Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent

Finally, Harry heard a step on the landing outside the door. The moon was like a spotlight shining in the window. Harry watched the doorknob turn, heard the catch pull back, the hinges squeak ever so slightly as it opened.

He saw black robes over black trousers, black boots treading lightly on the stones. If he weren’t fairly certain that he wasn’t planning to use a Time Turner in an hour to return to this moment, it could have been him in his Hogwarts robes, his favorite black slacks and his black boots he’d bought over the summer. Stop it, he commanded his brain. Concentrate.

The wizard walked carefully over to Harry’s bed. Harry could no longer see him. He heard the bedcurtains being pulled aside, a grunt as it was discovered that Harry wasn’t in bed. The intruder moved to Ron’s bed, pulled open those bedcurtains; another grunt, another empty bed. That had been part of Harry’s plan; make him uncertain where to look...

Then Harry thought his heart would stop beating, he was so surprised by what happened next. The man had started walking right toward him, toward where he was under Dean Thomas’ bed. But then suddenly--

The man was no longer a man.

The large black dog that had taken his place sniffed the floor and then went unerringly to Harry in his hiding place. Harry let out a gust of air, collapsing flat on the floor, relaxing his grip on his wand. The large black dog put his snout under the bed, licking his face, and Harry winced, then patted the dog on the head in a tired, half-hearted way, mumbling, “Hello, Sirius.”

But the dog still didn’t change back into a man; instead, he carefully sniffed Harry’s right hand, moving his nose over every square inch of it. Harry was starting to feel more than a little strange. Was this Sirius? Or someone else?

“All right, Sirius. Change back already.”

And suddenly, Sirius Black was crouching before him. “Happy New Year, Harry.”

“Happy New Year!” Harry cried angrily, bumping his head on the underside of the bed frame. He crawled out, rubbing his head, shaking from anger and frustration and--he had to admit--from feeling rather foolish.

“Um, Harry--why were you hiding under the bed?” Sirius asked innocently.

Harry wasn’t feeling particularly charitably-inclined toward Sirius at this moment. “I was hiding under the sodding bed because I thought you were a sodding dark wizard!”

Sirius’ eyebrows flew up. “What? Why ever would you think that?”

Harry drew his lips into a line and removed Sandy from his arm, holding her up so that they could talk face to face. “Sandy,” he began, “you told me that a dark wizard was coming.”

“And so he did.”

“Sirius is not a dark wizard!”

“What color is his hair?”

“Black.”

“And is he a wizard?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So. He is a dark wizard.”

Harry sighed with exasperation. “Sandy, ‘dark wizard’ has a very specific meaning. You couldn’t say ‘black-haired wizard?’ Or just, ‘Here comes your godfather?’”

“What is a godfather?”

Harry felt close to losing it. “Never mind.” He wrapped her around his arm again, then looked up into Sirius’ perplexed face.

“Mind telling me what that was all about? And do you know how strange that looks and sounds, you standing there hissing at that snake, and it hissing back--?”

“Oh, um, well--you know I’m a Parselmouth...”

“I seem to remember something about that when I bought you your birthday present, yes.” Sarcasm seeped through his words, making Harry feel foolish again.

“Well, what I didn’t tell you is that snakes have the Sight.”

Sirius furrowed his brow. “Snakes? All snakes?”

“As far as I’ve been able to tell. There was this really big one we were studying in Care of Magical Creatures which predicted Boxing Day. She said, ‘The masters will be servants and the servants will be masters.’ She also knew that no one would stay for Boxing Day. Something like, ‘Many will go but few will stay.’ Both of those were a couple of months before the events happened. Sandy’s only a small snake, so she can only See a few minutes into the future, and only right around where she is. She told me a dark wizard was coming, but what she meant was a black-haired wizard, and of course--here you are.”

Sirius nodded with understanding, scrutinizing Sandy more closely than he had previously. Then he looked in Harry’s face again. “Don’t you think you should let Hermione come out of the corner now?”

Harry spluttered. “How--how did--”

But Hermione was emerging from the Invisibility Cloak, walking over to them and folding it neatly into a rectangle as she did so. “He must have smelled me when he was a dog,” she concluded logically. Harry hadn’t thought of that. Sirius was looking at Hermione strangely, then seemed to shake himself, as though he were trying to govern unruly thoughts.

“Um, Hermione--” he said hesitantly, not quite looking at her now, but around and past her. “Don’t you think you should put on a dressing gown or something?”

Harry looked at her in her thin nightshirt; even in the moonlight, he could see her reddening, and she dashed over to Harry’s trunk to put on the dressing gown she’d left there before climbing into bed earlier.

“I don’t suppose we could have some light in here, could we?” Sirius asked. Harry nodded and waved his wand at the candles. Sirius sat down on Ron’s trunk and Harry sat on his own. Hermione looked uncomfortable.

“Going to the loo...” she mumbled, practically running for the door.

Sirius’ gaze stayed on the doorway even after she was gone. Still looking in that direction, he asked, “Harry, what exactly did I interrupt?”

“Interrupt? What makes you think you interrupted anything?” Harry’s voice sounded unnaturally high to him.

Sirius fixed him with a gaze that would have done Mad-Eye Moody proud for producing squirms. Harry looked away. “Hermione has been sleeping up here, yes. Ever since I had the dream about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and my scar hurt me. She didn’t want to leave me alone. But look!” he said, pulling back the bedcurtains of his bed, and then Ron’s. “Two beds slept in. Two!”

Sirius gave him a Do-I-Look-Like-An-Idiot Look. Harry faltered momentarily.

“Regardless of how many beds have been slept in, I know what I smelled when I was a dog Harry. It’s pretty unmistakable.”

I would have a dog Animagus for a godfather, thought Harry. He grimaced and sat again, giving up with a sigh. “Okay, that was what you interrupted...but it’s not like we’ve been--you know. Up until tonight it’s been strictly sleeping...”

Sirius frowned. “Harry--do you mind my asking whatever happened to your other girlfriend?”

Harry had forgotten about mentioning Cho to Sirius. So now he had to explain about her and Viktor Krum...When he had done so, Sirius nodded with understanding.

“It’s not that I’m passing judgment, Harry--I had enough girlfriends in school--but I just want to give you a suggestion.” Harry thought of how many times in his life he’d wished for parents, and how a parent was the last thing on the planet he wanted just now. But he nodded as Sirius went on. “There’s this thing called Prophylaxis Potion. Madam Pomfrey will give it out to any girl who’s in fifth year on up. One dose lasts six months, and you--well, the girl--can take as much as six doses at once, so it can last up to three years. Works the day after, too.”

Sirius looked at him significantly, as if hoping Harry understood the slightly cryptic statement so that Sirius wouldn’t have to be any more specific. Harry nodded.

“I’ve heard of that potion. Made with spleenwort. Speaking of which--how did you and Snape and Lupin get on? Tonight is a full moon, too.”

Sirius grinned. “Snape wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. We left while it was still light. But he did make some Wolfsbane Potion and left it for Lupin. He’s probably back in his own Snapish quarters already...”

Harry decided it was his turn to make Sirius uncomfortable. He looked so harmless, so amiable and avuncular, sitting there on Ron’s trunk. How could he be the same young man in the Pensieve?

“So. You didn’t give Snape any goblets of blood?”

“Goblets of--did he tell you about that?”

“Well, in a roundabout way,” he said, figuring that was a reasonably accurate description of having found out about it while he was in the Pensieve.

Sirius looked down at his hands. “I’m not proud of some of the things I did when I was young, Harry. I mean, I even made a pass at Lily once...”

“You what?” Harry yelled, as Hermione came back into the room, clutching her dressing gown at the neck to hold it closed more securely.

Sirius laughed. “Didn’t work. You should have seen my face afterward--she must have put three different disfiguring curses on me in very quick succession. Hard to reverse that kind of thing. It was a month before any girl would consider looking at me again.”

Harry laughed. Hermione sat down on the trunk next to him. “What did I miss?” she wanted to know.

“Oh, um,” Harry said, stalling. Sirius leaped into the breach.

“Harry said you’d been sleeping up here, keeping him company. I thought I would sleep up here, too. Why don’t you each use the beds you were already in, and I’ll pick another? We should all get some rest.” He looked very pointedly at Harry, who couldn’t keep looking back without feeling very, very guilty.

Harry went to his own bed. Looking a little uncertain, Hermione went to Ron’s. Sirius chose Neville’s bed, and they were soon all ensconced behind their bedcurtains, calling goodnight to one another, and Harry put his wand through the curtains to extinguish the candles.

He laid back, trying to fall asleep again, thinking about Hermione lying on the other side of the room, and what had almost happened. Perhaps it’s for the best, he reasoned, trying to convince himself. Although it was good to know Prophylaxis Potion would work the day after...

Harry and Hermione rose to run as usual, waking Sirius briefly to tell him where they were going. He nodded groggily and turned over, going back to sleep. When they were returning upstairs after the run, they came to a halt suddenly when Dobby popped! into view before them on the third floor, near the girls’ prefect bathroom.

“Harry Potter! Harry Potter! And Miss Hermione! I is looking for you all over the castle! I is telling you good news!”

Harry just wanted to get to the shower. “What is it Dobby?” he said wearily.

“Nine house elves is asking Dumbledore for clothes today!” Dobby looked ecstatic. Hermione had been looking excited when he started talking, but now her face fell.

“Nine? Just nine?” she said softly.

Dobby didn’t notice her disappointment. “I is thinking it is what you was saying on Boxing Day, Harry Potter! That is what I is thinking!” Dobby was practically bouncing off the walls. Hermione looked like she felt she had failed. Harry was torn between responding to Dobby’s joy or Hermione’s attack of self-doubt.

“Um--thanks for telling us, Dobby. We’re each going to the showers now, though...”

“Thank you, Harry Potter! Thank you!” Dobby cried, grinning, and then popped out of the corridor again. Harry was able to turn to Hermione now, but she evidently didn’t want words of comfort or reassurance. She went to the portrait of the shepherdess, gave the password, and entered the bathroom without a word to him, looking like she was about to cry. Harry grimaced; he knew they couldn’t have expected many house elves to want clothes right away, but nine did seem like rather a small number.

When he arrived at the boys’ prefect bathroom, he discovered that Snape wasn’t the only one who had returned a day early to the castle. The luxurious marble room had been deserted for the previous week at this hour--Roger and Ernie seemed to use it later, or at night--but as soon as Harry opened the door, he was confronted by someone he hadn’t seen since his dream on Christmas night.

Draco Malfoy.

“Um, hello,” Harry said, taken by surprise. Malfoy had evidently already bathed and was wearing a green Slytherin bathrobe and shower shoes from the wardrobe. He smirked at Harry.

“What’s the matter, Potter? All your blood permanently left your brain from spending so much time shagging Granger?”

Harry was speechless, his mouth hanging open. Finally, he managed to stutter, “We haven’t--there’s been no--”

Malfoy looked terribly smug now. “Oh, my mistake. Didn’t figure Granger would be such a tease. I see. All your blood must have left your brain from all the wanking you’re doing, while thinking about shagging Granger...”

Now Harry felt his face redden. He stopped trying to address the lewd things Malfoy had been saying (and tried not to think about them himself) and return to what he’d originally meant to say.

“I was going to ask if you were all right, but I don’t know why I should bother being nice to you, you insufferable git.”

Malfoy made a mock sad face. “Aw. That hurt. Is that the best you can do?”

But Harry had had enough. He grabbed Malfoy’s left hand and pushed up the sleeve of the bathrobe. “I was asking because I saw you get this, you sodding bastard!” The Dark Mark showed vividly on Malfoy’s pale skin. “And I saw Voldemort put the Cruciatus Curse on you, and saw you put the Hara Kiri curse on Karkaroff before Voldemort killed him.”

Malfoy looked suddenly terrified. “Saw me--? How? Were you--were you the one impersonating my father?”

“No, you idiot. I can’t Apparate yet.”

Malfoy looked at him with narrowed eyes. “But you know who it was, don’t you?”

“Maybe I do. It’s none of your business.”

“Oh, if someone goes around pretending to be my dad and then stuns me, I think it’s my damn business! And you still haven’t said how you saw those things. Were you impersonating someone else there?”

“No.” Harry pointed to his scar. “It links me to Voldemort. I’ve had dreams when he’s been feeling especially violent or murderous; the dreams show me what he’s doing, what’s happening where he is. I had a dream on Christmas night. But when he did the killing curse, my scar hurt so bad I woke up. I wasn’t sure who had gotten killed. For a little while, I thought it might be you...”

Malfoy tried to recover his cockiness, but it was half-hearted. “That would have made you happy...”

“I was afraid Ginny would think it was my fault. But it’s a moot point, now. You’re alive and kicking and as obnoxious as ever.”

“How touching that you were concerned.” He smiled evilly. Harry’s ire was up, and he was finding it harder and harder to control the urge to put a really good hex on him.

“So,” Harry said. “Your father will probably tell you what’s going on now, when Voldemort summons the Death Eaters. He’ll have to tell you, since you can’t Apparate to him from Hogwarts--since you can’t Apparate at all, in fact.”

“What makes you think I can’t Apparate?” Malfoy said softly.

Harry frowned. “But--you’re not old enough. You can’t get a license until you’re of age. It’s illegal otherwise.”

Malfoy smiled--or at least, what passed for a smile for him. “And you think I would have a problem with that?”

Harry swallowed. He should remember to stop making assumptions about what Malfoy would and wouldn’t do. Working at learning Apparition before he was legal was probably small potatoes for him.

“Anyway, even someone who can Apparate can’t do it on the grounds of Hogwarts. So, whenever your father tells you what happened at one of the Death Eater meetings, send me an owl and I’ll meet you to get the information.”

Malfoy laughed, shaking his head. Harry stared at him; had he cracked? Had Voldemort used the Cruciatus Curse on him for too long?

“You’re really funny sometimes, Potter, you know that?” But suddenly, his face was anything but funny. Harry remembered how grim he had looked when he had cursed Karkaroff.

“Let me tell you how this is going to work,” Malfoy went on. “I am going to go about my life, going to classes, eating, sleeping, corresponding with my father, playing Quidditch, and--oh, yeah--snogging with Ginny as much as humanly possible. If I hear anything incriminating from my father, I’m keeping it to myself until such time as I have enough information to get him locked up in Azkaban properly, where the bastard can’t get me, and with a guarantee from the Ministry of Magic that I will be immune from all prosecution and absolutely safe. You will not know anything. Up until the moment my father puts the final nail in his own coffin, you will be completely in the dark. We are not friends. We will not correspond, or meet, or even be civil to each other, understand? I’m running the show now, and you just have to live with it.”

Harry stared at him. “What? That’s not what we agreed to...”

“I don’t give a damn what you think we agreed to. I’m holding all the cards, Potter. And Ginny too, who is very nice to hold, thank you very much. We’re doing this my way now.”

Harry swallowed. “I don’t know about this--I’d rather know what your father’s up to before someone I care about gets hurt. How do I know you’re actually going to do this? How do I know you’re not just playing me? How do I know I can trust you?”

Malfoy smirked again; he put his hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave.

“You don’t.”

He was gone.

Harry found himself pacing back and forth on the cold marble floor, running his hand through his hair. He was at the mercy of Draco Malfoy, and he didn’t like it one bit. Something about this was making him very, very nervous. It didn’t feel right; it was a recipe for disaster. What if Malfoy had no intention of following through, what if he just wanted to be with Ginny and make Harry think he was going to turn in his father? He thought of Ginny, kissing Malfoy in the conservatory at the Christmas party...If Malfoy helped put Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban, the Weasleys could probably forgive Harry after the fact for not telling anyone about Ginny and Draco Malfoy. But if he was lying...

Some of his closest friends--probably his best friend--would be wanting his head on a platter.

Sirius met with Dumbledore before leaving; Harry loaned him his Invisibility Cloak to go to the headmaster’s office. That evening, the rest of the students returned on the Hogwarts Express, and sleeping arrangements for Harry and Hermione returned to normal. It felt strange to be eating dinner again at the Gryffindor table, crowded with students chatting happily about the Christmas presents they’d received and what they’d done on holiday. Harry listened but didn’t listen to Ron, who talked so much during the meal it was unclear to Harry whether he’d actually eaten anything. At bedtime, Harry was afraid Ron would notice something amiss with his bed, but the house elves had, as usual, put fresh linens on it and placed a warming pan between the mattress and coverlet. To Ron, everything was normal.

Luckily, the first day back was a Tuesday. Tuesday wasn’t bad; Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, History of Magic and Divination. The golden griffin was gone; now they were onto snow sprites, because they were in season. They raced around the lawn near the lake, snow crunching under their boots, trying to catch the tiny flying creatures, who would warm their hands for a few seconds before flying off again. It wasn’t easy; they blended in with the landscape so completely. Harry was amazed that these small beings who looked made of ice could be so warm.

For Herbology, they were now in Greenhouse Five, which felt uncomfortably like a tropical jungle. They took off their robes, but were still sweating profusely while wrestling with the magical kudzu which had tripled in size over the previous week; pruning it back was very dangerous, and twice it caught Ron around the neck and tried to cut off his air. When they left, he was rubbing his neck, muttering something about bringing weed killer next time.

History of Magic was basically naptime, not that Binns ever noticed, and then Divination was canceled because Trelawney had taken to her bed with a cold, “Which the stars told me would occur today.” They knew she would be better by Thursday, however, so they enjoyed the reprieve while they could.

It was Wednesday that Harry was dreading.

Harry was not looking forward to returning to Potions, unsure of how to face Snape, now that he’d been inside the Pensieve. Suddenly, everything that had happened during the holiday seemed to have occurred a very long time ago...

When he walked into the Potions Dungeon for the first class of the new term, Snape barked at him, “Potter! In my office!”

Harry looked at Hermione; she raised her eyebrows and shrugged. This still seemed like vintage Snape. No difference.

Harry went into his office; Snape left the door open. To Harry, this seemed calculated. He noticed that the Pensieve was no longer on the desk; Harry couldn’t see it anywhere. “So, Potter. Did anyone use any potions ingredients while I was gone?”

Harry looked him in the eye, trying to see the man from the Pensieve. “No, sir.”
“No one entered my office at all?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. “I did, sir.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” His face was still inscrutable. Harry thought he knew what he was asking.

“Actually, sir, a bit more. Not that that’s a problem.”

Snape assessed him through narrowed eyes. “I am now changing the password again. The one I gave you before will no longer work. If you want something from my private stores, you will need to ask me. Now return to your station.” Snape’s voice now seemed uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said clearly, crisply. They were not going to talk about the Pensieve now; perhaps they would never talk about it. But Snape knew Harry had been in the Pensieve, Harry was sure of it. That was enough for now.

Harry went through the rest of Potions--indeed, most of the rest of the day--still feeling like he was in a dream, that the Pensieve had been reality, not this. Snape seemed unchanged in some ways, and yet--Harry knew he could never see him the same way again.

Then, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he woke up.

Moody was finally going to start teaching them something practical. It’s all very well and good to contemplate what makes people turn Dark, thought Harry, but it’s another thing to be able to deal with dark wizards. However, as it turned out, they were not going to be learning mind-body dissociation yet. First, they were going to be learning some marginally-legal curses, and putting them on each other. Hermione was shocked.

“Now, now,” Moody growled at her scandalized face. “Madam Pomfrey knows to expect all of you near the end of class. Just a precaution I thought I’d take; end it early, let everyone go to the infirmary. None of you will be permanently injured, and none of you will be feeling anywhere near as much pain as you get with Cruciatus. But you’ve got to know a little about what pain is before you learn to block it. These are curses no one else is going to teach you; they don’t transfigure anything, and to call them charms would be a misnomer. They’re curses, hexes. They’re designed to hurt. Now, some of you probably know a few such spells already, in spite of the fact that you’ve never actually had these things assigned. And I understand a few of you have signed up for the Dueling Club; these will be especially handy for you. All right, pair off as follows: Brown with Finnigan, Granger with Longbottom, Patil with Potter and Thomas with Weasley. Alphabetical; easiest way to start.”

Moody had cleared the center of the room of desks. The four pairs stood facing each other, wands at the ready. Parvati looked nervous, Harry thought, her large brown eyes seeming even larger than usual. She preferred Divination class, he knew. He hoped he wouldn’t hurt her too badly. It sounded like Moody was going to have all of them writhing on the ground.

“What I’m going to teach you today is the Passus Curse,” Moody announced. Harry whipped his head around; Moody noticed. “Know that one, do you Potter?”

“Uh, no. I know of it. I know you have to specify the body part.”

“That’s right. Directed pain. Specifically aimed. Good for a surprise, a shock, since it actually doesn’t last very long. Or, sometimes it’s done in the one spot repeatedly for maximum effect. That way, it can even be fatal. I once hauled in a dark wizard who had attacked a man’s kidneys with Passus so many times in quick succession, he died of renal failure.” The students looked around at each other with alarm. “Of course, we won’t be doing anything like that today.” He sounded like he was saving that lesson for a special treat, Harry thought, sincerely hoping that he was wrong.

“We’ll start with the hands and arms. Hand--say ‘mano suo.’ Upper arm--say ‘lacerto suo.’ Entire arm--say ‘bracchio suo.’ Then follow that with ‘passus est.’ Got that? But don’t tip off your opponent which one you’re going to use. Element of surprise. And you must concentrate; think of the targeted body part, think of the most intense pain you can. Focus! We’ll start with this side--” he said, indicating Seamus, Neville, Harry and Ron. Facing them, Lavender, Hermione, Parvati and Dean looked more than a little apprehensive.

“At my signal,” Moody said to them. Suddenly, red sparks flew from the tip of the wand Moody was holding up above his head.

Harry pointed his wand at Parvati’s right hand, crying, “Mano suo passus est!” She screamed and dropped her wand, holding her hand, bending over and squinting her eyes, clearly trying not to cry. Harry dropped his wand, going to his knees, putting his hand on her back and his face close to hers, whispering, “Are you all right, Parvati?”

She raised glistening eyes to his, biting her lip, shaking her head. He took her hand in his, massaging it, warming it, and her eyes gazed back at him again, reminding him of how she’d looked after she’d cut his hair. He shook himself and looked away, stood up again and released her hand. He saw that Ron was frowning in their direction, and Hermione too. Hermione was clutching her left upper arm, rubbing it vigorously, while Neville repeatedly apologized.

“Oh, Neville, stop! That was good, really. We’re all going to be doing a lot of this; can’t get squeamish...”

Ron had gone back to watching Dean flex his left hand. Ron looked apologetic. Dean’s face was screwed up in pain. Lavender was on the floor, holding her right arm, crying. Seamus was bumbling around, patting her awkwardly on the head, saying, “There, there.”

And Malfoy’s dad does this to him all the time, Harry thought. No wonder he didn’t fall apart when Voldemort put the Cruciatus Curse on him. Then Harry remembered that Malfoy did ask him not to do it again; Harry had refused to do the same thing. Of course, Malfoy was supposed to be playing the role of an obedient Death Eater. Hopefully, it was just a role...

Moody clumped around the room, shaking his head. “People, people! One little curse, and you all fall apart! That was nothing! On your feet, everyone! I’m sure you’re all thinking, These are my friends. I’ve known them since we were sorted together. We eat every meal together, go to our classes together, relax in the same common room. And now I’ve got you attacking each other. And you don’t want to. But you’ve got to learn! You must disconnect yourself from your emotional ties to the person you are attacking. Yes, I’m the meanest son-of-a-bitch you’ve had teaching you. I know that. But this is what’s necessary to make sure you are properly prepared. What do you think the O.W.L.s will be like? Think no one will get hurt taking those? Think again. NOW! The other side. Positions! On my signal.”

This time, Harry was on the receiving end of the pain. Parvati had pointed her wand at his left arm, crying, “Bracchio suo passus est!” and pain had started to blossom from his elbow as though he had rammed it into a brick wall with all his might. He gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to tell himself it wasn’t so bad. And after a minute, he actually seemed to believe it. When he thought back to the Cruciatus Curse, and when he had first started transforming into a griffin, it really wasn’t so bad. He felt like his heart was beating faster than before she had cursed him, but other than a residual throbbing, he felt he’d managed the attack rather well.

Ron wasn’t doing so well. He was biting his lip, holding his left hand with his right, doubled over, red-faced, stifling cries in his throat. On Harry’s other side, Neville was doing somewhat better. He was rubbing his right arm, wincing, but despite the fact that Hermione had attacked his wand arm, he hadn’t dropped it. He smiled feebly at Hermione through the obvious pain, saying, “That was good.” Hermione looked stricken; Neville was the last person she ever would have chosen to hurt. She looked like she was the one who was going to cry.

Lavender had apparently had no such scruples about attacking Seamus. He was rubbing his left upper arm, saying, “Ah! Ah!” repeatedly and turning in a circle, stamping his left foot hard as he turned, as if he could channel some of the pain down through his leg and away from him.

“All right!” Moody barked, ignoring the reactions of those who’d just been cursed. “Finnigan, Longbottom, Potter and Weasley, you stay where you are! Brown, Granger, and Patil, you each shift down one and Thomas, you come up here with Finnigan. All right! The first side will go again. On my signal!”

And so it went. Harry tried not to think at all as he cursed Hermione’s left hand; he tried to choose the smallest target he could, and didn’t want to hurt her right hand so she’d still be able to write (she was working on a three-foot essay for Binns). She in turn looked at him stony-faced when it was her turn to curse him. But he could see the look in her eyes after she’d done it, the remorse and empathy. He smiled feebly at her, holding his right upper arm, breathing through his nose.

Moody had them go through every possible combination. At last, Ron and Harry turned to face each other.

Harry went first again. He knew Ron hadn’t been handling the pain well; he’d been watching him the whole time. He dreaded adding to that hurt, and then wondered whether he was just thinking about physical pain...

“Mano suo passus est!” Harry cried, pointing at Ron’s left hand, as he’d done with Hermione. But to his surprise, Ron managed to grit his teeth and stamp his foot a few times (a la Seamus) before looking like the pain had subsided.

Harry waited for Ron to curse him back. He gazed at his best friend, remembering being on his bed with Hermione, feeling guilty. After the red sparks came out of Moody’s wand this time, Ron didn’t attack him right away. Harry looked to his left; Seamus was being cursed by Neville, whose voice, speaking the curse, had an authority Harry was still getting used to.

Since he hadn’t been paying attention to Ron, Harry was unprepared for the curse when it came. Ron had pointed his wand at Harry’s right arm. The pain that suddenly radiated through his limb made him drop his wand, and he tried to blank his mind, stop the transmission of the pain to his brain, convince himself he didn’t feel any pain at all...This isn’t so bad, a voice in his head said. He almost felt like he was floating, although it was different from the Imperius Curse. This was something he was doing, he was in charge of it...it felt lovely, actually...

When he opened his eyes, he discovered the whole class looking at him, and Mad-Eye Moody was in particular peering into his face.

“You did it, didn’t you Potter?” he growled. Harry swallowed, gazing back at his lopsided, gruesome visage. “You got sick of the pain and started working out a way to block it on your own, didn’t you?” Then one of his unnatural-looking smiles spread across the damaged terrain of his face. “What do you need me for?” he joked in a growl. “You’ve got me beat. Couldn’t have done that at fifteen if I’d been offered five-thousand galleons and a go at the Queen Mum.” They all stared at him, shocked. “Oh, come on. When she was young, she was quite a dish.”

That made them finally break up into laughter, only to be stopped short by their physical pains. The laughs turned into almost universal moaning and groaning. Harry was the only one who didn’t seem to be rubbing sore muscles and wincing. Moody dismissed them and they all went trooping off to see Madam Pomfrey for pain relief.

As they approached the hospital wing, Ron looked sideways at Harry, who realized they hadn’t really had a proper conversation since he’d come back. A conversation being something that didn’t consist of Ron talking at him all through a meal. He hadn’t told Ron about the dream on Christmas night, for instance.

“Should have known you’d be the first to do that, Harry. Like when you overcame the Imperius before anyone else.” Somehow, Ron sounded more resentful than impressed.

Harry decided to change the subject. “On Christmas night, I had a dream and woke up with my scar hurting,” he whispered. How should I do this? he wondered. And then he knew; he would simply tell Ron about the events at Dover in as straightforward a way as possible, no hint of Malfoy possibly being willing to betray his father. If Ron suddenly started treating Malfoy differently, that wouldn’t look right. Plus, he couldn’t know that Malfoy’s incentive for turning in his dad was his own sister.

Ron didn’t react at first. Then, quietly, without inflection, he said, “Tell me later.” Harry nodded and they all proceeded to the hospital wing. Harry would have to think very carefully about everything he said, since he was going to have to leave Ginny out of the conversation entirely. Ron could not know about her and Malfoy. Plus, he would have to be sure to leave out the bits about Hermione sharing his bed after the dream. He would have to edit himself very carefully.

The problem with lying, he thought, is that you have to make sure you tell the same lies in the same way to the same person each time. It was almost more trouble than it was worth.

Almost.

The rest of the week, all of Harry’s classes seemed to pass in a blur. Learning Augury in Divination was like doing tea leaves at the beginning of his third year; only now they were staring at the disgusting entrails of a dead chicken and interpreting the future based on that gory mess. How enlightening, Harry thought. And--surprise, surprise--Trelawney said that the entrails predicted his untimely death. Must be death from boredom, he thought. The only time he really felt alive and alert was in Moody’s class.

They progressed to producing pain in the legs, using separate incantations for thigh, knee, foot and ankle. Harry was getting better at blocking the pain, even though they technically weren’t on that yet.

As he was leaving class on Friday, a large eagle owl came flying down the corridor and landed on his shoulder. He had a note tied to his leg.

“Meet me in the Trophy Room in half an hour,” it said in a small, angular script. There was no signature. Harry turned it over and over, trying to figure out whether to go or not. Ron and Hermione looked at him, waiting for him to say what it was. He shrugged and acted like it was nothing. He decided to get his Invisibility Cloak and go early to see who it was.

When he entered the Trophy Room in his cloak, no one was there. He wandered around the edge of the room, looking idly in the glass cases, smiling to himself when he saw the Award for Special Services to the School that he and Ron had received second year. Then he saw the award Tom Riddle had received. Why had he never noticed before that it had the same name? And it was also connected with the Chamber of Secrets. Harry remembered that Ron had had to clean slime off it after burping slugs all over it...

He probably could have brought Sandy, to warn him of what was going to occur, but he didn’t want someone to hear her hissing under his clothes, so he’d left her in the common room near the fire. Harry heard a step behind him and turned to see Draco Malfoy looking around furtively. It was ten minutes before the appointment time. What was Malfoy up to? Harry wondered. He waited to see what Malfoy would do, but he just wandered around the edge of the room as Harry had done, looking at the awards, grimacing when he came to the one Ron and Harry had received, muttering, “Special Services...”

When the appointment time had been reached, Malfoy looked at his watch impatiently, saying softly, “Come on Potter, half an hour...” and Harry knew that Malfoy had in fact sent the note; he didn’t just happen to be wandering in the Trophy Room at the same time. Harry had been walking very softly about five feet behind Malfoy as he had circumnavigated the room, but now he came to within a yard of him and said in a low voice, “I’ve been here for twenty minutes, you stupid git.”

Malfoy looked around wildly. “Potter?”

“Who else?”

“Where are you?”

Harry moved a few feet to Malfoy’s right. “Where I can see you, but you can’t see me.”

Malfoy looked really hacked off now. “Cut it out, Potter.”

Harry kept moving as he spoke. “Come on, Malfoy. You’re the one who asked to meet me. Taking a chance, aren’t you?”

“It’s important.”

“Anyway, you said you didn’t want us to be seen together.”

“I also don’t want one of the teachers calling my dad to take me to St. Mungo’s because I’m standing around in an empty room talking to myself.”

Harry laughed softly. “I dunno. Sounds like fun. You’d probably be exempted from end-of-year tests.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so. Are you going to get to the point or not, Malfoy?”

Malfoy turned to one of the glass cases, his back to the door, speaking softly. “What did you say to Moody?”

Harry was thrown. “Moody? What did I say about what?”

“Christmas night!”

Harry was baffled. “I didn’t say anything to him. What are you talking about?”

Malfoy drew his lips into a line. “Then if you didn’t, who did?”

“Will you please tell me what you’re on about?”

Malfoy sighed. “He’s been down on me since the new term started...”
“That’s only a few days.”

“It’s enough. We’ve been doing the Passus Curse--which as you know is one of my favorites,” he added sarcastically. Harry grimaced. “He keeps asking me whether I would like to push up my sleeves to work, and he specifically pats me on the left arm, right where the mark is. I’m convinced he knows I’ve got it. How else would he know if you didn’t tell him?”

Harry was about to say that Dumbledore also knew about it, but realized that he couldn’t reveal that Dumbledore had sent Snape undercover, and that if they had been able to manage it, Sirius would have been undercover in Malfoy’s own house. Then he thought about it, and knew why no one had needed to tell Moody about Draco Malfoy having the Dark Mark...

“Malfoy, what are your robes made of?”

“I dunno. Wool for the winter, I suppose. Why are you changing the subject?”

“I’m not. And what kind of shirt are you wearing under your robes?”

“Cut it out, Potter, and tell me--”

“What kind of shirt?” Harry breathed in a fierce whisper.

Malfoy snorted through his nose. “Linen, I suppose. Something my mum thinks is elegant. Luckily, it gets softer with wear. Pretty scratchy at first. Can we get back to the subject?”

“This is the subject. Unless you’re wearing something with sleeves made of--I don’t know, lead or something--Moody has no trouble seeing that mark on your arm. And for all I know, he can see through lead.”

“What are you on about now?”

“Moody’s magical eye. All last year, you had Crouch teaching you, masquerading as Moody, and you never picked up on the eye? He can see through wood, fabric, the back of his own head--and Invisibility Cloaks. We better hope he doesn’t come in right now, else he’ll think I’m a Death Eater too, sneaking around under my cloak to talk to you.” Harry wondered why Malfoy didn’t know about the eye. Maybe Moody (the real one) didn’t want the Slytherins knowing about what he could see?

“You mean, he can see right through my clothes?”

“Yeah, I see what you mean, Malfoy. If he can see your entire body, beats me how he keeps from spewing up his lunch...”

“Sod off.” Malfoy said half-heartedly, trying not to speak too loudly. Harry laughed softly.

“Actually, he was really giving Parvati the willies at the Yule Ball. I think she thought he was being a dirty old man, looking through all the girls’ clothes at their bodies...”

Now Malfoy smirked, and it looked to Harry like he was harboring some very dirty thoughts himself. “It’d almost be worth losing an eye if the replacement lets you see Parvati Patil’s body...”

Harry was shocked. “You want I should tell Ginny you said that?”

Malfoy looked around, panicked. Harry thought he might have forgotten that he was actually talking to another person, that he wasn’t engaged in an interior monologue. “I did not say that. I will deny it with every breath in my body.”

Harry laughed. “It’s okay. I won’t say a word. It just means you have a pulse, anyway.”

Malfoy actually smiled, still looking in the awards case. “What, did you get some action at the Yule Ball, Potter?”

“Malfoy! Why are you always so interested in my private life?”

Malfoy shrugged. “It irritates you when I ask. How can I pass that up? Too much fun. Even when I can’t see you.” Malfoy sighed, moving on to another award case. “But I don’t know what to do about Moody...”

“Deal with it by being exactly what he thinks you are: one of the new generation of Death Eaters. I happen to know that other Slytherins in your year have parents who are involved with Voldemort. Maybe they’ll look up to you again if you show them the Mark. You want deep cover, you’ve got it. Do your best to come off as Dark and evil as possible. Shouldn’t be too far a stretch for you...”

Malfoy grimaced. “I’ll have you know Ginny thinks I’m a prince.”

Harry laughed. “Maybe if she’s lucky, the next time she kisses you, you’ll turn into a frog. It would be a move up.”

“Ha ha.”

But as far as Harry was concerned, the conversation was over. He went to the door of the room, preparing to leave. Malfoy spoke softly, said something he couldn’t hear all the way from the doorway. Then, from the corridor, Harry heard him say more loudly, “Potter? Damn you, where did you go?”

Harry left, smiling. He thought, St. Mungo’s, here you come...

At dinner on Friday, Snape announced that the Dueling Club would be meeting for the first time Sunday after lunch in the Great Hall. The first twenty students who signed up were to stay after the meal was over.

Harry looked forward to Sunday afternoon for the rest of the weekend. More than once, Ron or Hermione had to shout at him to bring him back from a reverie in which he had caused Malfoy to revert to his bouncing ferret form during a duel...

At long last, Sunday afternoon arrived. The members of the club remained in the hall. Harry looked around--plenty of familiar faces. The usual suspects, plus a couple of people he didn’t know all that well, just from prefects’ meetings. Harry already knew that Roger, Hannah and Ernie had signed up, as well as George and Angelina and Malfoy with his erstwhile sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle. Harry Ron and Hermione were the only Gryffindors in their year. Alicia had also signed up, and Ginny and Colin were the only fourth years from any house.

Harry noticed Hermione avoiding Millicent Bulstrode, the only girl from Slytherin who was present. At the Dueling Club in their second year, she had gotten into a wrestling match with Millicent instead of dueling properly, and then had mistaken a hair from Millicent’s cat for a human hair; when she had tried to use the hair in some Polyjuice Potion, intending to take on Millicent’s appearance temporarily, she had instead sprouted cat whiskers and fur. Harry didn’t blame Hermione for avoiding Millicent. There were many bad associations there.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was the only other Hufflepuff besides Hannah and Ernie. And almost all of the Ravenclaw prefects had signed up except for Roger’s brother Evan: Mandy Brocklehurst, from fifth year, Liam Quirke from sixth year (Harry tried not to stare, after mistakenly walking in on him and Justin at the cottage), Liam’s sister Niamh, who was seventh year, and Cho. Harry did a double take. He hadn’t realized Cho’s name was on the list. Just when I thought I could avoid her during Sunday afternoons, he thought.

Snape had apparently planned everything out in minute detail. Harry figured he’d probably done this while staying at Remus Lupin’s; otherwise he might have been forced to engage in an actual conversation with two people he’d actively disliked for twenty years--and who had once tried to kill him (although it wasn’t Lupin’s fault).

He had a long list of combinations of duelers. By his calculations, it would take four meetings for all of the members to duel with each other once. Only one duel was to take place at a time, and then the rest of the club would vote for the winner by sending sparks up from their wands. If it seemed close, an exact count would take place.

“That’s a total of one-hundred and ninety duels!” Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron, doing the math quickly. They nodded at her, as if they’d figured it out too.

Fifty duels would take place during the first meeting. After the first twenty-five, there would be a half-hour break. If they were lucky, they would be done by the time the school starting trooping into the Great Hall for the evening meal. Everyone in the club would duel five times with five different partners. Snape said he would post the standings in the entrance hall in the morning. Harry was itching to get started. He hoped he would be dueling Malfoy.

Snape swept the tables out of the way with his wand, leaving the center of the room clear. After this, he suddenly barked, “Abbott!” Hannah jumped, then stepped forward, looking nervous. “V. Weasley!” Harry was perplexed. Who was that? But then, Ginny stepped through the crowd, and Harry realized the V was for Virginia.

Snape had them bow to each other. Ginny looked very calm; Hannah looked like she was wondering why she’d thought this was a good idea. She’d been the same when they’d practiced dueling during the holiday.

Ginny disarmed her within seconds, returning her wand to her afterward, then flushing as she received a unanimous decision from the rest of the club, and returning to the ring of students that had created an ad hoc arena.

Ron was up next. He faced Mandy Brocklehurst, whom he did not know at all. He stunned her before she could do anything, netting the Weasleys another win. Snape revived her afterward.

George had more of an actual duel with Millicent, but after he had done the Jelly-legs Jinx on her and she had cemented his feet to the floor, he quit fooling around and disarmed her. The Slytherins voted for her, Malfoy making remarks about George being in love with the floor, but everyone else voted for George, so he got the win.

Harry apprehensively watched Alicia confound Cho, then disarm her. He wondered whether it would be good form to vote for Cho even though she clearly lost; then he remembered that he was not supposed to be nice to her anymore, and abruptly put up his wand for Alicia. Cho gave him a hurt look.

He was up against Crabbe next. Harry quickly disarmed him, feeling that it hadn’t been much of a challenge. Then Malfoy beat Colin Creevey, Ernie defeated Niamh and her brother Liam was trounced by Roger. Angelina and Hermione then won over Justin and Goyle respectively. The first round was over. Each of them had dueled once.

The second time around, Ron and George won again, this time against Hannah and Mandy. Then after Alicia disarmed Millicent, Harry’s name was called again. He moved to the center, waiting for Snape to call the name of his opponent.

“Chang!” She stepped forward, smiling at Harry, who was frankly aghast. He’d been looking forward to going up against Malfoy; it hadn’t occurred to him that he might have to duel Cho. So now in addition to voting against her in her duel against Alicia, he had to try to beat her himself. Beastly behavior, he reminded himself. He wondered for a moment why he ever thought is was a good idea to use her to help rid Hermione of Viktor Krum.

After they bowed, Harry waited for her to make a move. She seemed so small and delicate, so young in spite of being a year older than him. Then he shook himself. Beastly behavior, he thought, coming right up.

“Mano suo passus est!” he cried pointing at her right hand. She cried out, dropping her wand, then holding her stricken right hand with her left, bent double, crying. He fought the urge to go to her, to make sure she was all right. The club members looked appalled; no one else had done such a painful curse yet, not even the Slytherins, and Harry had done it to his girlfriend, as far as most of them knew. No one could argue that he’d disarmed her, so he should have received a unanimous vote--but the Ravenclaws all voted for Cho, glaring at him. It wasn’t enough to give her the win, but that wasn’t the intention. They voted for her to demonstrate house loyalty. And tonight, he thought, I have to go to a prefects’ meeting with all of them. What fun.

By the time the break came, Harry had also disarmed Millicent, George had defeated Hannah, Hermione had won over Justin, and Malfoy had also beaten Cho, as well as his once-loyal retainer, Crabbe. Ginny had defeated Goyle with the Impediment Curse, slyly walking up to him while he was moving in slow motion and removing his wand from his grasp, then returning him to normal speed. He stumbled, tried to curse her, then saw that she was holding two wands while he had none. The vote was unanimous, even including the Slytherins. Harry thought he saw Malfoy smirking, trying not to look proud of Ginny.

When they returned from the break, the dueling resumed with a new fervor. Harry had broken the pain barrier, and now the duelers were going at each other more fiercely, with no regard for friends or house loyalties. Malfoy was not at all nice about the way he beat Millicent, and even Hermione seemed quite ruthless about the way she trounced Colin.

Finally, the first meeting was over. Fifty duels! thought Harry. He’d seen some good spells he’d not known about, and had gotten off a couple of good ones himself. When he and Hermione came downstairs to run in the Great Hall the next day, Harry saw the parchment on the wall and went to it immediately, finding his name quickly.

Rank: 1 / Wins: 5 / Granger, Malfoy, Potter, Spinnet, V. Weasley

---

Rank: 2 / Wins: 4 / G. Weasley, R. Weasley

---

Rank: 3 / Wins: 3 / Crabbe, Davies

---

Rank: 4 / Wins: 2 / Johnson, MacMillan, L. Quirke, N. Quirke

---

Rank: 5 / Wins: 1 / Bulstrode, Chang, Finch-Fletchley

---

Rank: 6 / Wins: 0 / Abbott, Brocklehurst, Creevey, Goyle

---

Harry couldn’t help but grin. Hermione pulled him into the Great Hall, laughing at him. “Come on. You’re going to get a swelled head. Five of us are in first place, you know.”

“But--somehow I didn’t even notice...”

“You didn’t notice that you didn’t lose any duels? Of course,” she said slyly, “it’s not like you were really challenged. At least I went up against Roger...”

Harry snorted. “And beat the pants off him like you did every day of the holidays. Actually, I though Niamh might be able to take you.”

Hermione looked perplexed. “Me too. She’s seventh year and all. But she was easier than I thought she’d be...she seemed a little distracted.” Harry remembered that she had been watching her brother Liam, who had been standing next to Justin whenever they weren’t dueling. Not touching, just standing. A little tension in the Quirke family, perhaps, he thought.

“Ron did pretty well,” Harry noted, while they stretched. Hermione nodded, not speaking. He wondered whether she was feeling the kinds of guilt pangs he’d been experiencing in reference to Ron. He didn’t feel like he could ask her, though. What would he say? ‘Oh, by the way, are you really in love with Ron and feeling guilty for being half-naked on his bed with me?’ Harry frowned; there was no way they could talk about Ron, and yet his presence was always with them, even when they were alone, their arms around each other...

They’d managed to be alone a few times since the new term had started, just a handful of minutes here and there in an empty classroom, just some stolen kisses. Harry had considered saying something about Prophylaxis Potion, but had no idea how to do this. What if she hadn’t been considering doing more on New Year’s Eve? He would feel like a complete idiot.

Harry looked forward to the next Dueling Club all week. He learned some more curses in Moody’s class, and was researching some more on his own. He wanted to have a really good one for Malfoy when it was his turn to duel with him.

However, Harry didn’t really feel like he had any challenges in the second week of the club. He handily defeated Goyle, Justin, Roger, Niamh and Colin. Roger was getting to be quite annoying when he lost a duel. Harry had to keep reminding himself that this was the git who was Head Boy. What did Fleur see in him? he wondered. He didn’t have to wonder what Roger saw in Fleur.

When the standings were posted the next day, there were a few changes of status for some people who weren’t at the top of the rankings:

Rank: 1 / Wins: 10 / Granger, Malfoy, Potter, Spinnet, V. Weasley

---

Rank: 2 / Wins: 7 / R. Weasley

---

Rank: 3 / Wins: 6 / Johnson, L. Quirke, G. Weasley

---

Rank: 4 / Wins: 5 / Davies

---

Rank: 5 / Wins: 4 / Crabbe

---

Rank: 6 / Wins: 3 / Goyle, MacMillan, N. Quirke

---

Rank: 7 / Wins: 2 / Bulstrode, Chang, Finch-Fletchley

---

Rank: 8 / Wins: 1 / Abbott

---

Rank: 9 / Wins: 0 / Brocklehurst, Creevey

---

Harry remembered watching Ginny dueling. She was pretty nice to Colin, actually, using the Impediment Curse as she had before to painlessly disarm him, and she did the same with poor Mandy, who hadn’t won a single duel. On Crabbe, she actually used the disarming charm; it was impressive to see him flying backwards into Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode, who happened to be standing behind him. She did the same thing later to Millicent, who glared at Ginny afterward.

The duel that had him a little worried was Ginny versus Cho. Cho knew nothing of Ginny’s erstwhile crush on him, but Ginny’s attitude toward Cho...all Harry knew was that she’d been pretty upset about seeing them kissing. Of course, that was several months ago, before she and Malfoy had crossed the line and become more than friends.

Ginny managed to get her curse off first. “Reverso!” she cried, aiming her wand at Cho. Cho stopped in her tracks, looking baffled. Then she turned around, and, her back to Ginny now, she took aim, it seemed, at the students standing directly in front of her. Ginny came up behind her swiftly, plucking her wand from her hand even as the students Cho was facing starting back away apprehensively. Cho looked surprised to find her wand gone; Ginny pointed her wand at her again, saying, “Finite Incantatem!” Cho blinked and turned around once more, finding Ginny behind her, holding both wands.

When Ginny was standing between Harry and Ron at the perimeter of the circle again, Harry asked her quietly, “What was that?”

“Oh, it made her think that what was in front of her was behind her, and vice versa. One of the Confundus-class charms.”

Harry smiled; he had something similar in mind for Malfoy, but just a little more disorienting. He hoped he’d get to duel with him the next week.

Hermione also dueled with Cho that day, disarming her quickly, without fanfare. She also defeated Crabbe, Millicent (she looked very smug about this), Mandy (she looked somewhat guilty about this), and Hannah. Malfoy also defeated Hannah, as well as Goyle, Justin, Roger and Niamh. Ron had no trouble defeating Niamh, Colin and Cho, but Crabbe dodged his curse and then disarmed him, and Millicent Bulstrode looked over his shoulder with wide eyes, as though he should be worried about something there, and then caught him by surprise when he foolishly looked.

Somehow, Harry thought that that just seemed to sum up Ron; not seeing what was in front of him, and convinced he had to look over his shoulder to see something interesting.

There was a Quidditch match on Saturday between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, but Harry didn’t feel much like going. Justin didn’t seem to be as good a Seeker as Cedric had been, and Harry didn’t want to see Malfoy gloat over his victory. He suggested to Ron and Hermione that they practice dueling instead. Ginny didn’t come; she said that Justin was her friend, and she wanted to go to the match to show him support. Harry made a face; and almost said, “Since when is Justin your friend?” He knew that Justin wasn’t the Seeker she’d be watching at the match.

The first person Harry had to duel at the third meeting of the Dueling Club was Alicia. Like him, she had a perfect record so far, plus she was two years ahead of him and Head Girl. He’d seen that she was good; but he’d also seen her weaknesses. Well, he thought, only one of us will still have a perfect record after this.

He knew that she dropped her guard when she thought the duel was over. He decided to take whatever she dished out--short of the disarming charm, which he knew he could dodge. All that running had come in handy, giving him good, fast reflexes. She wasn’t going to be nice, he knew, as soon as he heard her start to say, “Talo suo--” He braced himself for what was to come, having gotten quite good at it. “--passus est!” she cried. But Harry only felt a slight twinge in his ankle before he bowed his head and felt his mind begin to soar, floating free, unable to comprehend corporeal pain any longer. He felt almost as if he were hovering above his body and Alicia’s, another kind of spectator to the duel, like looking down into the Pensieve before entering it.

He was actually back much more quickly than he realized. He snapped his eyes open quickly, took aim at Alicia and cried, “Expelliarmus!” She flew backward into Roger and Colin; Colin did not seem to mind, blushing a bit as he helped her up, but Roger seemed to think it undignified to have the Head Girl fall on top of him. He made a face at Harry, and when he held up his wand to vote for him, he looked reluctant, as though he wished he could vote any other way, if it were plausible.

Liam Quirke was easy for Harry to disarm with Impediment, and he was looking forward to his next duel. After about nine more pairs squared off, Snape called his name again, and then the name of his opponent.

“Granger!”

Harry froze. He knew he would have to duel with Hermione at some point, but he hadn’t wanted to think about it. So far this meeting, she had defeated Angelina and Ernie (being very nice about it). They bowed to each other and began. Harry looked at Snape out of the corner of his eye. Was he enjoying this a little too much? Pitting them against each other? But then, friends had been dueling friends for two weeks, and even boyfriends and girlfriends and siblings. He knew this was coming; in the anticipation of wanting to put Malfoy in his place, he had somehow overlooked that fact.

Hermione hit him with a tickling charm, something he had not been anticipating. He stubbornly clung to his wand, so he would not be counted as disarmed, and he put the Reverso charm on her that Ginny had used, making her turn around in confusion, and coming dangerously close to hexing the spectators; then he used Impediment to slow her down, and, still laughing from the tickling sensation, took her wand away from her. Snape ended both spells, and the club voted. It was close, inasmuch as he’d been unable to dodge the tickling charm, but he had disarmed her, so after a 10-8 vote, the duel went to him.

She smiled sheepishly at him. “Good one, Harry,” she said softly, when they were back in the circle. He smiled back at her.

“You too. Sneaky, that.” She laughed softly, and Ron clapped him on the shoulder, starling him. He looked up at him guiltily.

Ron didn’t notice anything wrong. “And just when I thought someone was going to break your winning streak...” he said, sounding very disappointed that this hadn’t occurred.

Ron had lost to George during the first round; he had also already lost to Angelina and Hermione, which was probably one reason he had hoped Hermione would beat him. (Although Harry had thought Ron didn’t look like he was trying terribly hard to beat her.)

After the break, Ron’s was the first name Snape called. Then he announced Ron’s opponent.

“Potter!”

Harry groaned inwardly; this was some day, he thought. Dueling with Hermione, and now Ron. And although he and Ron had practiced together, it wasn’t the same as being in front of eighteen other students who were going to judge one of them to be the winner--and one, the loser.

Harry decided to use the charm he’d been saving for Malfoy. He could always use it again. They bowed to each other, and Harry again let Ron go first, prepared to dodge whatever he would throw at him.

“Bracchio suo passus est!” Ron cried, aiming at Harry’s right arm. As soon as he heard Ron start, though, he didn’t bother dodging; this was his method of dodging, in a way. He felt the free-floating sensation again, felt his mind drifting, then the return to reality. Whenever he returned from that strange, almost dream-like state, he felt even more alert, as though he’d taken some kind of pill or potion to enhance his awareness of the world.

He immediately pointed his wand at Ron, saying, “Inverso!”

Ron’s eyes went wide; he started looking down in a panic, then up, then began turning around in a circle, crying, “Stop it, Harry! Take it off me! Let me down!” Harry crept up to him, plucked his wand from his hand, and said, “Finite Incantatem.” Ron had his eyes closed; then he opened them slowly, seeing Harry standing before him, smiling apologetically and holding his wand.

Harry received another unanimous vote, and once they were in the circle again, Ron whispered to Harry, “What was that?”

“Ssshhh!” Harry hushed him. “I was saving that for Malfoy, but I couldn’t think of anything else just then. Sorry. Don’t tell anyone what it was like, okay?”

Ron nodded, looking somewhat annoyed about it, though. Next up were Hermione and Ginny. Harry didn’t know who he wanted to win. Hopefully it would be decisive, so there wouldn’t be a tallied vote. If he just went with the crowd, whoever lost couldn’t get mad at him, could they?

The bowed and readied their wands. Hermione aimed the Passus Curse at Ginny’s foot; wincing, Ginny did the Reverso on Hermione, but Hermione, perhaps having rethought her reaction to this after Harry had done it to her, resisted the temptation to turn around. Still, she looked like she was fighting blindly now, staring straight at Ginny without being able to see her. She took general aim and the snaky ropes that flew from the end of her wand bound Ginny’s arms to her side; then Hermione looked like she had a thought, and she threw herself down onto the ground, lying on her back. She smiled; now she could look up to see Ginny. The Reverso charm would no longer disorient her. She confidently aimed the disarming charm at her while Ginny was struggling with the bonds around her body, catching Ginny’s wand as she lay on the floor. Ginny, still bound, flew backward into George, Angelina and Ron, just missing Harry. The four of them helped her up (they were all getting used to people flying backward at them whenever someone used this charm) and then Snape broke the spells both girls were under and the club voted.

It was a draw: a 9-9 vote; Harry had wanted to vote for Hermione, but somehow his wand went up for Ginny. He didn’t know whether Hermione noticed. Snape broke the draw, giving the duel to Hermione since she had succeeding in disarming Ginny. She had also apparently found a good way to work around the Reverso charm (if you didn’t mind dueling from a prone position).

About ten more pairs dueled, then Snape called, “V. Weasley!” again, followed by, “Malfoy!”

Hmmm, thought Harry. If Malfoy was trying to protect Ginny during the Quidditch game, what’s he going to do now? And if he throws it, will she ever speak to him again? He thought of the lose-lose situation Malfoy was in with pleasure; this was almost as good as dueling with him personally.

They bowed to each other and took up their positions. Ginny didn’t move; neither did Malfoy. It seemed like every breath in the hall was momentarily suspended, waiting. Then suddenly, Ginny simply cried, “Expelliarmus!” and Malfoy went flying back into the Slytherins, knocking them down like tenpins. But in spite of the unanimous vote, Ginny did not look happy. He’ll have hell to pay later, Harry thought happily.

Another dozen or so dueling pairs faced off, and then Snape called “Malfoy!” again, followed by, “Potter!”

Harry stepped forward; he’d been waiting for this. Malfoy joined him in the center of the circle, eyes hooded, face expressionless. They barely bowed, watching each other the entire time. They stepped back, wands at the ready, circling each other. Most other duelers jumped right in before this point, but they waited and watched each other.

Suddenly, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry his face like a storm cloud, snarling, “HARA KIRI!”

Harry heard Ron and Hermione gasp; they knew it was what he’d done to Karkaroff, since now they both had heard about the dream. Harry couldn’t help going to his knees; oddly, his own wand looked to him like a long, curving knife. It was quite beautiful, with a fork-tongued dragon etched down the side, the handle being its tail. He’d never seen such a beautiful knife. It was so beautiful, he knew he just had to plunge it inside himself...

He rammed it into his mid-section on the lower left, feeling his insides shudder with the invasion of the cold metal. He drew it across his abdomen; the finely honed blade met no resistance, but sliced through him cleanly, surely, beautifully. He looked down at his sliced robes, now dark red with his blood. Then it happened; his insides started spilling out of him, and a river of blood, and suddenly the pain hit him, the excruciating pain, worse, if possible than the Cruciatus Curse had been....

No, a voice in his head said. This is not real. He remembered Moody saying, “It’s only pain.” He closed his eyes and repeated that over and over, it’s only pain it’s only pain it’s only pain it’s only pain...and he felt himself floating up again, seeing himself kneeling on the floor with his eyes closed as if in prayer, Malfoy standing over him with a satisfied look on his face.

Harry looked down again; his robes were deepest black, uncut. His wand in his hand was his wand again. He was all right and he knew it. He looked up at Malfoy, narrowing his eyes.

“Inverso!” he cried, pointing his wand at Malfoy from his position on the floor. Malfoy responded as Ron had, only even more so.

“Aaah! What the hell have you done to me, Potter! Get me down now! I’m going to kill you!” and he turned in circles, looking up, as though that were where Harry was. Harry stood calmly and reached out and plucked his wand from him.

“Finite Incantatem,” he said calmly. Malfoy screamed as the spell terminated, then rubbed his eyes and looked around frantically, seeing Harry in front of him, smiling.

“Nice try, Malfoy,” he said softly so the others couldn’t hear. “But the thing about using that kind of curse on me is--I know the pain isn’t real.”

Malfoy looked at him, alarmed, as though he had metamorphosized into an otherworldly creature. Actually, thought Harry, that’s the face I usually get from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. How odd.

The vote was cast, and the duel went to Harry. The Slytherins had voted for Malfoy, but it wasn’t enough to matter. Harry had noticed that Malfoy was getting along better with his housemates since their conversation in the Trophy Room. Good, thought Harry. Better for his cover; if he was planning to put his father in Azkaban, which Harry still doubted from time to time.

He had had a good day. He had made Draco Malfoy panic because he thought he was hanging upside down in the air, and he still had his perfect record. Harry noticed Snape giving him a strange look as he left the Great Hall. Did he know the Hara Kiri curse? Was he wondering why Harry had not screamed in agony?

Harry remembered dueling with him in the dungeon; he had looked at Harry with respect then. He could not make out the older man’s expression now, but it almost seemed tinged with fear, as though he thought Harry was not quite human. But then Harry remembered his Animagus training and smiled to himself as he climbed the marble steps; well, part human and part golden griffin....

Shining tile was everywhere; in some places it shone more than others; there was some dirt and grime here and there, and a great many advertisements, it seemed. West End shows, toothpaste, American films, vacations in France. The curving ceiling overhead gave a sheltering feeling, like an oblong womb, like a tiled birth canal.

The Underground.

On the tube station platform were several dozen people, some alone, some in pairs or larger groups. Mothers held the hands of small children, keeping them away from where the train would be in a few minutes. Students in dirty, artfully torn jeans listed to one side under the burden of rucksacks worn on one shoulder only. A cellist hugged her instrument case to her, a precious thing, her life. Elderly matrons in babushkas held their handbags tightly, prepared to give pickpockets and purse-snatchers a hard time of it. Men who worked in the City, Financial Times under their arms, carried their umbrellas casually, yet prepared to make them weapons if necessary.

They had no weapons to defend themselves against what was to come.

They all clutched the people around them and the objects they carried as though that would protect them, as though that made them safe. They all had a common purpose; getting the train. Each person had an individual mission after leaving the train; go home, make dinner, go to work, do homework, perform at the opera house, give the children their tea and baths and tuck them into bed. But the tube united them temporarily, gave them one goal and destiny, one purpose in life.

One fate.

The train emerged from the tunnel, sliding slowly into the station. He couldn’t tell which station it was; there was a sign, but it seemed to be gibberish. He couldn’t make it out. Then, he saw the face.

Red eyes. Nostrils like slits. Not a human face. Not any more.

And then the world shattered into a million pieces....