Harry Potter and the Crystal Fire

Chapter Eight: Meeting Expectations

Harry hung back as the other students in Professor McGonagall's N.E.W.T. Transfiguration class filed out of the room. Neville raised his brows, his eyes widening comically at Harry in what Harry assumed was a show of support. Hermione smiled at him, then nodded toward Professor McGonagall so emphatically that her hair fell forward, hiding her face. She brushed it back impatiently and nodded again. Her hair fell forward again. Harry nodded and looked down to hide his grin. He walked up to Professor McGonagall's desk and waited until she looked up from clearing away her notes.

"Yes, Potter?" she asked, as stern as ever, "What can I do for you?"

Now that the moment had arrived, Harry wasn't sure how to begin. "Well, Professor, the first Hogsmeade weekend is coming up," he began, and stopped. "I--" At a loss, he stopped again, sighed, and blurted out, "I wasn't sure about the permission form and I know I don't have one--"

"Not to worry, Potter," Professor McGonagall said briskly, her eyes sparkling briefly with something that might have been amusement. "Your permission form was delivered this morning, by post owl. That might be a good thing, your mind being as preoccupied as it has been today," she said briskly. Harry saw that gleam in her eyes again, and was sure that it was amusement. Remembering how he'd turned his teapot into a three-legged rabbit with one ear a half-hour earlier, Harry felt his ears burning. He supposed he'd had that one coming.

All of a sudden, the import of what she'd said caught his attention. "You already have my permission form?" he asked, hoping desperately he'd heard right.

"That's right, Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a nod. "I have your permission form."

"But...who...I forgot all about it before beginning of term," Harry said, his mind racing. Had the Weasleys signed a form for him? Had Professor Lupin? "Sirius signed my last form, and I wasn't sure what..." He stopped again, his mind utterly blank. He simply didn't understand who would have signed the form. Merlin knew it certainly hadn't been the Dursleys.

Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow at him. "Potter, are you trying to tell me that you didn't know anyone was going to sign a form for you, and that you don't know who signed the one I received?" she asked sternly, her lips thinning. Harry had the impression that she was teasing him. He wasn't at all sure he was comfortable with that idea.

He considered trying to fake it. He thought about lying outright. Harry knew it wouldn't work, and had a feeling that it wouldn't gain him any points with Professor McGonagall if he tried to brazen it out. "I suppose that's what I'm saying," he said after a moment. His nod was reluctant, but it was a nod.

Professor McGonagall's face lost its sternness, and she smiled at him. "Perhaps your cousin's high opinion of your maturity isn't entirely wrong, Potter," she said. "She was the one who signed the form."

For a moment, Harry drew a blank, then it hit him. Morrigan. He supposed he wasn't used to having a female cousin. He certainly wouldn't have expected Professor McGonagall to approve of Morrigan Carrick, not with the way McGonagall acted toward Professor Snape. Still, he knew he'd heard approval in her voice when she'd mentioned Morrigan.

As though she hadn't noticed his confusion, Professor McGonagall went on. "I had my doubts as to whether you should be walking around Hogsmeade. I didn't think it would be the smartest course to take such a risk for such a trivial reason. However, your cousin's note convinced me otherwise. She said that it was, of course, my decision, but that if we allowed ourselves to be governed by fear and to stop living our lives, Voldemort wouldn't have to beat us. We'd have beaten ourselves." Professor McGonagall paused. "I decided that I would wait and see how you approached the issue, Potter," she said. Harry had no doubt that, had he snuck out of the castle with the Invisibility Cloak, he would never have set foot in Hogsmeade again, permission form or no. "At the moment, I'm inclined to believe that your cousin was right." She smiled.

"Thanks, Professor McGonagall," Harry said, beaming back at her. She nodded. He turned to go.

"Potter. One more thing," she said. Harry turned back. He saw that she was holding a folded piece of parchment in her hand. "Your cousin also sent this for you. I'd nearly forgotten it."

Harry wasn't fooled. He didn't think for a moment that Professor McGonagall had forgotten the note. She had simply been waiting to give it to him until she'd gauged his reaction to the news that Morrigan had sent a permission form for him. Frankly, Harry didn't know what his reaction was. He couldn't decide whether he was grateful or suspicious. However, whatever Professor McGonagall had seen in his face had been enough for her to decide to give him the note. And when he took it, he was again torn between gratitude and suspicion.

"Thanks," Harry said, and turned to go again.

Professor McGonagall called him back once more. "Potter," she said, and Harry heard a simple, no-nonsense sympathy in her voice that eased the tightening in his chest. "You've lived through enough to know that things are not always as they seem." Harry waited, but that seemed to be all Professor McGonagall seemed to think she needed to say. Nodding, as confused as ever, Harry headed to the Great Hall for lunch.

*

After two straight free periods spent studying with Ron and Neville in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry hurried into the Great Hall for dinner and slid into the empty spot between Neville and Ron. He began to spoon steak and kidney pie onto his plate, enjoying the curious stares of his friends. Ron had gone so far as to stop eating altogether, waiting for news. Harry, whose uneasy suspicion had melted into a kind of giddy relief as he got closer and closer to the Great Hall, was nearly bursting with the need to blurt out his news, but he was having too much fun watching his friends fighting the urge to demand whatever information he had about Hogsmeade that he took an extra helping of mashed potatoes and added some string beans, which he didn't even like, simply to tease them all.

"I've got permission to go to Hogsmeade," he said finally, casually, and took a huge bite of steak and kidney pie.

Ron's eyes bugged out comically. "Harry! What--who--when--" He stopped, and started again, going so far as to put down his fork in his excitement. "How--?" He gave up, turning to Hermione to clear things up.

"Ooh, Harry, that's terrific!" Hermione beamed at him. "But who signed the permission form, and when, and how did it all happen?" she asked, a slight frown crossing her face. Ron nodded, as though to say that this was what he'd mean to ask all along, and watched Harry with eyes nearly as round as the saucers on the table.

"Was it Morrigan?" Ginny asked, and they all turned to her. Neville and Ron looked startled. Hermione looked thoughtful.

Harry, who'd enjoyed his joke but hadn't been looking forward to dropping that bombshell for reasons of his own, nodded. Ginny nodded back, apparently satisfied, and went on eating.

"It might be a trap," Ron said suspiciously. "She might be trying to lure you out into the open so that you're a target."

"It might be," Harry acknowledged, "but I don't think so." He noticed that Ginny looked up at this, and Hermione's eyebrows went up in mild surprise. "I don't think she would have gone through McGonagall, if it was a trap. She would have had Mal or somebody else write it, don't you think?"

Ron considered that. "It would be awfully obvious of her to do it herself," he admitted. "And honestly, she's smarter than that, wouldn't you think?"

Harry nodded. "I think I'll ask Alhena, just to get another opinion, if we all think it's probably not a trap?" he asked, looking around at the others. They all nodded. "Then I'll ask her. But I think she'll say the same thing." He ate some more steak and kidney pie, enjoying it more than he had recently, and thought a bit. "And really, it doesn't seem like something she'd do. I mean, if she was going to come for me, she'd do it herself. Out in the open, like," he added.

By the expressions on the others' faces, they realised just as Harry did what a huge concession this was for him to make. Harry thought, looking at them, that they were somehow as comfortable with it, now that it had been made, as he himself was. They seemed to think, and Harry was starting to believe, that the idea of Morrigan as someone straightforward and basically honest, was simply right.

*

After dinner, Harry went looking for Alhena in the empty classroom she used for tutoring. The others wouldn't be in for Charms tutoring for a few minutes, and he hadn't wanted to wait any longer to ask her about the permission form. He found her sitting on the desk, cross-legged, her brown robes and brown shirt and brown trousers blending into the old wood of the desk. She grinned when she saw him, and he grinned back, though after the homework he'd rushed to catch up on and his hurried dinner, his mind was more on Morrigan's note, which he hadn't read yet, than it ever had been.

"Alhena, can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Of course you can," she told him, her face going serious, as it always did when serious matters were at hand. "What's on your mind?" she asked.

"I found out something strange today, and I'm not sure what to think. Why would Morrigan sign a permission form for me to go to Hogsmeade?" he asked her. "I mean, I haven't heard from her in a month. Malcolm either. How would she even know about when the first Hogsmeade weekend was, and why would she care if I go or not? Do you think she's trying to lure me out into the open or something?" he asked.

Alhena laughed. "I wouldn't want to tell you what to think," she said softly, "but I don't think so. The wards around this castle wouldn't stop Morrigan Carrick from finding a way inside the grounds if she so chose. Elven magic is a powerful thing, and she got a powerful dose of it from her mother. Professor Dumbledore knows it, and he doesn't seem worried, so I wouldn't worry too much about that," she said, apparently thinking he might be worried about Morrigan attacking him between classes or something.

"It's not that, exactly. I don't think she'd try to attack me in Herbology or anything," Harry said with a grin, realising as he said it that he was speaking the absolute truth. Whatever threat was around, it didn't come directly from Morrigan. "But she's dropped out of sight, hasn't she, and it seems a bit strange that she would just write a note for Hogsmeade out of the blue, doesn't it? I mean, could it be a trap?"

Alhena looked at him, pleased. "That's good thinking, Harry. From what I know of Morrigan, it's not likely. But it's good that you're considering all the angles. Have you also thought that perhaps it's a bit of an olive branch? Not a bribe, but a way of trying to apologise for what happened this summer?"

Harry considered that. "I suppose it could be." Then, before he knew what was coming out of his mouth, he said, "She wrote me a note."

"Did she?" Alhena asked thoughtfully. "And she didn't explain what she meant by the permission form?" she asked.

"I haven't read it yet. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to," he admitted, and reached into the pocket of his robes to get the note. He took a moment to examine the silvery wax imprinted with a sickle moon and stars before ripping it open. When the seal broke, releasing silvery sparkles, he grinned. Then he unfolded the letter, and scanned the note quickly.

Harry,

I hope the permission form reached Professor McGonagall

in time for you to go to Hogsmeade. Mal and I had discussed

the permission form with Professor Dumbledore this past summer

and we were planning on handing it in for you as a surprise. I

suppose it turned into a surprise anyway, but not quite the same way.

I know that we didn't part well, and I'm more sorry about that than

you can know. You were right, you know. I should have told you

everything, not just the good bits. And I'm sorry for that as well.

If Professor McGonagall agrees, you'll be in Hogsmeade some

weekend soon. Don't let your guard down, Harry. What I told her is

true--we shouldn't live in fear. Still, that doesn't mean we should

run around like idiots, inviting disaster. There's more in you than you

know, Harry. Keep your eyes open and protect it--you'll need it

someday soon.

Morrigan.

He looked at Alhena, uncertain. "She's as bad as the Sorting Hat," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "All doom and gloom. Don't let your guard down, don't invite disaster, protect yourself." He snorted. "Sounds a bit like Sirius did last school year."

Where had that thought come from? he wondered, feeling suddenly icy cold. He remembered how Sirius had changed, how Sirius had become solemn and prickly and reckless. He remembered what had happened to Sirius last May. And suddenly he was forcing himself not to tremble, afraid that history was repeating itself.

As though from a distance, he heard Alhena asking him what was wrong. With a huge effort, Harry shook his head to clear it, and looked at her. The expression of concern on her face told him he still didn't look too steady on his feet.

"It's what happened with Sirius," Harry managed, sitting down on the nearest thing to him. Luckily, it was a fairly sturdy desk. He slid back onto it because his legs still felt a bit weak. "He got all gloomy and serious and withdrawing, then he got reckless and went to the Ministry and now he's dead." His voice took on a flat tone, and for the first time since August he felt grief threatening to overwhelm him. "It's happening again."

Alhena shook her head. "No, it's not." She slid onto the desk beside his own, and looked at him. Her brown eyes were intent on his. "It's not at all the same thing, Harry. What does the note say, exactly?"

He handed it over mutely, and she read it carefully. "It doesn't sound too very gloomy to me," she said after a moment. "It sounds practical. And, not to put too fine a point on it, it sounds apologetic. I think you're reading more into it than there is, Harry. Though I can't say, given what you've had to deal with over the past year, that I much blame you for it.

"She says that she's sorry, she says that she feels you shouldn't let the circumstances destroy what normality you have in life. And she says that despite the fact that you should go on living your life, you should be careful. What's so gloomy about that? It sounds realistic to me. Maybe you're just not used to being treated like an adult," Alhena mused. "Perhaps you've gotten too used to having adults try and protect you from the world, and it's a bit of a shock to have someone telling you to go ahead and be as normal as you can, but to be careful."

Harry thought about that. "It's frightening, though, the way she wrote it," he said, indicating the 'watch your back' part of the note. "I mean, it sounds gloomy, to me. Like she knows something's going to happen."

"She does," Alhena said with a shrug. "We all do, Harry. You know something's going to happen. Ron and Hermione know it. I know it, Professor Dumbledore knows it. The difference here is that Morrigan doesn't think you need to hide behind the walls of Hogwarts because something bad is out there. She seems to think that there's more to you than a lot of people think, whether you're of age or not. And Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall seem to agree. As do I, if that matters at all." She grinned at Harry's look of surprise. "You see, Harry, if they didn't think it, you never would have found out about having a permission form for Hogsmeade. If they thought you couldn't handle yourself fairly well, you'd be sitting in the library or your common room this Saturday, wouldn't you? You weren't the only one who learned a tough lesson at the end of last term, Harry," she added. Harry nodded slowly, realising for the first time that it was true.

The door to the classroom opened, and Ron, Hermione, and Neville spilled in as though trying desperately to fit through the door side-by-side. Harry grinned at them. Alhena laughed, reminding Harry for a moment of someone. He shrugged off the thought and dug in his bag for his books and the Charms essay he, Ron, and Neville had spent the second half of the afternoon working on. Alhena had promised to correct it if they'd had it done in time for the tutoring session. They'd decided to take her up on that offer after a record-breakingly awful Charms class that morning. Attempting a Hover Charm, Ron had sent his cushion spinning out the window, and Neville's cushion, after taking a few weak hops across the floor, had begun changing colours in a dispirited fashion, as if ashamed of itself. Harry, busy worrying about the Hogsmeade permission form, had absentmindedly sent sparks at his cushion that had set it to smoldering like a half-extinguished campfire.

"Alhena, could you take a look at this?" Ron asked, holding out his essay. "Honestly, I put in as much as I could find about Household Spells, and it's still six inches short, isn't it?"

She looked at it. "Hmmm. You didn't exactly write small either, did you?" she asked, looking at Ron with her eyebrows raised. He turned pink. She grinned and held her hand out for Harry's and Neville's essays, neither of which was any closer to the required two feet long than Ron's had been. Sitting down cross-legged on top of the teacher's desk, she arranged them around her and directed her quill to cross out a word here, suggest a change there. When she'd skimmed through them, she looked up at them.

"Not bad," she told them. "They're a bit short. You might want to check out the part of the chapter on Cleaning Spells. It'll get you a bit closer to the mark, lengthwise." She had a subtly disappointed look on her face that made Ron resolve to write a bit smaller on his next attempt, and Harry and Neville decide that perhaps Household Spells weren't so bad after all. The three of them took out The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6, and got to work while Hermione and Alhena began comparing the appropriate wand movements for spells like Evanesco and Scourgify, and others which even Harry, Ron, and Neville's afternoon of Charms homework hadn't made them familiar with.

After fifteen minutes or so, Ginny and Luna walked in the door. Harry noticed absently that Luna's dirty blond hair had been brushed until it gleamed, and that she was, for once, free of all radish-shaped or bottle-cap-like ornaments. He caught Ron staring at her as though she had sprouted wings, and elbowed his friend sharply. He couldn't stand for Ron to turn all red again. At this rate, he'd never turn back to his usual somewhat pale self.

Ron started, his face turning pink, picked up the quill he'd dropped, and bent over his Charms essay. No one would have noticed anything strange at all had he not bent over too far and poked himself in the eye with his quill. Still, Harry would have been the only person who had seen it happen had Ron not reacted by jerking his arm to the side, sending a cascade of black ink all over the latest version of his Charms essay, half his desk, and most of his bag.

Alhena looked up. Harry distinctly saw her bite her lip hard against laughter before she spoke. Around her, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione all stared at Ron as though he was demented. Neville's expression was closer to disbelief, but he fought it back, ending in simply looking confused.

"Right, Ron, good idea. Best way to learn about Household Charms is practical experience," Alhena said briskly. The girls looked at her as though she had completely lost her mind. She ignored them, looking at Ron until he looked back up at her. "Well," she said, an eyebrow going up, "if you were planning on practicing Evanesco, you'll be needing your wand, won't you?"

Ron fumbled for his wand, his hand covered in black ink, and retrieved it from his bag, which was so completely covered in ink that no amount of black, inky fingerprints could damage it any longer. He pointed it at the ink on his essay, said, "Evanesco!" with more hope than confidence, and grinned proudly when the spilled ink disappeared. Then his smile dimmed, when he realised that the parchment was blank. He'd made all the ink disappear, even the words he'd written before spilling anything.

"Don't know your own strength, do you?" Alhena asked, amused, making no attempt to help him.

"Restoring Spell?" Ron asked Harry and Neville.

"Oh, yeah, that might work," Neville said, nodding.

"Wait, though," Harry said as Ron picked up his wand again. "Isn't there something about it restoring everything you made disappear? So you'd need to do Restoro, then you'd need to do Scourgify. It was a test," Harry concluded. "Evanesco makes things disappear entirely. Scourgify cleans them up."

Ron gave Alhena a disgruntled look, which made her shrug. "You did just write an essay on the difference between them, didn't you?" she pointed out.

Ron sighed, nodded, and pointed his wand at the parchment. "Restoro," he said, sounding more grumpy than anything else. The spilled ink, and the half-written essay, reappeared on the parchment. "Scourgify," he said, more firmly than Harry could ever remember hearing Ron sounding when he was performing a spell. The spilled ink disappeared, leaving the half-written essay intact. Ron and Harry exchanged grins.

"Cool," Harry said, nodding. Neville laughed, impressed. Ron went around Scourgifying his books, his bags, his robes, and then he graciously let Harry and Neville take turns with his shoes and his wand.

"Nice work," Alhena told the three of them, nodding in a pleased manner that made all three of them blush. Harry thought Ron's penchant for turning red lately might be contagious. He wasn't sure he was glad of that.

"Thanks. At least if the magic thing doesn't work out, I can always hire out to clean houses or something," Ron said with a sheepish shrug that did little to hide his pride in having accomplished the spells on the first try. Alhena grinned. Hermione laughed. Luna nearly fell over, bent double with laughter.

"You're funny," she told Ron. "Cleaning houses," she said in a sing-song way that made the others grin and Ron's ears turn pink.

Still smiling, Alhena and the girls returned to discussing Cleaning charms, Hermione practicing her wand movements with intense concentration. Ginny performed the charms with an almost careless wave of her wand, seeming almost bored by their simplicity. Harry noticed that the ease with which Ginny accomplished the Cleaning charms seemed to irritate Hermione ever so slightly. It wasn't that one was better than the other after Hermione had perfected her wand work. It was simply that Ginny didn't appear to need the same kind of precision Hermione did in order to make the charms work.

"She's always been a whiz at Charms," Ron told Harry, too softly for Hermione to hear him, as they rewrote their Charms essays. "Mum says she doesn't know where Ginny got it from. None of the rest of us have been that good at them--even Fred and George had to work like mad at them. Of course," Ron said glumly, looking at his essay, "look at them now."

Harry nodded, sighing. He liked Charms, but if it took Hermione a good amount of work to be good at them, it took him a great amount of practice. The mere thought of the work it would take to arrive at the twins' level of expertise in Charms exhausted Harry.

"I don't want to be as good as any of them," Neville said decisively, his voice too low to be overheard by anyone but Harry or Ron. They looked at him questioningly. Neville's plump face broke into what could only be described as a mischievous grin. "I want to be better."

After a moment of silent surprise, Harry and Ron grinned at Neville. Neville grinned back. Their eyes met in agreement. They returned their attention to their essays, and spent the rest of the session writing furiously.

*

Late in the morning on Thursday Harry sat at his desk, bent over his parchment, and began to write. He'd already spent fifteen minutes trying to answer Morrigan's owl, with little success. He wanted to say too many things that didn't seem to make much sense--every time he had a thought, three other contradictory thoughts popped into his head. He'd given up the attempt as useless, at least until he'd had a chance to think some more, and had turned to Quidditch.

He was still working on getting Katie to agree to be captain of the team. She was the most senior member, and everyone liked her. She was resisting his efforts, almost violently. She'd told him only that morning, over breakfast, that after having seen what captaining the team had done to Oliver and Angelina, she wanted no part of being captain. Harry couldn't blame her. It was the main reason he was trying so hard to avoid getting the position himself.

Harry thought that if he could outline some strategies for her, perhaps Katie wouldn't be quite so unwilling to captain the team. So he was spending what was left of his Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson writing up plans for the team. He and Ron had spent part of the previous evening thinking up the plans. Now that Neville's inspiration from the Charms tutoring session had had time to take hold, Harry, Ron and Neville were working on homework every spare moment they had, much as Hermione had used to. They had found that they had more free time than they had in over a year, and had spent a great deal of it discussing Quidditch.

The extra free time at night came in handy, despite the fact that Harry now had over three hours a week of pointless Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons in which to do other things. Professor Carey, though he had remained his usual cheerful and eager-to-please self, had to be one of the most boring teachers Harry had ever had. How anyone could make a discussion of the Unforgivable Curses boring was a mystery to Harry, but Carey had managed it admirably.

Though he knew that they had studied the Unforgivable Curses two years ago, Professor Carey had droned on and on about them for the past three lessons. He seemed to know an awful lot about them, Harry thought, but as no one had bothered to pay attention since the first few minutes of their first lesson, Carey would probably remain the only one who knew about the Curses. Remembering how Ron had speculated about whether Carey would spend their lesson listing every occurrence of every Unforgivable Curse ever used, Harry bent further over his parchment to hide a grin. Professor Carey was, after all, very nice. He didn't want to hurt the man's feelings by laughing out loud in the middle of his lecture.

Harry finished the note and passed it to Ron after surreptitiously using his wand to enchant the parchment into looking like notes from class. Ron, who had been staring up at the blackboard with a dazed look on his face, bent his head and began to study Harry's plans after he'd removed the charm on the parchment. It was, Harry thought, the most alive Ron had looked all lesson.

Harry took a casual look around the classroom as he took out another roll of parchment. It was a bit like being in Professor Binns' History of Magic class, he thought; there wasn't a single student paying attention to the professor, and a general bored daze seemed to have swept over the classroom. Seamus Finnegan was sound asleep with his head on his desk and a quill in his hand, and he was only one of a dozen or so students who were dozing. Many of the others were very near sleep, their chins propped on their hands, their eyes glazed over.

Ron was making additions to the Quidditch plans. Neville was staring fixedly at something out the window, though Harry couldn't see anything there to look at. Dean Thomas was busy drawing--from where he sat, Harry thought the sketch was of Professor Carey. Parvati and Lavender were quietly comparing Divination dream charts across the aisle between their desks, and Hermione--Harry did a double take, unable to believe that Hermione Granger was not paying attention to the professor. Hermione was bent over a roll of parchment, her Ancient Runes book open on her lap, writing an essay. She seemed to realise she was being watched, and her head came up cautiously. Meeting Harry's eyes, she shrugged, grinned, and went back to her essay.

Grinning, leaning over his desk, Harry unrolled his parchment and tried to think of what to write to Morrigan. If he hadn't forgotten his Charms textbook up in his dormitory, he would have put the letter off. Since he had nothing to distract him from writing the letter at the moment, it was preying on his mind. As he stared at the blank parchment before him, holding his quill in his hand, he couldn't think of anything but the letter.

The last ten minutes hadn't given him any good ideas of what to write her, and he was still uncertain about her. Still, he thought with a sigh, she had remembered about Hogsmeade, and she had apologised. Not, he assured himself, that a simple apology could make up for what she'd done. Far from it. He wasn't certain that anything could make up for the way she'd lied to him. Still, it didn't seem right for him to completely ignore her gesture. Alhena had said it might have been meant as an olive branch. He wasn't willing to make peace yet--at least, not entirely--but he thought he might feel better about things if he at least took time to thank Morrigan.

With a sigh that was more silent than not, in deference to Professor Carey's ongoing lecture on the horrors of the Imperius Curse, Harry put his quill to parchment and began to write.

Morrigan,

I got your owl. Thanks for the permission form, it'll

be nice to go to Hogsmeade. You were right, it was

a big surprise to find out that Professor McGonagall

had a permission form for me.

Harry paused, not sure what to say next. His letter sounded, as he read over what he'd written, like he was a little kid writing her an obligatory thank-you note for a particularly ugly Christmas jumper. He thought for a long moment as Carey droned on about how Death Eaters had once used the Imperius Curse as a weapon, and began to write again.

It's not that I'm not grateful. Really, I am. But

I don't know what else to say. I'm glad you

apologised and all, but I'm not sure I can just let

it go at that. Too many people have lied to me

or hidden things from me already. So I have to

be careful who I trust from now on.

Ron and Ginny found out you'd lost your job with

the Aurors. I'm sorry about that. It must have been

a cool job and all...

He paused again, stumped. What else did you say when someone had lost their job? He didn't know anyone his age who even had a job, let alone had been sacked from it. He wondered, if he'd been sacked from his job what would he want to hear?

...but I'm sure you can find a better one. I mean,

working at the Ministry can turn you into a prat.

Just look at Ron's brother Percy.

We're working on getting the Quidditch team

together again, now my ban's been lifted. Trials

are tomorrow, so hopefully we'll find a few Beaters

and another Chaser and some Reserves. We could

really use a break there. The last Beaters we had were

just awful, even though they tried really hard.

I hope things are going all right for you and Malcolm,

and that everyone is safe. Maybe when I get another

chance I can write you again.

Harry.

Harry rolled up the parchment and, when the distant buzz of Professor Carey's voice was replaced by the sounds of his classmates gathering their things to escape the classroom, he followed them out the door. Telling the others he'd meet them in the Great Hall for lunch, Harry ran up to the Owlery and sent his note with one of the school owls.

That done, he ran back down to the Great Hall and hurried through lunch. He, Ron, and Neville had a lot of studying to do before he and Neville were due in Transfiguration.

*

Whiting stood before her, sneering, as she did her best to keep her mind closed to him. It wasn't easy. Harry's note, such a painful blend of confusion and mistrust, had shaken her. She didn't know why that was; she'd expected no less. She deserved no better. But it had jolted her. After a month of feeling the pull of her magic strengthen daily, the last thing she'd needed was to be reminded of how she'd already botched things up with Harry. How she'd botched things up with Keith and his parents.

How she might be too weak to avoid botching things up again, and how there was so much more at stake this time around. There was so much more to lose now.

Harry.

Before she could lock the thought away, it rested in the centre of her mind, and she knew that MacInnes had felt it. She knew that he'd seen the picture she'd come to associate with that word--a tall, too-thin boy with untidy black hair, round glasses, and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

"You know famous little Harry Potter, then, do you?" he asked silkily, moving closer, his eyes boring into hers. "And here I'd thought you just had a very good source of information at the school." His black raven's eyes were greedy and cruel, searching ruthlessly through her mind for more information.

She didn't answer him. There would have been no point; he'd already seen too far into her head. She was going to have to give him something, now that Whiting knew that she was closer to Harry than she had originally led him to believe.

She was so busy rebuilding the walls in her mind that she never heard MacInnes walk up behind her, never saw him raise his wand and point it at her. The first hint she had that things had gone badly wrong was when she heard her former boss cry, "Crucio!" in a voice filled with anticipation and enjoyment.

When they were done with her, she was sobbing on the floor.

Their smiles were cruel and devoid of humanity as she told them what they wanted to know.