. "Clear your mind while I am gone, and we'll try passive thought redirection again when I get back."

Passive...ugh. That was what he had done last night, apparently, and it gave Harry the chills. Normal Legilimency was bad enough, but at least it was obvious what was happening. As Mr. Chang had explained it, passive redirection let a True Legilimencer subtly steer someone's memories towards what he or she wanted to see, without the other person ever noticing that they weren't in control of the direction their thoughts were taking. Even the weakest of passive shields would guard against people trying it, though--making yet another reason for Harry to figure out how to clear his mind of all the useless junk that seemed to be filling it to the brim.

It had been over two weeks since he had started practicing--really practicing; he didn't think his "lessons" with Snape quite counted--how to clear his mind, and he was still as hopeless as he had been at the start. The soundproofed study, with its gentle, slightly dim lighting and cool temperature, was certainly a better place to try than his hot, stiflingly humid bedroom at home, but it didn't seem to make any difference.

Some time after he had left, Mr. Chang walked back into the study and sat down across from Harry. He steepled his hands in front of him and, just as Harry felt he might almost be coming close to reaching the elusive "state of no-thought" the older man was always mentioning, clapped them together sharply.

"Ack!" Harry exclaimed, the odd sensation of concentrating without actually concentrating on anything vanishing abruptly. "What did you do that for?" he asked, feeling a bit sullen.

The expression on his face must have been especially put-out, because Mr. Chang burst out into full-fledged laughter--something that Harry found distinctly unfair. He had finally figured out how to not think, and then his teacher ruined it. Somehow, that just didn't seem very...teacherly, though he had a feeling that wasn't an actual word.

"Oh, Harry," Mr. Chang said, after he finally managed to contain his laughter. "Forgive me, but your expression was truly priceless. May I assume you managed to attain a state of no-thought while I was gone?"

Harry nodded, trying to commit to memory how he had felt at the time. It hadn't really been anything like what he had expected, or like what Mr. Chang had mentioned. When he mentioned this, though, the other man didn't look surprised.

"That tends to happen when one deals with magic and the mind," was all he would say on the subject. "Perhaps we will get to that later, but for now you need more practice with basic concepts. You will need to be able to maintain your state of no-thought regardless of any distractions, to the point where--forgive the pun--you do so automatically, without thinking.

"You will also need to be able to maintain an outward appearance of no-thought while still thinking normally. It will not be much help to you if the only time you can defend yourself from passive Legilimency is when you are completely unaware of everything going on around you."

Harry groaned. More work, he thought glumly, and just when I thought I was finally accomplishing something. It seemed as though for everything he learned, there were two more things waiting that he hadn't even known he needed to learn before.

"Is that really such a bad thing?" Mr. Chang's voice startled Harry, who realized he must have said that last part out loud. "Wouldn't it get a little boring if you figured out everything that there was to know?"

Shrugging, Harry tried to think of how to word his reply without insulting his teacher. It was obvious why Cho had been put in Ravenclaw, if she was anything like her father, but Harry just didn't care so much about knowledge for its own sake. "I guess..." he said finally, "but I just want to know what I need to know in order to protect myself. Maybe the other stuff could come later..."

"Maybe," Mr. Chang said, smiling in a way that made Harry a little nervous. "We can discuss that later, though. For now, I want you to clear your mind again, since you seem to have grasped the basic concept. I will test you in five minutes."

Harry barely fought the urge to roll his eyes. Grasped the basic concept...yeah, if that's what you call maybe halfway getting it to work. Once. Still, much better than Snape...not that that would be tough or anything.

To his pleasant surprise, though, he found that he was able to focus on the odd not-concentrating sensation much more readily this time, and he could almost feel a shroud of absolute nothingness begin to cover his mind. Dimly, as external sensations faded away to nothing more than remote abstractions, some part of him felt that he might want to be afraid, but there was no place for worry in the silent tomb his mind had become.

"Excellent, Harry."

Sound...words... How long he had hung suspended in the void, Harry could not have said. The first thought triggered others, flowing across his mind like ripples across a still pond, and the nothingness shattered into a thousand reflections dancing across his senses. Gradually, they drew together into coherent wholes, and Harry--that's me; I'm Harry--blinked once and looked across the table.

"So, how did I do?" he asked, smiling a bit nervously. He knew he had succeeded in clearing his mind, but he was worried he had succeeded a bit too well. Time seemed to work differently in that state of mind, and he was unsure of how long, exactly, he had been sitting there. Mr. Chang didn't look worried, though, so it couldn't have been too long.

"Well," the older man said, "you performed admirably in clearing your mind and resisting my probes, but I trust you see the necessity for more practice."

Harry nodded. Mr. Chang had not been exaggerating at all about how being fully in no-thought felt, which moved the topic of even more advanced Occlumency practice firmly into the "absolutely necessary" category.

"Very good. In that case, I want you to refrain from practicing on your own tonight when you go home."

At Harry's puzzled look, he explained further. "You seem to have a problem with suppressing your thoughts too much, and I think it would be better if I were to watch over you until you have more practice in bringing yourself out of no-thought at will. Normally, people have the opposite problem, but I suspect you may be unconsciously aiding the process with your magic."

Yay for me, another way I'm abnormal, Harry thought but did not say, firmly suppressing the urge to make a face. He had accepted that his life seemed to be made up of more strange things than not, but being reminded of it still bothered him.

"There is another thing," Mr. Chang said. "As you may or may not know, I have decided to accept Albus's offer. Because of this, I expect to have less time available to spend with you, but you have progressed so rapidly that a convenient solution presents itself to me."

Why do I have a bad feeling about this? Harry's more cynical side interjected. Sticking him with the Dursleys for ten years had been a convenient solution, after all, and look how that had turned out.

Either not noticing or choosing to ignore the wary looks his pupil was directing at him, Mr. Chang continued, "You still need my direct supervision in developing your passive shields, but from what I have seen, all you require to improve your active shielding is practice."

"But I need someone to practice against," Harry protested. While he didn't think active shields would prove to be as important as passive ones when it came to protecting himself against visions from Voldemort, other Death Eaters--and Snape--would no doubt take great pleasure in using Legilimens against him, and active shields were the only defense against that.

"Precisely!" Mr. Chang exclaimed in a rare show of strong emotion, and Harry suddenly had the sinking sensation that he had stepped directly into a trap. "As you know, I have another pupil who needs someone on whom to practice Legilimency. If the two of you were to practice together for five days out of the week, I believe I could be available to help you work on your passive shields for the remaining two days."

Other...please, no, Harry thought desperately, as Mr. Chang stood up and walked over to the door. This has to be a joke, right?

"I am sorry to spring this on you in such a manner, Harry, but I did not expect that the Order would be so demanding of my time. You may refuse, of course, but I wish the two of you at least to discuss the matter."

With that, he walked out the door, pausing to allow another person--in a fit of childish pique, Harry turned away before he could identify the figure, though he knew who it must be--to enter the study before shutting the door behind him. Silently, the person walked over and sat down across from him, forcing him to look at her. To his distinct lack both of surprise and pleasure, it was indeed Cho.

Why me? he groaned silently. Even by his standards, being requested to let his ex-girlfriend dig through his private thoughts was a distinct low point--not as low as letting Snape do it, perhaps, but definitely a close second. Still, if Mr. Chang really wouldn't have the time, it might well come down to a choice between Cho and Snape.

Which is a pretty miserable choice, but I'm fairly sure she isn't a closet sadist, at least. He supposed he ought to talk with her about it after all, if only to save himself from Snape.

"So..." Harry said as he slouched deeper into the cushions on his chair. It wasn't a very intelligent beginning, he knew, but he couldn't think of any way to say what he wanted to say. He might be clueless when it came to girls, but he didn't need Hermione to tell him that "I'd rather practice Occlumency with you than let our evil Potions professor with a psychotic hatred for me do it" probably wasn't the best way to win Cho over.

Sitting across from him, Cho looked equally unhappy about being in the same room with him. He couldn't say she didn't have reason to be, either; in all fairness, what had happened between them was as much his fault as it was hers, but that didn't make it any easier to talk with her.

Why did her father put us up to this, even if he's going to be busy? he wondered, as neither of them seemed likely to say anything further. He must have seen in both our memories how uncomfortable we are around each other. He really wished he had a watch, so he could check how much longer it would be until his Portkey would be active again.

"This is absurd," Cho finally stated, after a few more long minutes of silence. "I don't know what Father thought might happen, but it's obvious it's not going to. You're too stubborn to say anything, and I'm--"

"Me? Stubborn?" Harry asked incredulously, all thoughts of Occlumency training deserting his mind. "I may be 'insensitive' or however you want to put it, but I'm not the one who's too stubborn to admit she was wrong about something."

Cho's eyes narrowed, and Harry was momentarily taken aback at the look in them. "This is about what happened with Marietta, isn't it," she said. It was clearly a statement, rather than a question. "I told you already that I didn't agree with what she did, but I can understand why she did it--and even though I didn't like it, she is my friend. I didn't think I would have to explain to Harry Potter, of all people, about standing by your friends."

Standing by your friends... The words triggered a memory of Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

Hagrid and the dragon egg...smuggling Norbert to meet Charlie Weasley at the top of the Astronomy Tower...finding out that Hagrid had essentially traded away the secret of his part of the defense of the Philosopher's Stone...but not condemning him for it, because he was Harry's friend.

Cho was right, in this at least. He still didn't think much of the way she had acted over the past year--though, after having lost Sirius, he could sympathize with her a bit--but there really was no way he could argue with her about how she had acted towards Marietta. She had been standing up for her friend, and it was nothing that Harry himself hadn't done before or wouldn't do again.

"I'm sorry," Harry said quietly, forcing himself to look directly at her as he spoke. "You're right. I can't blame you for something she did, and I can't blame you for being her friend. But..."

"But what?" Cho asked, smiling a little now. She didn't seem quite so annoyed with him any more, which Harry supposed was a good start. Hopefully what he would say next wouldn't ruin it.

He shrugged, not really sure how to put it. "What you said about why she did it--I still don't understand. Not to start arguing with you again, but why? So she was worried that if Umbridge found out she was in the DA, her mum might get fired, but Umbridge wouldn't have found out if she hadn't told in the first place. Right?"

Now it was Cho's turn to shrug. "I didn't say it made much sense," she said, and now it was her turn to look somewhat uncomfortable. "You have to understand, though. Her situation isn't really like your friend Ron's, since the Weasleys own their own house and land, right? The worst that might happen if his father got fired is that he and his sister would have to leave Hogwarts. They would still have a home, and food.

"Marietta's mum is Muggle-born, though, and she didn't get anything at all when her husband died--the house and all his money went to his younger brother. Now the two of them live in a flat near the Ministry, and if her mum lost her job, they'd probably be out on the street until she could find another one. Land is wealth, in the wizarding world, and there isn't anything like the dole to help people who are trying to find work."

"Which," she finished, shrugging again, "doesn't explain her appalling lack of thought in telling Umbridge anything--sorry, but if even a Gryffindor can find the holes in something, it's pretty obvious it doesn't make sense--but at least maybe now you see why she was thinking that way."

Remind me to never argue with a Ravenclaw again, Harry thought wryly. Somewhere in there might have been something he might take issue with, but he certainly couldn't find it. Cho's impromptu civics lesson had disturbed him a little, too; it all sounded so...medieval, and not in the usually-fascinating Hogwarts style, either.

"Harry," Cho said after a few moments, when he didn't say anything, "I know you don't like Marietta very much, and I can't really blame you, but she is my friend...probably my only friend, after last year--" this last spoken with no small amount of bitterness in her voice-- "and...anyways, could you please not say anything to anyone about what I just told you? She's already going to have a hard time, with what she did to the DA, and I don't want people making fun of her for anything else, too."

Thinking of the way Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins had acted towards Ron over the years, Harry understood perfectly. He wasn't ready to forgive Marietta yet--what she had done was wrong, and no amount of Ravenclaw logic could obscure that point...though, he thought, that wasn't really what Cho was saying--but he wouldn't do anything to make her life harder than it already would be.

"Okay," he said, nodding. Then, as he remembered the reason the two of them were stuck together in the first place, he frowned slightly.

"What are we going to do about all this?" he asked. "You know, the reason your father shut us in here," he continued when he saw Cho's puzzled expression. "I'm not really mad at you any more, I guess, but I'm still not comfortable with the idea of you being able to see my memories."

Cho made a face. "You make it sound like I actually want to," she replied, sounding distinctly uneasy at the thought. "Some of the things you've gone through...no sane person would want to see things like that. My father's memories of the last war against You-Know-Who are bad enough, and he never actually saw him."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Harry said. "It's not so much my personal memories that I'm thinking of. At least, I don't think you'd deliberately try to use them to hurt me, like Snape did last year. There are things I know that might get people hurt--maybe even killed--if I told anyone else, though."

"Things it would be okay for Father to see, but not for me," Cho mused, her face screwed up in thought. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the Order of the Phoenix, would it?"

Harry felt his mouth fall open, causing her to grin broadly at his reaction. "Oh, don't worry," she said, sounding as though she wanted to laugh at him. "I happened to walk in on him and Professor Dumbledore when they were talking about it a few days ago. They wouldn't tell me much, but I got the general idea."

Harry himself didn't know all that much about the Order, actually, but he had a feeling that some of the things he did know wouldn't fall under "the general idea." Like Snape being a spy, or who some of the other members are. And then there's the prophecy...though Mr. Chang never saw that, at least.

"I still don't know," he said. "I can ask Dumbledore, though. If he says it's okay, then I guess it's okay with me too."

Whatever Cho was about to say was cut off by the sound of the study door opening. A slender woman with shoulder-length black hair and fine-boned features that looked almost exactly like Cho's stepped in, making a show of carefully examining the room before finally settling her eyes on Harry.

"So this is the great Harry Potter," she said, a stern expression on her face. "I must say, I am rather disappointed with you. And you as well, daughter of mine," she added, shifting her gaze to Cho.

Cho sighed and rolled her eyes, not seeming worried in the slightest about what her mother was saying. For his part, Harry felt a little annoyed. He had actually managed to have a civil--perhaps even almost friendly--conversation with Cho, and then her mother barged in and started insulting him.

How can she be disappointed in me? he wondered indignantly. She doesn't even know me...she's not even a witch. Why would she even care about "great Harry Potter" in the first place?

"Err...Mother, I think maybe you might want to explain what you mean to Harry before he gets upset with you," Cho said, sounding more than a little exasperated.

"Oh!" Cho's mother exclaimed, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry. I thought perhaps my husband had said something to you, since...well, never mind. I'm Yuen-shing Chang, and despite what I said just now, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter."

Harry now felt extremely confused. "Thanks. I think. Err...please call me Harry."

"Moth-er," Cho sighed, drawing out the last syllable. "Tell Harry, or I will. Really, you and Father act more like teenagers than I do sometimes."

When it seemed clear that no more information would be forthcoming, Cho continued, though Harry had a feeling she wasn't as annoyed with her mother as she was pretending to be. "It's this game they play, Harry. They're always betting on stuff, like which one of the faerie-lights will come on first in the evening, or which goblin will be at the counter when they go to Gringotts. They bet on everything, and it gets so irritating sometimes.

"And I'm almost afraid to ask," she said, sounding as though she couldn't decide whether to be amused or embarrassed, "but what did the two of you bet on now? Something to do with Harry and me, obviously."

Mrs. Chang nodded, her expression downcast. "Yes, and now I owe your father a week's worth of sweeping the courtyard," she said gloomily. "How did he know you'd talk things out like rational people? I was expecting much more shouting, and maybe even a little breakage."

Apparently she noticed the indignant look on Cho's face, as she hastened to add, "We both agreed you two would get things sorted out eventually, just not on how...messy things might get. You do have a bit of a temper, dear."

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to think of a single thing to say as he watched Cho and her mother continue to banter back and forth. She's nutters, he thought incredulously, not sure which of them he was referring to--both, likely. Absolutely barking mad.

Just then, the portkey in his pocket hummed, signaling that he could go back to the Dursleys' any time he was ready. "Err...well, it was nice meeting you, Mrs. Chang," he interjected during a pause in the mother-daughter mock argument. "I'll send an owl to Professor Dumbledore, Cho, and let you know what he says."

Both of them nodded, Mrs. Chang with a wide smile on her face, and Harry closed his hand over the mini-snitch. He thought he saw Cho lift her hand to wave goodbye just before the jerking tug of portkey travel sent him spinning back to Privet Drive, but he couldn't be sure.