Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 13 - Out On The Town

Harry Potter was miserable when he awoke the morning after flight training. Nightmares, but not the kind that Occlumency had any power to prevent, had shattered his sleep. Occlumency was useless because these dreams were not caused by anyone's penetration of Harry's mind - at least directly. His scar was not bothering him at all. Images of Hermione were.

The nightmares now torturing Harry featured images of Hermione falling - falling in front of him, beside him, behind him - and his not being able to reach her in time. Fortunately, as victims of falling dreams are wont to do, Harry woke up before the sticky end; half strangled by his sheets and completely soaked in sweat. In places, the sheets even appeared slightly scorched.

His unfortunate alarm clock got quite a workout during the night - being blasted, hexed, or just plain thrown by Harry in his frustration over being unable to sleep consistently in the wee hours of the morning. When Harry stopped the charade of trying to sleep, his first action was to send a note to Dumbledore asking about Hermione's condition.

His hot and humid night filled with nightmares only increased Harry's desire to speak to Lao Kung. That was the goal upon which Harry focussed the following morning.

Harry got quite shirty with Dudley during the morning run, threatening (only partially in jest) to turn him into a slug and put salt on him. But all his cousin had done was display his usual sardonic interest in Harry's love life, and on some level Harry recognised that. Moreover, on this occasion, Dudley had good reason for heightened interest. He knew Harry had "a date" with Eliza scheduled for noon that day.

Harry's tetchy reaction finally goaded Dudley into wrestling him into a headlock. For a moment it seemed just like old times, except Harry's now somewhat less than spontaneous magic soon sent a charge coursing through Dudley's arms, causing them to go numb again - for the second time this summer.

Dudley muttered something about how Harry no longer "played fair," but Harry was having none of it. He remembered being beaten up by his cousin and his gang when they outnumbered him five to one, so Harry was not particularly in a nostalgic mood. The two stayed cross with each other all the way to the gym. Dudley's dalliances for his usual slingshot practice with the ravens on the telephone wires only annoyed Harry this morning. He was not inclined to waste time.

Lao Kung seemed almost as anxious to see Harry, as the boy was to see him. He had heard (no doubt from Dumbledore) about the latest displays of his student's extraordinary power. Unfortunately, their conversation left Harry more confused than ever, because Lao Kung was not a believer in the Fifth Element, or indeed in any elemental theory of magic.

Lao Kung postulated magic as more of a continuum - that magic was not so much composed of separate elements as different facets of a multi-dimensional whole. He explained it to Harry with the parable of the seven blind men and the elephant. Perhaps Harry was only exploring an aspect of the elephant that most wizards were never able to experience. Whether elephants or elements, Lao Kung had no solid information to offer about any new form of power or, more importantly, whether or not Harry had such power.

Harry's actual training session with Lao Kung was very successful, particularly since the Sefu now knew he was authorised to explain what exactly he was teaching. Heat and cold; solid, liquid, and gas; size, shape and color - all these were attributes of matter that magic affected. By working wandlessly with sawdust, Harry was learning to master the ancient magic of the ancestors.

Wands only concentrated a wizard's inherent powers. According to the Sefu anything that could be done with a wand could also be done wandlessly with the fingers of one's hand - provided that the wizard had sufficient confidence in his or her powers. Harry's confidence in his wandless powers burgeoned as he put the sawdust through its paces. He burnt and froze it. He made the sawdust flow and blow. He shrunk it to invisibility and then enlarged it to snitch-sized fragments.

Lao Kung allowed Harry to progress to bricks for the first time. By the end of the session, the boy had not only learned the theory of how to break them but had actually broken one - the hard way. His hand hurt for fifteen minutes after that, but he was careful not to do anything that would amount to an admission that anything was wrong. Lao Kung, perhaps conscious of the fact, never inquired.

After the training session was complete, Harry used his newly honed powers to cast a Cooling Charm on himself in the now sweltering gym. He began peppering Lao Kung with the burning questions that were preying on his mind. Yes, Lao Kung explained, it was possible for one to master his mind so that one's own experiences did not create nightmares. Unfortunately, the process did not involve Occlumency or any other form of magic.

Lao Kung questioned whether Harry had the kind of contemplative personality necessary to control his own thoughts to such a degree. He bade Harry to consider whether it was even a good idea, given the sort of situations in which Harry all too frequently found himself. Rather, the Sefu suggested that his student address the problem in a more Western fashion. What Harry needed, Lao Kung explained, was his own Pensieve in which to leave overnight the troubling images that produced his nightmares. Like Dumbledore before him, he had been through many more harrowing experiences than had the average wizard. A Pensieve was like a wand - a device to facilitate what a wizard could do anyway, if sufficiently trained.

Harry promised himself that he would write to Dumbledore for a Pensieve. The other question for Lao Kung was harder, but Harry thought that he might get a better answer. The Sefu was much more of a totally objective outsider than any of the other adults he knew.

"Lao Kung...," Harry asked tentatively. "Could I ask you a personal question, but with your assurance that you won't tell Dumbledore anything about this?"

The Sefu responded affirmatively. "Hahli, I will maintain your confidences, provided that you are not contemplating something dangerous to yourself, or others."

That was an acceptable caveat, since Harry's concerns were not dangerous, not physically anyway. "I am not, sir. I was wondering what is the proper path when I think I might be in love with someone in a ... er ... romantic way, but I'm not sure this person ... that she shares my attraction? I know this must sound trite to you, but it's a very serious matter to me, and there's really no one else I can ask."

The Sefu mulled his response for several awkward seconds before answering, "I will take it seriously, Hahli, I assure you. One who does not know love, cannot know wisdom, but one who does know love will know wisdom. Now this person, do you know her well?"

"Very well indeed," responded Harry.

"Do you trust her?"

"With my life," Harry affirmed.

"Have you asked this woman how she feels, Hahli?"

"Er.... Not exactly," muttered Harry. He silently cursed himself for sounding so stupid.

"If you haven't asked, Hahli, there must be something else that is troubling you. You are ordinarily very courageous."

Harry felt better. Lao Kung was indeed as wise as he had suspected. "Yes, Sefu. She said something about a former ... er ... boyfriend that leads me to believe she may ... er ... the she probably doesn't want to be with me that way."

"Hahli, you are who you are, and you cannot be otherwise. You are not anyone else."

"But I don't know what to do," he whinged. I have such a close friendship with her that I don't want to risk that. Nor can I risk her safety, and that's a real problem. You see, Voldemort tries to kill - rather successfully - those whom I love."

"Your friend sounds not unlike yourself. If you truly trust her, Hahli, you must believe that a single direct question would not imperil your friendship. How long ago did she say this thing that worries you so?" Lao Kung ignored the second aspect of Harry's angst for now. He thought it easier to deal with than the first.

"I do trust her," Harry affirmed. "We talked about her former boyfriend several weeks ago."

"The only thing constant in a woman's emotions is change, Hahli. Has anything significant happened in the meantime?"

Harry thought a bit. Lao Kung had a point, because quite a bit had happened. "I suppose so, sir. She saved my life, and then I saved her life."

"Parallel wizard debts are rare, Hahli, and very powerful. If you do not ask, you cannot know. Obviously, you do not want to continue along the current path, or we would not be having this conversation. You must once again conquer yourself before you can conquer others."

"I think that's right," replied Harry.

"Hahli, what is the sound of one hand clapping?'

"Huh," stammered Harry. This sounded like a trick question. "Er ... I don't think that one hand clapping makes a sound, Lao Kung. It takes two."

"You have feelings without actions. In that you are like one hand clapping, Hahli. One without the other, nothing happens. Love can conquer all, not without contact with others."

"But what if I end up getting her killed?" Harry asked frustratedly. "This isn't some academic exercise. This is Voldemort I'm dealing with."

"Hahli, you cannot seek life at cost of love. What makes life worth living, if not love? You said before that you recently saved her life. Is she safe now?"

"Probably not," conceded Harry. Things were getting a bit frustrating, as Lao Kung could be maddeningly indirect. "Voldemort already knows we're friends, maybe more. Voldemort sent me a dream where she was a queen to my king."

"Indeed, Hahli, I fear that the time for concealment from Voldemort is long past, if indeed there ever was such a time. It is not a question of prevention as much as of avoidance. Do not your own actions demonstrate that no one is as likely to maintain her safety as yourself?"

It all came back to the first question. Harry again asked plaintively, "Then what should I do?"

"You must answer that for yourself, Hahli - but you should remember that every great journey begins with a single step."

That essentially ended the audience between the aged oriental and young occidental wizards. Harry thought about this conversation all the way back to the Dursleys. The status quo was not acceptable - Harry was tearing himself apart on the inside. Hermione, he trusted, and he thought the he meant more to her than Viktor Krum ever had.

Plainly, the "single step" he had to take was to have an honest heart-to-heart conversation with his best female friend as soon as possible.

Upon returning home, he had a note from Dumbledore explaining, to his relief, that Hermione had been pronounced fully recovered by the Healers at St. Mungo's. She was resting comfortably at her home - no doubt using the bedrest as an excuse for more studying ahead with her Aural Pensieve, Harry thought.

But before Harry would see Hermione again, there was the matter of Eliza - specifically their trip to that amusement park near her flat at Canary Wharf. He had been looking forward to this almost from the last time he had spoken to Eliza. For once in his life, he was going to do something just because it was fun.

The Order and Harry had arranged that his guard, whoever that was, would meet him at Mrs. Figg's. They would then Apparate together, Harry directly to Eliza's flat at the appointed noontime rendezvous, and the guard to the vicinity of the building itself.

Harry had never been to an amusement park, and his familiarity with them was limited to the occasional television or billboard advert. Not only was he unclear what to wear, he was equally uncertain what to bring with him. He decided to wear his new convertible khaki zip-off pants so he could have shorts or long pants, whichever Eliza said was better. It was hot outside, so he chose a T-shirt - his favourite, the one with the dragon. His usual trainers and his Manchester United hat completed the rather minimal wardrobe.

Money would be an issue, so Harry stuffed a bunch of bank notes into his pockets, a few larger ones (his ambition was to spend those two ₤50 notes that Eliza had returned) and a fistful of smaller ones as well. Harry also decided to bring along the special issue Bank of England debit swipe card he had gotten. To date, there had been precious little opportunity to use it. He wanted somebody familiar with such things around to help him when he finally got the chance.

As he was stuffing everything into his pants pocket, Harry decided it would be a good idea to get a Muggle wallet ... even though that would be like his Uncle Vernon. Ugh. The thought of being similar in any way to his uncle made Harry blanch.

When Harry arrived at Mrs. Figg's, he was pleased to discover that Tonks had been detailed as his guard for the day. She was usually Hermione's minder, but a last-minute substitution had been necessary after Dung had gotten himself into a spot of bother with the constabulary. No other replacement was available, as Azkaban guard duty was stretching the Auror Corps thin.

Oddly, Tonks did not seem particularly pleased with the reassignment. Overtly cool to Eliza, she was nevertheless tight-lipped about it. Harry wondered what her cryptic reference to "Stockholm Syndrome" was and whether it might be contagious. Since Tonks was not being forthcoming, Harry thought he might ask Hermione what was up with her minder. Tonks was primarily assigned to watch his friend, so Hermione struck Harry as the person most likely to know what was bothering the young Auror.

Harry, on the other hand, could not have been happier about Tonks as his minder on this outing. Of all the Aurors he had met, Tonks seemed the most sympathetic to his requirements as an underaged (but just barely) wizard. Also, she would be easy to spot in a crowd with her violently orange hair. After a brief discussion of logistics with Tonks, Harry called Eliza on his mobile and received permission to Apparate to her flat.

A few minutes later Harry and Eliza were on their way to Canary Wharf on the back of Eliza's sky blue Aprila motorbike (Tonks was marking them with a broom and an Invisibility Cloak). Harry found this trip to be considerably more - if not relaxed - then enjoyable, than his first pillion ride on her bike had been. First, the ride was shorter. Second, he had been flying recently and had gotten reacquainted with the sense of motion. Third, this time Harry had no worries about where he was going or what he would be doing.

Less than ten minutes after leaving the underground car park, Harry was wide-eyed as they approached the entrance to the Docklands theme park. In front of him, towering scores of metres into the air were many bizarre, multi-coloured constructions of a sort that he had never seen before. Not even Hogwarts could compare to the huge mélange of multicolored rides. Harry stood there gaping and watching the riders moving up, down, along, and about the various structures in various cars and other mobile units.

Seeing Harry rooted to the ground, transfixed, Eliza grabbed his hand and tugged. "Quit gawking Harry," she giggled. "You'll get sunburned on the inside of your mouth. Let's queue up."

"Huh...? Right," muttered Harry as he returned to the here and now. "This is just ... so amazing...! It's the closest Muggles get to magic isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right," Eliza replied thoughtfully, as she led Harry through the crowd to one of the queues at the kiosks.

"Er ... Eliza," said Harry haltingly. "Is it alright with you if I pay? I ... er ... do have more money than you.... But I don't want to be insulting you again. Just thought I'd ask...." Harry's flustered voice trailed off.

"Oh, certainly, Harry, it's traditional," chirped Eliza, covering her face to hide a grin. "You're sweet for asking though." She squeezed his hand. Harry now noticed that she was still holding it.

Whilst queued up in the sweltering heat, Harry had time to look around. He had never seen so many Muggles in one place before. There were obvious tourists, families with children, scruffy looking groups of teenaged boys his own age or older, and gaggles of giggling Muggle girls, most making eyes at the boys - and being eyed in return.

He spotted Tonks in the next queue over, looking confused as she contemplated her own Muggle money. Her hair, now brilliant lavender, would stand out in any crowd. Otherwise there probably was not a single wizard in the entire place. Harry realised that in this world he could go out in public without attracting any attention - and certainly none of the quick glances at his scar that were so commonplace amongst wizards that he hardly noticed any more. Harry was content.

Again, Eliza had to yank him out of his thoughts. "Harry, if you're going to pay, then pay."

He wheeled around awkwardly. They had reached the front of the queue. "Cash or charge?" said the perky blonde in the booth.

"Er ... charge, I guess," he responded. There was an awkward silence.

"Harry, you need to give her your card," Eliza whispered.

"Oh!" he exclaimed with embarrassment. As he fumbled around in his pants pockets for his BoE card, Harry scattered several of his bank notes on the ground, including one of the £50 notes he had brought along. Both Eliza and Harry scrambled to pick them up, and they were successful in retrieving them all, with the help of the some smirking young men behind them. Harry presented his card to the clerk.

"Right you are guv'nr," she responded. "Don't see many of these here. Funny, you don't seem like the type...." She stopped as the computer printed out two all-day, both-park tickets. Harry signed the slip he was presented with, pocketed the tickets, and started to walk off.

"Sir...!" called the kiosk girl.

"Harry!" Eliza grabbed his retreating form. "You have to take your card back now," she said.

He flushed again and retrieved his BoE card as the smirking young men behind him mumbled some inaudible, but no doubt derogatory, comments. He apologised to Eliza as they headed for the park entrance. "I'm sorry. I know I looked like a git back there."

"Not a problem," said Eliza soothingly. "It's just a learning experience. Better to work things out here rather than in front of anyone important."

"Er ... I think you are important," said Harry earnestly. "Nobody's taken me anywhere just to have fun before."

"Oh, aren't you the sweet one," cooed Eliza. She came closer to him and kissed him on the cheek. Harry went red again. He looked around, but fortunately he could tell from Tonks' now-blue hair that she had had her head turned and had missed what had just transpired.

"Let's check out some rides!" Eliza squealed and pulled him into the park.

The next couple of hours were exhilarating for Harry. He and Eliza rode three different kinds of roller coasters. In one of them, they were suspended from above in a harness and whirled about upside down, their feet flailing in midair. They rode some sort of compressed air tower that shot them almost 100 metres into the air and let them free fall most of the way back down. They got soaked on a ride in a big ersatz plastic log. Harry could not help but notice how Eliza's wet clothes clung to her in a rather revealing way. He found himself staring, and was not at all sure that he did a good job in concealing it.

Nonetheless, he practically ran from one ride to the next, he was so excited and relaxed. Here he could just be plain Harry and not have anyone gawking at him.

Eliza dragged him into the haunted house ride. He was not terribly impressed by the Muggles' very stereotypical portrayals of ghosts, ghouls and, especially werewolves. The ghosts, ghouls and werewolves Harry knew would surely have been insulted.

The two of them gorged themselves on pizza, candyfloss, lemonade, and blancmange.

Unfortunately it had not been a good idea to consume all that pizza, candyfloss, lemonade, and blancmange just before Eliza got Harry on some sort of whirligig ride that looked for all the world like several acromantula lashed together. It was called "the whip." Before Harry was through, he thought a better name for it would have been "Aragog's Revenge."

The ride spun Harry and Eliza in about three different directions at once. By the time it was over Harry was so dizzy he could barely stand. But standing turned out to be an even worse idea, as he rapidly went green with nausea. Harry hurled the half-digested remnants of his lunch all over the front of his clothes.

After retching out the contents of his stomach, Harry felt he was a stinking mess - and he was right. Eliza half led, half dragged him to a deserted stretch behind a maintenance building where he could use magic to clean himself up. Before Harry could finish, however, he heard Eliza give a frightened squeal. At the same instant he felt somebody roughly grab his right arm and twist it painfully around behind his back.

Harry went spare as he was jerked around. He recognised four of the scruffy Muggles who had been behind him in the queue. Two of them were restraining Eliza. Another had a large knife and was pointing it at him. Obviously there was a fifth - the one who had taken hold of him from behind.

The blonde goon with the knife was built like a Muggle version of Gregory Goyle, the larger and stupider of Draco Malfoy's two large and stupid sidekicks at Hogwarts. He sneered at Harry, "Alright Nancy-boy, just give it up real slow and easy and nobody gets hurt. Hell, we might not even do anything with the girl."

The two darker-haired thugs holding onto Eliza guffawed in the background. One of them pointedly reached around and grabbed her left breast. She let out a muffled scream.

It was too much for Harry. He felt the same energy surge race through his body that had immobilised Dudley earlier that morning. It had the same result. The thug holding onto him abruptly let go. But now Harry had to act - and he did. In one motion he whirled around and clocked the surprised hooligan with a roundhouse right to the jaw. The thug fell heavily to the pavement, like a bag of wet potatoes. Dudley would have been proud of how well Harry had learned the rudiments of the sweet science, but at the moment he had no time to think about such things.

As he spun to face the knife-wielding leader, Harry flicked his wand from his holster. "Expelliarmus!" Harry roared. A red flash struck the unsuspecting Muggle squarely in the chest. The knife went flying to Harry as the would-be mugger careened backwards into another Muggle tough who had been just standing around gawking. Both of them fell in a heap and were not moving.

Harry threw the knife as far as he could. Screaming incoherently at the top of his lungs, he launched himself at the hooligan who had groped Eliza. That hoodlum screamed in pain as Harry kicked him in a strategic location.

The hood screamed even more loudly after Harry grabbed him. Harry concentrated as he had been taught by Lao Kung. The smell of burning flesh rose from where Harry had the brute by the arm. Instead of burning sawdust, however, he was searing the thug's limb.

Seeing that, the other goon broke and ran. Harry ignored the fleeing criminal and moved his hands to his chief target's throat. He started to squeeze. Unable to breathe, the object of Harry's anger sank to his knees, silently trying to scream as Harry's hands burnt his neck and began choking the life out of him. Harry pushed him over and slammed the back of his head into the concrete.

"Harry, please stop! That's enough!" Eliza shrieked. Harry relaxed just in time to hear "Inverso! Nauseo!" uttered behind him. He let go of the still-writhing punk and saw Tonks - her face almost as red as her now-flaming scarlet hair - with her wand trained on the fifth hoodlum, who was retching whilst being suspended upside down in midair.

"Wotcher Harry!" greeted Tonks, a nasty smile on her face. "I got here as fast as I could - WC break you know.... Whoa! A spot of bother, I see, but you seem to have things well in hand. It looks like you had some major mojo working. You do need to watch your use of magic in front of Muggles, though. You were plainly justified, but I'm going to have a lot of paperwork, nonetheless. Scrimgeour doesn't like this kind of thing."

Harry looked at Tonks. Then he looked at Eliza, who was wide-eyed and breathing heavily. He moved swiftly to her and enveloped her protectively in his arms. She began sobbing. Harry whispered to her, "It wasn't the money. They could easily have had that ... but when that one went to touch you like that, I just couldn't take it."

"What! Which one of these berks was he?" demanded Tonks.

"That one," Harry and Eliza both pointed.

"Looks like you already let him have it quite proper," said Tonks, bending over the man and examining the blistering burn marks on his neck. Still, it needs to be done. Enervate."

The hoodlum stirred, but did not get up. Tonks stood over him. "If I ever catch you doing anything of this sort again, I will personally kill you, but only after first making you wish you had never been born," Tonks snarled. Then she reared back and kicked him square in the face. Tonks then repeated the process with each of the other hooligans.

"T-T- Tonks," Harry stammered, "was that violence really necessary?"

"I'm not sure you're one to talk, but you'll learn when you become an Auror, Harry, that with these types, you can't just beat them. You have to put the fear of Merlin in them or they'll just come after you again," Tonks said softly but firmly.

"That goes double for Death Eaters," Tonks emphasized. "You need to know, Harry, that being an Auror is not the most enjoyable work. These sorts here are some of the more pleasant ones I've had to take into custody lately. At least they couldn't hex anyone."

"Is this what Mad-Eye taught you?" asked Harry.

"Indirectly," Tonks answered. "Mad-Eye introduced me to Rafer Hoxworth, and I learned my fighting philosophy from him."

"Who is this Mr. Hoxworth?" Eliza asked, having composed herself.

"A character in Muggle literature," Tonks responded. Turning back to Harry, Tonks said, "Maybe I'll introduce you to Captain Hoxworth some day soon."

There were several popping sounds. Harry and Tonks looked up, wands at ready, to see who had Apparated. They relaxed when they saw several maroon-robed Aurors. The backup squad had arrived. Almost immediately, Tonks was deep in conversation with them, explaining just how she wanted those thugs Obliviated "enough, but not too much."

Harry asked Eliza if she wanted to leave, but she was even more determined that they would both have fun as they intended. She did not want their visit to Docklands to end on such an ugly note. It was a scaldingly hot afternoon, well into the thirties. Harry was sweaty from his unplanned exertion, so they decided that it was time to enjoy the second park - the water park.

Eliza was dumbfounded when she found out that, not only had Harry failed to bring any bathing costume, but that he did not even own any.

"But Harry, in the Triwizard tournament, I read that you had to stay under water in the Hogwarts lake for an hour..."

"I did that in my robes," Harry responded.

"Well it's high time that you got yourself a respectable bathing costume," Eliza chided. She grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him through the crowd of Muggles towards the park called Docklands Wet and Wild, and towards that park's souvenir shop.

Harry was distracted and found himself content just to be led. The closer he came to the water park the more distracted he became. He was not thinking about Voldemort, Death Eaters, or even the Muggle thugs he had just thrashed. Harry was thinking about girls.

There were more and more striking girls in even more striking swimwear. Harry had never really seen a bikini before, up close, that is. Now his eyes were being overwhelmed by the sight of girl after girl in bathing costumes that left less to the imagination than Harry could imagine.

On various occasions, Harry had accidentally seen his aunt, Hermione, Ginny, and (on one memorable occasion in the Quidditch dressing room) Alicia Spinnett in their undergarments. Harry had been embarrassed each time that had happened. Now he wondered why. As best he could remember, their knickers had hidden from sight considerably more than most of the bathing costumes he was now seeing in public in broad daylight.

Harry was still distracted when Eliza brought him into the souvenir shop. He tried to focus, but was only moderately successful. Then they came to the display racks for bathing costumes, and there were a number of mannequins modeling the same kind of woman's swimwear. As Harry ogled the mannequins, he vaguely heard Eliza ask him, "Do you like Speedo or baggy?"

"I detest baggy clothes," Harry answered - entirely truthfully. Harry had spent enough time in Dudley's oversized hand-me-downs that if he could help it, he never wanted to be seen in baggy clothes again. Harry told Eliza that he had a size 28 waist, and that Gryffindor colors would be fine. Eliza also picked out for Harry a red waterproof plastic container for his money that he could wear around his neck and a Union Flag beach towel.

It was ghastly hot, and all the water in the vicinity had never looked so inviting. Harry and Eliza went to a nearby bathhouse to change and use the lockers. As Harry changed into his new bathing costume, he relaxed, knowing that here was one place that he had no worries about anyone trying to take a Playwitch 100,000-Galleon photograph of him.

At least Harry relaxed until he started putting on his bathing costume - what little there was of it. His suit shared one similarity with the swim clothes of the girls Harry had been watching. There was less fabric to his swim trunks than there was in his normal underwear.

Harry had seen a suit like this only once before. Victor Krum had worn a black pair during the second task of the Triwizard tournament. Harry thought about how scrawny he had felt next to the Bulgarian professional Quidditch player. Suddenly he was thinking that maybe baggy had something to say for itself after all. But Harry was stuck with the costume that he had asked for. To ease his embarrassment, he decided to leave his dragon T-shirt on, at least until he got used to wearing so little clothing in public.

Somewhat self-consciously Harry left the dressing room and looked for Eliza. She was not hard to find, since she was wearing a teal-green string bikini. Eliza was sitting on a low wall putting something - suntan lotion, Harry realised - on her very long, very smooth legs. When Harry saw her, he felt like someone had turned a switch that cut off his air supply.

His mind flashed through a mental checklist: keep your mouth shut; no gawking; do not drool; try not to make a fool out of yourself; act normally, and above all keep your mind away from that, he told himself.

The attempt at mental discipline was totally unavailing. The more Harry told himself not to think of that, the less capable he was of thinking about anything else. As far as acting normal went, he hardly knew what normal behavior should be in the presence of a girl - his own date - wearing less in the way of clothing than any girl he had ever actually met. Crikey! There was more cotton in the top of an aspirin bottle.

Harry nervously moved his beach towel so he carried it directly in front of him. He took a few halting steps towards Eliza. Almost as if she had sensed his approach, she lifted her head and smiled broadly at Harry. 'Dammit,' he thought, 'doesn't she know what that kind of an outfit does to a guy? Speak Harry, speak,' he reminded himself.

"Er.... You look ... er ... unbelievable, Eliza." Harry stammered.

Still smiling, she gave him an appraising look and said, "Why, thank you Harry. You're looking pretty buff yourself."

Harry stood there with a half-worried, half-quizzical look on his face. For one terrorised moment he wondered whether he had somehow forgotten to put his trunks on at all. He shot a quick glance at his own midsection. No, he was decent.... "That means, handsome, Harry," Eliza teased, giving him another appraising look and emphasizing the word handsome. "Now lose the shirt and come help me with this gook. We don't want to fry, you know."

As he was hurrying back to the locker room to put away his shirt, Harry concluded that Eliza surely knew exactly what the male reaction to bikini swimwear was - and that his reaction was undoubtedly very much intended. He sucked in some air as he thought that his trunks were no doubt intended to generate the same sort of reaction in girls ... er ... women. ...And she had picked them out for him.

Trying to move his mind onto safer ground, he thought about one thing that he knew, suntan lotion. At least that was one Muggle item with which he had experience. He remembered how his aunt had screamed at him - and locked him in the cupboard under the stairs - when he had gotten badly sunburned at age four. His relatives had left him there for several hours as punishment.

That time, the sunburn had hurt so badly that he had cried constantly and wished that it would go away. Surprisingly it did. When his relatives had finally let him out, they had already made an appointment with a pediatrician to have him seen. When Harry emerged from the cupboard without any trace of sunburn; it was awkward, indeed. The Dursleys had to cancel the hastily arranged doctor visit they had scheduled. Not until much later did Harry understand why his relatives' reaction had been one of disgust rather than relief when they found that he had healed himself - and why he had been strapped and forced to stay in the cupboard for the next day and a half.

Even though magic could heal sunburn, Harry had always found it easier (not to mention less upsetting to the Dursleys) to avoid burning altogether by using Muggle lotions. He had certainly done enough of his relatives' gardening to appreciate the finer points of the "gook," as Eliza had called it. Why, he had even figured out how to use the backs of Aunt Petunia serving spoons (thankfully, she had never noticed) to reach those hard-to-get-at places on his ... back?

Harry felt his air supply being cut off again - Eliza was going to want him to touch her, a lot, to put on suntan lotion, and she would likewise be expecting to touch him. What on earth would so much female skin feel like? This was not going to be anything like hugs with Hermione.

In due course, Harry found out. Eliza felt incredibly soft and smooth - and with the lotion, she also felt somewhat cool to the touch and slippery. And those curves! Harry had never really considered how differently a girl's ... no a woman's ... torso joined to her hips. The anatomy seemed so amazingly interesting up close, and the bikini left so little to the imagination. With his fingers tingling and his nerves on edge, Harry probably got as much suntan lotion on himself as on Eliza. He had to keep reminding himself to move on and finish the job.

When he was done with her back, she returned the favor. He was in exquisite agony. No girl, er ... woman had ever touched him in this way - not Hermione, and not even Cho during their brief romantic interlude the previous year. Eliza's every touch gave him goose pimples. Harry kept his towel resolutely in his lap to avoid revealing what else she was making him feel.

Then, suddenly it was over. Eliza binned the tube and smacked Harry on the behind. "Tag, you're it!" Eliza shouted and ran off in the direction of a large pool with an artificial wave making machine at one end.

Harry caught up with her quickly enough. After both of them had stowed their towels on a white plastic beach chair, they enjoyed bouncing among the mechanically generated metre-high waves in the deepest part of the pool. He thought that this must be like the ocean, except that he had never been to the seaside before. The only time he had been close to the ocean had been when his relatives were fleeing from the Hogwarts owls shortly before he learnt he was a wizard.

Frolicking in the waves with Eliza raised another version of the same problem for Harry. How should he touch her? There was so very much skin, but touching her directly on the skin - except on Eliza's arms and hands, seemed overly intimate. But there was so very little cloth that it was even less appropriate to touch her on her suit. Those locations would surely draw a slap or worse. He decided that the only solution would be for him to touch Eliza as little as possible.

That solution failed utterly, because it soon became clear that she was having none of it. When the wave machine stopped, he looked about briefly for Eliza, but saw nothing. Suddenly, he found his ankles being pulled out from under him. With a shout and a splash he was underwater. Swiftly her fingers moved under Harry's armpits and ... SHE WAS TICKLING HIM. He had never thought about being ticklish - he blamed it on Rictusempra - but Harry determined very quickly that if he failed to respond in kind he would soon have to surrender. A splashing, screaming tickle war was on.

The tickle war ended his inhibitions about touching Eliza, which was surely for the best since she was certainly in a mood to be touched by him. For the next several hours, the pair splashed their way over, around, and through a wide variety of water filled rides. Sometimes they rode inner tubes, sometimes they rode double tubes, sometimes they rode plastic mats ("you ride these with the smooth side down so the mat slides, and with the rough side up so you stick," Eliza had told him), and sometimes they used nothing more than their bodies.

Every now and then Harry would catch sight of Tonks, always at a discrete distance, come rocketing down one of the rides - her hair and features changing abruptly as she went screaming at the top of her lungs. Even Tonks seemed to be having a good time, in spite of herself. It was that hot of a day.

Late in the afternoon, Harry and Eliza were sharing a double tube on a gently flowing ride that behaved like a river - except for the constant jets of water that were spurting from all directions. She was leaning back into him. He thought she had to be aware of how much she was arousing him, but if she were, her only response was to wiggle that much closer to him.

It occurred to Harry that the ideal solution to his dilemma was right in front of him. He could maintain his close friendship with Hermione, since Eliza seemed oddly comfortable with that. But he would not have to risk that friendship by attempting to turn it in a romantic direction, contrary to Hermione's evident wishes. With Eliza, Harry could pursue enough romance to satisfy him. He sighed and said softly to Eliza, "I don't think I've ever felt contented before, but I do now."

She responded, "Contented is good, but maybe we can do better...." Then she rolled over onto him and kissed him properly, square on the lips.

Where that might have gone, neither of them was able to find out, because the unbalanced inner tube promptly capsized. Before they were able to right themselves, it started to rain. Eliza smiled and said "rain check." Harry was too stunned to say much of anything.

The two were peckish, so they spent the next hour eating supper and waiting for the rain to stop. Harry was rather subdued, still trying to process his own feelings after their brief but intense kiss. After the rainclouds moved off, it was considerably cooler, so the two of them dressed and left the water park. In the sunset they wandered across the original park going nowhere in particular. Then somebody addressed Harry:

"Step right up, young man and try your luck! Only 25 pence a chance! Win the little lady something softer and cuddlier than you are. How about it, kid? Only 25 pence a chance."

Harry stared at the barker. In a triangular stack there were ten of what looked like old-fashioned milk bottles. The man was holding rubber balls for knocking them down, juggling two in one hand. He looked at Harry with an air of insolent challenge.

"Do you want me to?" Harry asked Eliza.

"Why not?" she answered.

He slapped down the necessary coin and fired away. Harry knocked down a couple of the bottles, but not nearly as many as he had thought he would. He plunked down another coin, took closer aim and threw again. Again his yield was only about half of what he had expected. Watching a couple of the remaining upright bottles rock before coming to rest, Harry's eyes narrowed. He realised that these were not regular milk bottles at all. They had weights in the bottom. In other words, the game was rigged.

"Alright, then," he squeezed out a thin smile and put down another coin. If the game was rigged, he need not feel at all guilty about evening the odds with a little wandless magic, courtesy of his training with Lao Kung. Harry took very careful aim this time, cleared his mind and concentrated a spot at the base of the pile that he thought would bring them all tumbling down. His eyes never leaving that spot, Harry reared back and threw. WHAM. He knocked down all the bottles, sending them flying off the beam in all directions.

"We have a winnah!" shouted the barker, as he handed Eliza a fluorescent pink foot-long stuffed cat with an equally long tail. "Would you like to try double or nothing, young man?"

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"For fifty pence, you can try again. If you win, you get your choice of these," - the barker pointed at the metre-long or better stuffed animals hanging from the rafters. If you don't win, you give up little puss-in-boots there."

"I'll go for it," Harry responded. Two minutes later, he was walking jauntily down the Midway, with a large plush electric blue snake wound around his and Eliza's necks.

Harry eyed all the other midway games that he passed. He concluded that every one of them was rigged in one way or another. The coin toss plates sloped down imperceptibly so that the coins would slide out. The ring toss rings were just a little too wide so they couldn't go over the bottle necks without hitting an adjacent bottle. The openings on the ball toss game were coated with high impact plastic that caused the balls to bounce back out.

Harry smiled evilly. "How many nieces and nephews did you say you had, Eliza?"

"Five," she responded.

"I think that all of them deserve just as nice a gift as you have, don't you, Eliza?"

"If you say so, Harry."

A half an hour later and a few pound notes lighter, Harry was triumphantly strutting up the Midway trying with only moderate success to carry five additional large stuffed animals in various garish neon colors. Tonks, with her hair just as garish, was bringing up the rear, laughing out loud. After Harry had dropped one of his prizes for what must have been the tenth time. Tonks called out, "You just need better balance, Harry."

"Fine," Harry huffed, "you're hardly one to talk about balance as I recall. Why don't you try carrying five of these bloody things?"

"Allow me," Tonks said with a superior air, entwining her fingers and cracking all her knuckles. Then she started juggling them. To peals of laughter - not just Harry's and Eliza's - she juggled the five large stuffed animals as they walked towards the front gate.

Harry was amazed that somebody who was as notoriously uncoordinated as Tonks knew how to juggle so well. Tonks told him to look closely at her hands. He saw that she was using her Metamorphmagus ability to lengthen or shorten her fingers as necessary for the juggling.

Tonks started to explain that she was well coordinated as long as she was using Metamorphmagus powers, when she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and tumbled to the ground. Despite sprawling flat on her back, she never stopped juggling. Unfortunately for the skin on Tonks' knees, her special ability had only been applied to the use of her fingers.

The onlookers - and there were many - only thought that the pratfall was part of Tonks' act. A park supervisor accosted her. She thought she was going to be ejected for busking, but instead he wanted to hire her on the spot. Tonks of course declined. After they all left the park, the three of them ducked behind an autobus and magically shrank the stuffed animals.

After another thrilling ride through London traffic on the Aprila, Harry and Eliza said their farewells at the door to her flat, with six now-full-sized stuffed animals at their feet.

"Eliza, I was serious about what I said, back there. I've had more fun today than I think I ever have before," Harry said in a very low voice.

"Thanks, Harry. I might have, too."

"I'd really like to see you again ... er.... Only if you want to, I mean."

"Oh, Harry, of course I would! When are you next free?"

"Er ... I've got a ceremony that I have to attend on Saturday night, you probably read about it in the Prophet, but I think I'll be free pretty much all next Sunday."

She gave just a hint of a frown. For someone so young, he had all these important events, some of them secret, going on in his life. At times like that, he seemed so - mature. At other times he seemed hopelessly naïve, a combination she found all too appealing. If she were going to become involved with him (and all signs were pointing in that direction), she was going to have to learn to live with uncertainty and intrigue Harry-style. She sighed. "I meant what I said back there, too."

"Er.... What was that?" said Harry blankly.

"This," Eliza cooed, and she kissed him on the lips again, a little more forcefully than before, with her hand snaking around behind Harry's head and into his unruly black hair. She was in control of the moment.

When Eliza finally decided to break the kiss, Harry stood there stupefied. "Th..., Thanks," he finally muttered.

"Any time, Harry," Eliza responded and turned to unlock the door to her flat. She was startled when she heard a soft "pop." Eliza whirled around, but Harry was gone. Another louder "pop" from down the hall signalled the departure of Harry's guard - that strange warrior woman who could change her appearance at will.

Eliza smiled and shook her head. Harry had not even attempted to talk his way in for a "nightcap." He was so unlike any other man she had ever met. She sighed. Unlike any other man under these circumstances, Eliza knew that she would have let him in.

* * * *

Harry had felt the sensations from that kiss rip from the front right through back of his skull. He spent several minutes longer than usual at Mrs. Figg's recuperating. Mrs. Figg eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing.

As he crossed Privet Drive, Harry was practically skipping, even though Tonks had given him a less than cheery send off. His cousin noticed his unusually buoyant mood - and immediately jumped to conclusions.

"You're mighty chipper all of a sudden," smirked Dudley.

"Sometimes, life can be sweet," replied Harry.

"You got some this evening, didn't you?" asked Dudley, regarding Harry carefully.

"Did not."

"Did so. I'd know that kind of smile anywhere."

"Have it your way then, Dudders. I've got to run. Things to do, you know." With that Harry bounded up the stairs taking them two at a time. He left his cousin staring at his back, opening and closing his mouth silently in a spot-on imitation of giant grouper.

Harry sat down at his desk and activated his communicator. Grasping the enchanted quill firmly, he wrote a letter to his headmaster.

Dear Headmaster Dumbledore:

I hope this letter finds you well. Lao Kung says I have been making excellent progress in his Occlumency lessons. I had a different sort of nightmare last night, though. It was not related to any outside interference, so Occlumency can't help. The problem is that I keep seeing Hermione falling. Lao Kung said that the best solution is for me to get a Pensieve of my own. I was wondering if you could help with this. I'm willing to pay for everything myself, of course.

Another thing that I think I need to do is keep flying. I feel better; I don't feel as mad or as unhappy, when I can fly. I was hoping that I could use the Hogwarts pitch and grounds for flying. Whatever schedule you set would be fine with me. I can, of course, supply my own equipment.

Finally, we haven't discussed it much, but I think I would like to continue with Dumbledore's Army in the coming year. Hermione's okay with this. With the decrees lifted, it can be more of a regular club, perhaps a sort of a duelling club. I'm even willing to include some Slytherins, at least if they ask. When we last discussed the Army, you didn't tell me to stop, but I didn't directly ask your permission either. If you don't want me to continue, please tell me.

Please let me know what you think.

Harry

Harry reread the letter carefully before sending it. He was satisfied with his approach. While not altogether pleased with having to ask Dumbledore for permission to do this and that, Harry thought that the tone of this letter would get him what he wanted. He also suspected that Dumbledore wanted the Army continued - the beneficial effect on D.A. members' O.W.L. results had been striking. Harry reckoned that including this topic in the letter would also help him get what he wanted.

He was not being entirely forthcoming with Dumbledore. Like the Headmaster, Harry had a hidden agenda. The flying he hoped to do was not limited solely to brooms. He hadn't forgotten what he had been told about his inheritance. He used Hedwig to send another letter to his lawyer, Mr. Howe, asking him to inquire into the whereabouts and availability of Sirius' motorcycle. Harry hoped that perhaps Eliza would someday ride pillion with him.

* * * *

Thursday's training in water combat was uneventful - a little too uneventful for Harry's liking. Things were bland and mild because Hermione was strangely distant all day. She was not being angry with him or anything like that, nor was she avoiding him. She was simply being correct - all business and no banter. Even Harry's new Speedo bathing costume, which elicited considerable ribald commentary from his instructors, failed to produce much more than a raised eyebrow from Hermione.

Hermione wore a modest two-piece blue costume of her own. It was much more revealing than anything Harry had ever seen her wear before (except, perhaps, for the underwear incident), but after the bikinis of the day before, that suit was hardly something to turn his head. He made a couple of mildly suggestive remarks about Hermione's outfit - for which he had expected to pay, at least rhetorically. After being met with polite disinterest on both occasions, Harry kept his mouth shut on such topics for the rest of the day. She asked him absolutely no questions about his activities of the previous day.

It ceased to matter much after the serious training began. Bathing costumes were only in evidence during the morning workouts in the Auror swimming pool. There, Harry and Hermione practiced underwater spellwork against a variety of simple targets, and learned how to use Muggle aqualungs, which their instructors called "scuba" gear.

While magic worked better for short periods of time, and in particular applications, for underwater operations Muggle scuba gear was overall superior to than anything the wizard community had yet devised. Harry remembered how he had considered getting an aqualung for the second task of the Triwizard tournament. He had abandoned that scheme because he had no idea how to scuba (even if he had been able to locate the equipment). In retrospect he thought that he would have won the task easily if he had been able to follow through with his original plan.

In the afternoon, the training moved to a large lake - significantly bigger than even the lake on the Hogwarts grounds. The water was deep and quite cold, so all of the swimwear disappeared under Muggle wet suits. The high specific heat content of water meant that underwater warming charms took too much magical energy. Gillyweed tended to habituate after extended use. Thus full body protection from the cold required use of Muggle equipment.

Harry and Hermione spent most of the afternoon learning which spells worked best under water and which spells suffered in that environment. He noted with interest that Avada Kedavra and the other Unforgivable Curses lost most of their range underwater. The Killing Curse generated a lot of ice. It became blockable at 15 metres underwater, and lost its deadly effect altogether outside of about 50 metres. The Cruciatus Curse became little more than a tickle outside 25 metres. It was not possible to cast the Imperius Curse at all underwater, although previously cast curses lost none of their effectiveness.

The last part of the training was spent learning how to use Gillyweed and the Bubble-Head Charm as alternative means of underwater survival if aqualungs were not available.

The only even arguably extracurricular discussion that Harry had with Hermione the entire day came after they had finished their lesson and were waiting to leave. Hermione asked Harry to review Lesson 128 (not on their study list, of course) and to give her his impressions of the spells taught in that segment. She would only tell Harry that she found some of the material "troubling."

Harry used the occasion to inquire about the research she had promised to perform regarding the origins of his potential inheritance. "Speaking of 'troubling,' Hermione," he asked, "Have you had a chance to look into the Black family fortune?"

"Actually I have, Harry," she snipped. "I tried a couple of wizard sources last weekend. Both of them were dead ends. This weekend I am planning to examine some Muggle sources over the Internet.... That is, if you still want me to look."

"Of course I still want you to look, Hermione," he responded, somewhat surprised at her on-edge tone of voice. "I'd be sure to tell you if I decided not to bother - you know that."

"I'm sure you will," said Hermione, switching to that unnervingly far off voice she had used earlier in the day. "You always do." She turned away and saw her escort home. "Oh, there's Tonks! Time for me to go Harry. I'll see you tomorrow." With that, she brushed past him and was gone.

When Harry returned to Number Four Privet Drive, he found a note from his relatives that one of Aunt Marge's dogs had just had puppies, and they had gone to her home for a visit. That meant he would be alone all evening. Graciously, Aunt Petunia permitted him to raid the refrigerator and make himself some dinner, provided he cleaned up after himself. "As if I ever failed to clean up," he muttered. "For years, that's all I did."

The absence of his relatives also meant the absence of any restraints upon Harry's use of magic in food preparation. Between the spells he had picked up by watching Mrs. Weasley, the survival spells he had learned earlier in the week, and the Muggle cooking skills he had acquired from a lifetime of being treated as the Dursleys' household servant, Harry was quite proficient in this area. Rummaging through some of the less used kitchen drawers, he found a Muggle cookbook. Soon he had a full meal of shepherds pie, jacket potatoes, and an ice cream bar of Dudley's he had found hidden in the back corner of the freezer behind the frozen broccoli.

As Harry was eating he heard a tapping at the window. It was an unknown, but elegant owl. Since he had his mouth full, he motioned to the owl to try upstairs at the far end of the house. The Dursleys had kept their word (grudgingly on the part of Uncle Vernon) and had not complained about his receiving owls as long as he did so discretely. Thus, he was inclined to keep his part of the bargain and keep owls out of the rest of the house even when his relatives were away.

The owl was from the D'Israeli law firm, and contained a written response to the query regarding Sirius' motorcycle. It was better news than he could have hoped. Hagrid had taken possession of the bike when the Order vacated Number Twelve Grimmauld Place shortly after Sirius' death. He was intending to give it to Harry for some time, but there had been delays due to Mad-Eye's insistence that the motorcycle be equipped with updated security features.

Hagrid had hoped to have the bike ready by Harry's birthday, but Dumbledore had called Hagrid away on urgent business. The motorcycle was in storage behind Hagrid's hut at Hogwarts, charmed to resemble a pile of firewood. Thus, Harry did not even have to go out of his way to locate the motorcycle - it was already where he was hoping to fly it.

Mr. Howe cautioned Harry that he should not fly without a helmet (the letter contained detailed instructions on helmet conjuring). The solicitor also informed him that he could not legally drive the motorcycle outside Hogwarts grounds. The Muggles had set the minimum age for driving motorcycles at seventeen years. They also required registration documents and motor insurance, neither of which Harry could obtain until he was of age.

The letter further warned Harry that it would be unwise to attempt to teach himself how to drive a full-size motorcycle, and he should seek assistance from someone with experience. That was a problem, since Sirius was dead and Hagrid was unavailable.

Fortunately, Bill had once mentioned something about having driven motorcycles whilst curse breaking for Gringotts, at least until Fleur had made him give this up as too dangerous. Harry decided to ask Bill for lessons on Saturday, when they would be preparing for the Ashrak. It was a good idea to tell his guardian about the motorcycle in any event, Harry decided - he did not want to end up grounded again. Even though he would be limited to Hogwarts, Harry wanted to surprise Eliza with a ride on his motorcycle before the summer was over.

Finally, Mr. Howe's letter mentioned that Fred and George had been by to see him. He thanked Harry for the referral. While patents were not within Mr. Howe's personal competence, he set the Twins up with a patent specialist in his firm. The solicitor thought it odd that Harry was paying the legal fees. He told Harry that it would be preferable - and more advantageous in terms of the taxes attracted - simply to increase his investment in Weasley Wizard Wheezes and let the Twins pay his fee as a deductible business expense. Mr. Howe dealt with venture capital in both the Muggle and Wizard communities, and stated that he was impressed with the Twins' business. It was an excellent investment.

After finishing with Mr. Howe's letter (there was also an invoice - "How come attorneys always end up costing so bloody much?" Harry muttered to nobody in particular), Harry noticed there was light on the communicator indicating a response from Dumbledore.

Dear Harry:

Your request for a Pensieve did not come as a total surprise to me. Given the events of the past year, and the trials and tribulations that are certain to come, your need for one was probably inevitable. Remus has returned and has something in mind. He will be in contact with you shortly, as he has to make some inquiries. In the meantime, I am sending you a palliative by owl. Please do not use it unless you actually need it, as it can be habit forming.

You have my permission to use the Hogwarts grounds for flying. I agree with your assessment entirely, and regret that I did not think of this myself. You may come at any time on Saturdays or Sundays, but you must wait until after 21 July. Work out the details with your escort, and the necessary arrangements will be put into place here. I am informing Mr. Filch, who has been seconded to Professor Hagrid's grounds keeping duties for the summer.

I agree with Mr. Kung's assessment of your progress.

Albus P.W.B Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock Wizengamot

Harry checked his training schedule and saw that he was going to learn how to program Portkeys on 21 July. He could almost hear Hermione's voice in his ears, "You cannot Apparate into or out of Hogwarts."

Harry was a bit at loose ends, and decided to call Eliza. They had a pleasant half-hour conversation, mostly devoted to reminisces and sweet nothings. They did flesh out plans for next Sunday.

Eliza was going to rent a Muggle car, and they were going to drive to Brighton for the day so Harry could experience the ocean for the first time. Given the late "meeting" Harry had to attend the night before (he did not tell Eliza what it was), he was likely to have gotten little sleep. He could kip in the back seat of the car on the way to the seaside.

Eliza was disappointed that they would not be able to have dinner together, but Harry had to be back in time for his evening Occlumency session with Headmaster Dumbledore. Eliza was impressed, but no longer surprised, that he was receiving personal instruction from the Headmaster.

Whilst they were talking, a Hogwarts school owl swooped into the room. Harry untied a small sack of what looked like Floo powder. He examined it and found the directions: "Powdered Dreamless Sleep Potion. 1 Tbsp. to 300 cc tepid tap water. Stir in counter-clockwise direction for exactly three minutes and twenty-four seconds. Can also be taken with warm milk - same preparation. Package contains six draughts. Caution: May be habit forming. Contact a Healer before refilling." Keeping the caution in mind, Harry decided that he would not make the potion unless he actually had a nightmare.

* * * *

The next day's lesson was on various methods of magical concealment - both of ones person and of other objects. After listening to the lesson, Harry brought his own Invisibility Cloak with him. Hermione was a little less distant, and they agreed to meet for lunch so Harry could describe what he knew about the sabotage of her broom and his ensuing rescue. Her legendary curiosity could not be contained for very long.

Whilst they were at lunch, Harry had occasion to wish, very strongly indeed, that he had been practicing a concealment technique at the time.

Unbeknownst to Harry and Hermione, the door to the Auror's cafeteria creaked open and a tabby cat silently entered the room. The cat slinked to their table and before they knew it the cat metamorphosed into Professor McGonagall. She was not happy. "Mister Potter, Miss Granger, please follow me." It was not a request, and both of them knew it. They followed their Head of House into an empty office. Professor McGonagall performed both sealing and silencing charms. "Sit," she instructed. They sat.

Professor McGonagall reached into her robes and produced their course requests. She slammed them on the table in front of them both. "What, may I ask, is the meaning of these comments?" She was pointing to the comments about wanting to take electives that would be appropriate for eventual Senior Independent Work in Necromancy.

Her voice trembling slightly, Hermione spoke up first. "That was my idea Professor McGonagall. I ... er ... came to the conclusion that the source of Voldemort's power is probably Necromancy of some sort. Harry agreed with me. I ... er ... thought it would be a good idea if we became familiar with it. I know it's not on the regular course syllabus, but Voldemort's after Harry, so I thought it would be useful if we knew Necromancy so we could develop better counter strategies. I, I ... er ... I thought, and I still think ... that it might, s-s-s ... save Harry's life some day."

Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione more thoughtfully, and less ferociously. She turned to Harry. "Mister Potter, come with me please. Miss Granger, stay here. I need to talk to Mister Potter alone. I won't be long." Beckoning him to follow the professor swept out of the room. Presently they found another vacant room, which she also charmed. Then she put an additional Silencing Charm around Harry and herself.

"Mister Potter, does Miss Granger know the contents of the prophecy?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Not from me, she doesn't," Harry responded. "I haven't told a soul."

"A wise move, Potter. With your impetuosity I could not be sure. Very well, come." With one wave of her wand, Professor McGonagall undid all the charms, and they returned to where Hermione was waiting. Reentering that room, Professor McGonagall recast all the spells and also the Silencing Charm around the three of them.

"Miss Granger, you continue to exceed even my very high expectations of you," Professor McGonagall started. Despite the evident seriousness of the situation, Hermione could not suppress a small smile. "I don't know how you deduced it, but you are correct that Necromancy is at the heart of ... Voldemort's power, and of his return to corporeal form. Even though Necromancy is perhaps the darkest of the Dark Arts, in light of Voldemort's vendetta against Mister Potter, I consider it a capital idea for both of you to become familiar with Necromancy. BUT..."

"But what?" Harry said. He was not inclined to take being talked down to by anyone anymore, even Professor McGonagall.

"But it was extremely indiscrete - dangerously so - for you to place such a request in writing on a routine student form," McGonagall hissed. Harry shrank back. Neither of them had considered this rather basic precaution, and in retrospect he felt pretty stupid about that.

"This form is not only distributed to everyone on the Hogwarts academic staff for scheduling purposes, but a copy is automatically transmitted to the Education Department in the Ministry. Even assuming that we have no more Quirrells on our hands in Hogwarts itself, we have good reason to believe that Voldemort retains a network of spies throughout the Ministry. If Voldemort were even to suspect that you were to be instructed on the root of his magical power, he would have every reason to try to bring about both of your demises as quickly as he possibly could. Indeed, such an attempt may already have been made."

Harry winced and all of a sudden felt very small. He knew Professor McGonagall was referring to the sabotage of Hermione's broom, and thus inevitably to the diversionary assault on the Auror barracks that had left two Aurors dead. Were they dead because of a stupid oversight? He looked at Hermione. She was close to tears. Harry had a pretty good idea of what she was thinking - because he was also thinking the same thing.

McGonagall continued, "I was able successfully to retrieve the copies of your forms from the Education Department. They appeared to be unopened, but the mere fact that I had to engage in that unusual step undoubtedly means that everyone in the department is aware that there is something in those forms of an extraordinarily sensitive nature."

Hermione regained her voice. "Does that mean that the idea's dead then?"

"No, but I do expect more discretion from you in the future," Professor McGonagall snapped. "Mr. Potter's audacity is ... well, notorious. However, I expect more circumspection from you."

Professor McGonagall's expression then softened. "It remains a capital idea, and the Headmaster was kicking himself - figuratively, of course - that he hadn't thought of it himself. We are not exactly sure what we are going to do, since Senior Independent Work ordinarily culminates in a public oral examination that includes not only Hogwarts staff, but also at least one professional practicing in the relevant field. We can't very well invite Voldemort to conduct the inquiry, can we?"

"Even without Voldemort, Hogwarts has enough political problems without being accused of putting Necromancy on the curriculum. Last term Narcissa Malfoy, as chairwoman of Purebloods for Life, tried to influence Umbridge" (McGonagall growled out the name) "to sack both Severus and Poppy for their role in developing Britain's most effective Abortifacient Potion - and they did that over a decade ago."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Narcissa Malfoy?" she spat. "They might as well call it 'Death Eaters for Life.' It's a funny thing, politics."

"Be that as it may," rejoindered Professor McGonagall with just the hint of a smile. "So you see what kind of practical problems your request presents."

"But surely that toady Umbridge has been sacked," growled Harry. "Hasn't she?"

"Actually ... no," Professor McGonagall answered, with a sigh. "She's been demoted, of course - and removed from anything having to do with Hogwarts. But Fudge refused to discharge her and instead packed her off to Durmstrang as special Ministry liaison ... at least until she is convicted and sentenced. With any luck that will be before next term starts."

"Well I'm going to testify," Harry declared.

"Me too," insisted Hermione.

"Very well," said Professor McGonagall, with another hint of a smile. "But as for your Senior Independent Work, I will let you know in due course what we are able to do. Until then, don't owl us, we'll owl you."

After Professor McGonagall's lecture, both Harry and Hermione found it difficult to focus on the rest of the training session, but he was more profoundly affected than Hermione. He had not told her about the barracks attack being diversionary, and Harry had trouble getting images of dead Aurors out of his mind.

Partially as a result of Harry's malaise, Hermione almost beat him in a duel for the first time. She used an Imagium Multiplicitus Charm to create scores of mirror images of herself, then slipped on an Invisibility Cloak and caught Harry from behind. But for the link between his holster and his wand, her Expelliarmus curse would have disarmed him. Had she used any of a number of other spells, she would have won. As it was, the duel was called a draw.

Hermione came up to Harry as he was waiting for his escort (who turned out to be Mundungus Fletcher) to collect him.

"Harry, I'm sorry for the way I've acted the past couple of days," she said. "Please understand, it's hard for me right now."

Harry was nonplussed. "You don't need to apologise to me, Hermione - ever," he said, not sure what she was on about. "It's been hard for me, too."

Hermione seemed to be unduly fascinated with her shoes, and her left foot was nervously tapping her right. "Tomorrow's your big day, isn't it?"

"Er.... Yeah. Tomorrow night I get to bond with the goblins, and sign some fancy treaty in which I pledge to support full goblin rights if ... when ... I defeat Voldemort."

"Do be careful, Harry," Hermione said softly. "From what I've read these ceremonies can be pretty scary, with all the knives and blinding lights and all?"

"I should have known," he exclaimed. "You've read up on the Ashrak. You surely know more about it than I do."

"Be that as it may," she replied. "You're the one who has to perform it." She rummaged about in the backpack she wore, and pulled out a small book. "Here," Hermione said, "this might help you a little." Harry took the book. It was an English-Gobbledegook phrase book. He was touched that she was trying to help him with the Ashrak even though she hadn't been allowed to go herself.

"Thanks," Harry said, "I'll study it this evening."

"You do that," Hermione replied. She dropped her voice to a whisper and moved closer. "When you're out there performing tomorrow, please remember that house-elves need a champion too." They looked each other in the eyes. For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him again, but that did not happen. Hermione squeezed his hand and then turned away, her face going wet.

Later, as Harry was leaving Mrs. Figg's house, she called out to him that "some wizard" who was "probably in the military like my dear departed Mr. Figg" had left a package for Harry. Mrs. Figg said it needed to be Engorgioed when he got home. Harry thought he knew what it was, and his suspicions were confirmed when he got to his room. He uttered the spell and there before him was his Valkyrie-70 broom, fully repaired and reconditioned. Now all he had to do was make sure he had the opportunity to use it.

- 44 -

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C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch13 out on the town.doc 09/28/03