Auror Progression

2. Piper

By Tuesday Harry had been completely submerged in homework that would cause Hermione a stroke. While he had passed Combat Class and eliminated it from his schedule, he wished he had challenged and passed an academic class instead. First years were expected, it seemed, to perform like endurance sled dogs, only on several levels. When the metaphor came to Harry during an Advanced Potions lecture, he very much wished that the only thing he had to do was pull a sled through snow; it was easy.

Then it got worse. As he made his way back to Ursus House, his residential dorm, the scary knowledge that he had only had four of his classes in his first two days, struck him. Defensive Spells every Monday, Advanced Potions, Basic Shape Shifting, and Advanced Charms on Tuesday. Wednesday and Thursday were still looming in the air.

Harry turned the knob to his room and walked in. His dropped his bag from his shoulder to his desk with an almighty thud. At least he didn't have to turn in the homework until the next class meeting.

He sighed and moved for his bed, which he fell onto face first. Then his mind began to talk to itself. Though he wished it would just shut up and relax, he couldn't stop it. You had to be an Auror, didn't you? he thought. You couldn't live a life of leisure, bumming off the inheritance you got from the parents and the remains of the Black family fortune, could you? No. You had to go out, work like an ox, get accepted to this place, and then work even more. Good idea, Harry. Next time you get a good idea, put it in a memo and make more money.

Could have played Quidditch. You could have played for whatever team you wanted, you know. Your job could have been a game. 'Yes, I'm Harry Potter, Seeker for the best damn team in the world.' Plenty of beautiful women to fawn over you, no more saving the ignorant world, and no Advanced Potions.

But Harry remembered why he didn't approach any Quidditch scouts. While he loved the sport very much, he didn't like fame. Harry inched his hands under his chin and sighed. Some people worked all of their lives to achieve fame and fortune. Most people, Harry reckoned, wouldn't mind a bit of fame. People generally liked attention, didn't they? But the attention he got wasn't desired. It had been many years since the last time he got only a taste of the kind of attention he really wanted.

The dorm door opened again, he heard, and another heavy book bag fell to the floor. Harry assumed his roommate had entered. He didn't turn around to say hello. Jonathan shuffled over to his bed and sat down. Harry heard the creaking of the mattress.

"Are you awake?" he asked Harry in a loud whisper.

"No," Harry replied to his pillow. "Talking in my sleep is one of my many super powers."

Jonathan sniffed loudly. "Can you believe we've only had five classes? Damn."

Harry rolled over on his side so he could face Jonathan. "I think I hate institutions of higher education," he said.

Jonathan smiled. "I think I do too."

Harry smiled tiredly. Jonathan was okay by his standards. He would never equal Ron, but he wasn't a bad person. He looked kinda funny, though. Well, maybe funny wasn't the right word, but looking at him made Harry feel funny. Jonathan was shorter than he was, had brownish reddish hair, dark beady eyes, and funny shoes; flip flops. All together his face reminded Harry, for some very strange reason, of Winnie the Pooh. Harry laughed at his own thought.

But Jonathan was too tired to have noticed. Now he was lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling. "I need a drink," he said abruptly.

"There's a sink in the lavatory, or the toilet if you can take a dare," Harry said.

Jonathan smiled a little. "No, I mean an alcoholic beverage. Do you drink at all?" he asked Harry.

Harry shook his head, but since Jonathan wasn't looking he said no. Alcohol didn't have much of an appeal to Harry. His uncle drank occasionally, sometimes too much, and it never turned out good. He yelled even more than usual when he had had one too many, even Dudley would get uncomfortable. Harry remembered many a retreat when Vernon would pour himself another glass. He never wanted to be around.

"It takes the edge off," Jonathan said. "Loosens you up."

"Yes," Harry replied pensively, "I know."

Jonathan sat up. "There's a pub across the street, I heard some girls saying."

Now Harry sat up. "Girls?" he said, his eyes raised. "What kind are we talking about?" Harry asked with a rueful smile.

Jonathan tried not to grin but failed. "The female kind." He stood up and walked toward Harry's bed. "You ever been laid?" he asked.

Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to tell the truth with Jonathan. He hadn't known him very long.

"I just turned eighteen," Harry said.

"Yeah but I figured you would have by now. I mean girls should be jumping at you, shouldn't they?" he asked. "Women love heroes."

"Well," Harry said with a smile, "I hate to disappoint, but no. You?" he asked.

"Of course not," he said with a dismissive gesture. "But I'm hopeful. C'mon, let's have a drink later tonight and see if we can get lucky. I won't be one of those peer pressure guys who makes you drink, I promise."

Harry was about to give an answer when there was a brief knock and entrance of Rourke Everett, one of Harry's classmates.

"What's up?" he said with a huge grin. He walked over to Harry and slapped his hand in a high five, then did the same to Jonathan. Rourke Everett, Harry imagined, was one of those guys all the women wanted very badly. He had the distinct aura of the once young and handsome Sirius Black. He was just as tall as Harry, more visibly muscled, had a well chiseled face, dark eyes, and a deep voice. Harry got over his twinge of incredible jealousy and mounting dislike when Everett had congratulated him for "kicking the effing snot out of James Steel."

"I'm trying to get Harry to come with us to the pub down the street," Jonathan said.

Rourke sat next to Harry and roughly grabbed him around the shoulders like a big brother. "Thrasher, buddy, I've heard that the women there are begging for action. It's a waste of your heroics if you don't go."

"If you don't stop using that horrible nickname it'll spread," Harry said.

"It already has. Whatever your real middle name was, kiss it goodbye. From now on you are Harry Thrasher Potter, he-who-kicks-ass. The entire campus knows about it. Steel had such a swollen stick up his ass that he made the rest of our class run for the remainder of the period."

Harry pushed off the bed and shook his head, though he was smirking. "The nickname thing is lame. Children use nicknames."

Rourke struck his chest with his left hand and rose his right like he was giving an oath. "I have always embraced my inner-child. Besides, even if I tried erasing the name, everyone else will still know of you as Thrasher Potter. Just go with it."

Harry still thought it was stupid, but he didn't bring it up again.

"So what do you say? Are you going?" Rourke asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, glancing at his book bag. "I have tons of homework to do. Just thinking about it gives me a huge headache."

"So don't think about it right now. Eight o'clock sound good to you?" Rourke asked.

Harry sighed. "Sure," he replied. Rourke jumped up and grinned.

"See you at eight, gentlemen," he said then left quite dramatically. Jonathan made a comment about going to the library to study then he departed.

Harry was left alone again. He walked over and collapsed in his desk chair then pulled out a parchment pad and a quill. He felt like writing a letter to someone. Hermione was the first person who came to mind, but what could he tell her? If he told her the truth...no, he couldn't do that.

Harry! she would say, You did what in your first class? When will you grow up? You really should be more careful, you know. Dumbledore isn't looking after you anymore so you shouldn't be acting out. Besides, misbehaving is never a good thing, Harry. And a pub? You went to a pub? Don't you have about eight classes a week? Shouldn't you be studying all the time?

Harry shook his head. He wouldn't write to Hermione. Ron. He could write to Ron.

Sounds like Auror training is fun. Wish I had gotten in. But I'm not smart enough to be an Auror. I'm still studying for that entrance exam, in my free time. Hermione says I have a good chance if I keep trying. In the mean time I'm helping Fred and George keep their books. It isn't as fun as one may think.

No, that wasn't a good idea either. Ron would get into one of his pity parties and feel depressed for days as he kept up with the growing popularity of Fred and George's business. So who could he write to? He couldn't see himself addressing a letter to Ginny or Neville. Fred and George, if they received a letter, might try marketing Harry's campus, which probably wouldn't be the best of ideas.

Dumbledore. Yes, he could write to Dumbledore. After all, Harry had been his favorite during school, everyone said so. They had worked together to fight Voldemort; Dumbledore taught him almost everything.

Harry addressed the letter and chronicled, in great detail, his first two days of Auror Training. He wondered if he had said too much, but figured Dumbledore had much more free time now that Voldemort was dead and Harry was no longer in need of dueling assistance or getting into trouble.

He signed his name, sealed the letter in an envelope, then took it to Hedwig who was sound asleep. He prodded her rudely then tied the letter to her leg.

"Back to Hogwarts," he said, "for Dumbledore." She hopped on his arm so he could take her to the open window, which she soared out of the moment he reached it.

Harry sighed then sat down on his bed again. He tried denying it, but he was a bit anxious about this evening's coming events. A pub. The Three Broomsticks wasn't really a pub. It was kid friendly and rated G. He assumed that the pub he would be entering was more than what he had seen.

He opened his palm toward a book. Nothing happened. Harry sat up straight, focused on the book, then waited for it to fly into his hand. But it didn't. Harry scowled and tried again, but the third time wasn't the charm. Now slightly panicking, Harry stood up and walked to his book bag for the book and his wand.

"Accio quill," he said. Instantly the quill flew into his hand. "Huh," he mumbled to himself. He dropped his bag on the floor again, walked to his bed, and sat on it cross legged. "Okay," he said to himself, "don't panic. It's a glitch is all." He set down his wand. "I can do magic without a wand. I'm Harry Potter," he added to himself, as if it would help him. He took in a deep soothing breath, exhaled, then reached out his palm for a notebook on his desk.

It stayed on the desk.

"No," Harry said in frustration, "come to me."

Nothing.

"You stupid...thing," he groaned. "Come!"

No movement. Harry's shoulders dropped with his hand. He'd lost it. He'd lost his powers he had before Voldemort was killed. Those powers set him apart from every other ordinary wizard, but now they were gone.

Harry jumped off his bed and out of his room. He had to do something, though what he didn't know.

"Thrasher!" He heard Rourke's deep voice. Harry whipped around.

"Stop calling me that!" he yelled.

"Sure thing," Rourke said with a grin. "Where are you headed?" he asked.

Harry didn't feel much like chatting at the moment. "Out for a walk," he said. "Alone," he added ensuring he would be.

"I get that. My idea of a really good time is not walking with you," he said. "So I'll see you at eight?" he asked.

Harry nodded slightly then took his leave. He wasn't sure he should be going anywhere until he established what kind of power he still possessed. He tried thinking of the last time he had summoned something without a wand. It had been a while ago, that was certain. Maybe he just needed to keep practicing. Maybe he was rusty and needed some tuning up.

Harry left the residential hall and headed for the Inferno, the cafeteria to his left. It was always warm in the cafeteria, which is probably why 'Inferno' was its name. He collected a tray then picked up a steak, a baked potato, and water.

"Have you thought about your thesis at all?" Harry heard a young woman ask.

"No," a female Irish accent answered. Harry turned his head to get a better look at them. They were standing over the potato station, debating on mashed, baked, fried, or hashed. Harry could only see their hair and figures, which were both nice. Harry turned back to admire the salad selection so he could listen to them.

"It is a bit early to be thinking about it, I know. We have the whole year to come up with something, but I was wondering if you had." Harry glanced at them again. The woman who had been talking had extremely short brown hair and multiple piercings in her ears. Her friend, the Irish one, had curly red hair.

"I don't want to start thinking about it," the Irish one said. Harry smiled when he heard her talk; her accent was interesting.

They finally decided on baked potatoes then they left and started searching for a table. Harry followed at a distance then sat close to them, but kept his back turned. Fortunately he could see them in the reflection in the window.

"Have you thought about where you want to work?" the British one asked. Harry wished they would use their names in the conversation.

"The Ministry of Britain, Ireland, Canada, maybe New Zealand," said the Irish. "I just want to start somewhere. Hopefully Ireland will take me, if not then Britain is my second option. My mother and father might not be so happy with the idea, but it is my life after all. There's plenty of time to think it over," she said.

Harry could see what her face would look like if reflected in the water. He couldn't tell if she was attractive or not. He tried thinking of a reason to bump into their table, but his brain wasn't working; he couldn't stop thinking of how he couldn't perform like he was once able to do so well.

"The competition is so hard. I wish I could have some kind of edge," said the English.

"Yeah," Irish replied. "I heard Harry Potter was going here now. I imagine every Ministry will open their doors for him."

Harry's face flushed.

"He is going here. I heard a few of the first years talking about how he thrashed James Steel on the first day of class. He beat Steel and passed the class."

"Wow."

"He's cute too," the English student said. Harry blushed more but felt himself smile. He would have preferred if they had deemed him ruggedly handsome, but 'cute' was good enough.

"That's what I heard," said Irish. "Too bad he's a first year."

Harry frowned and felt his once puffed up chest deflate quickly. He wanted to whirl around and ask what was wrong with being a first year, but then he would blow his cover.

"Piper," the English one said, "can't have him because he's young?"

"Right. Robbing the cradle and all."

Piper, Harry thought to himself. That's an interesting name. She didn't like younger men, though. That was interesting. Harry finished his dinner quickly, much faster than the girls behind him, then decided he would get ready for the evening.

Jonathan was standing in front of the mirror when Harry came back into the room. He had on blue jeans, a long-sleeved but collarless shirt, and flip-flop beach shoes.

"How do I look?" he asked Harry in a semi-panicked manner.

"Is this where I say something nice to give you more confidence, or do you want the truth so you know if you'll humiliate yourself later?" he asked.

Jonathan held a funny smile. "The second one."

"You look a badly dressed Muggle surfer who's not sure where the beach is," he said calmly. He walked over to his closet and started to search through his limited wardrobe. "But that's just what I think. So this pub thingy, who goes there?" Harry pulled a clean black shirt off the hanger, then a pair of pants from his drawer.

"Students here, the public, mostly younger folks, in their twenties or so," Jonathan answered.

Harry tried once more that evening to summon something to him without his wand, but it failed again. He got dressed, waited for Jonathan to go through two more outfits, ("Hurry up already, you're like a girl!") then they walked across to the pub which was simply named, "Corner Pub," for lack of a better name.

Rourke Everett, looking and smelling like he spent all afternoon on his appearance, caught up with them just before they reached it.

"Don't you two look adorable!" he said, squeezing between the two of them and putting his arms around both shoulders. "We're gonna have a great time. Remember Social Darwinism, my friends. Survival of the fittest."

Harry pushed Rourke's hand off his shoulder, then opened the door, which loud obnoxious music flooded out of. Harry entered first, Rourke followed, and Jonathan came in last. It certainly was different. There was a band playing in one corner of the pub. From what Harry could tell it was music of some kind, but he didn't know which. The singers were not singing but yelling and he couldn't understand one word of it. There were several round tables in the pub, a few raised booths, and a bar right in front. Harry turned to Rourke for instruction, but as he did someone tapped his shoulder.

"You're first years," a short yet burlesque black man said.

"And?" Harry asked with the shrug of his shoulders.

"You can't come in this pub until after your first year. It's traditional," he said. Harry sighed and was about ready to turn around when he saw Piper sitting with a few of her friends. She was talking animatedly, tossing her hair out of her face. Harry's stomach did a back flop.

"That's a stupid rule," Jonathan said as he and Rourke began to walk out.

"Why can't we stay?" Harry asked the man.

"Look, it's tradition. This is only for second year students and above. You can come in here next year. There's another place a few kilometers away."

Harry looked at Piper again, this time she saw him. She, as he suspected, was attractive. She had pinkish cheeks, small but full lips, and green eyes.

"We're here now," Harry told the man. "Tradition is wrong," he said loudly. A few other men came up to Harry and tried looking down on him. Jonathan and Rourke closed space between Harry.

"Tradition is what we're all about. Please get out," the man said.

Harry took a step closer to him and smiled. "No."

Another man, this one with small eyes and a huge nose, approached Harry with wand in hand. "Don't make trouble," he muttered.

Harry raised an eyebrow and pulled out his wand. "No trouble if you just let us in. Oh, and if you try using the wand, I'll win."

The man began to laugh but Harry and his two companions didn't.

"You think so, do you?" he asked.

"I know I will. Do yourself a favor and let us in so no one get's hurt. I promise I won't tell the other first years." Harry twirled the wand in his fingers and drummed his foot.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" the big nosed man asked.

"Just a guy looking for a good time. We won't bother you if you promise not to bother us, okay pal? Now please get out of my face," he said as he rose his wand into the attack position. The man stared into Harry's eyes as if trying to read his mind.

"Is there a problem here, gentlemen?" a bartender asked according to custom.

Harry raised one corner of his mouth and kept eye contact with his opponent. "Nothing that concerns you," Harry said.

"Everything in here concerns me, I own it. Perhaps you didn't see the sign," he said, pointing to a large sign Harry hadn't noticed when he first entered.

KEEP YOUR WANDS HOLSTERED; NO MAGIC IN THIS PUB

~MANAGEMENT~

Harry sighed and slipped his wand away then crossed his arms. "Why so harsh against magic?" Harry asked him.

"Muggles come in here, mate. Some o' my best business. They can't read the sign but they will see a duel. Take it outside if you have to." He gave each of them one more warning look, then walked back to his bar.

"Harry," Jonathan muttered, "let's just go."

"Listen to your friend," the man said. "He's smart."

"You're not afraid of me, are you?" Harry asked him with his smirk. Apparently they were causing a bit of a scene because other people, including, Harry was pleased to see, Piper, were paying close attention.

"Why should I be?" he asked, stepping forward.

"You wanna back off, buddy?" Rourke said in a lower voice than usual. "We are all on the same side."

"Come on," Harry said, backing up steadily, "have a go at me, just outside. Unless you are afraid of a first year."

"I'm afraid I might squash you like a bug," he said. One of his buddy's slapped his hand and guffawed stupidly.

"Yeah that's so funny," Harry said evenly. "Squash me like a bug, then. I've got nothing to lose." Harry opened the door and stood in the door way, watching his opponent. He glanced sideways to his protege, then stepped outside. Rourke and Jonathan, far from being concerned, were now walking around the gathering, partially intoxicated crowd taking bets. Harry saw Piper's curly red hair and felt his stomach flop again.

For being at Auror training for two days, he was a bit surprised with how much physical combat he was engaged in. Shouldn't he be using more magic? Harry shook his head of this thought and focused on his opponent who was stretching and flexing his bulking arms, which seemed to be common to everyone except Harry.

Now Rourke stepped into the middle of them with his arms raised to the crowd. "Rules," he started, "no hitting in certain sensitive areas which may cause infertility." The crowd laughed. "Or kicking, elbowing, biting if you're gross, no touching in that area to be safe." He stepped out of their area and called off the commencement of the battle.

Normally Harry would allow one punch, to ensure confidence and false security in his opponent. But Harry hated the moron.

Luke, as was apparently his name according to the chants from the crowd, swung out at Harry, but he ducked and avoided it. Luke tried again--he missed. Harry avoided another attempt, then a kick, a right hook, a left hook, and a full body lunge. Luke appeared enraged.

"I thought you wanted to fight!" he yelled.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I usually let the other guy strike first. I'm waiting for you to hit me. So do it already."

Luke lunged his giant fist at Harry, connected with his chest, then stepped back and waited for Harry to fight back.

"About time," Harry mumbled.

"Thrash him, Harry!" Rourke yelled.

Harry rubbed the spot Luke had hit. "Ow," he said.

"What should we write on your tombstone?" Luke asked, hitting Harry's face.

"Harry Potter should be fine," he said when he high kicked Luke in the face. But Luke didn't fall down and groan like Harry had expected. In fact, Luke smiled as if the hit had tickled.

"Only your name?" Luke asked, striking Harry hard in the stomach. Harry stumbled backwards clutching his gut. "No cute remark under it?"

Harry didn't understand. Shouldn't he be thrashing this guy, as Rourke would say? When Luke punched his nose and everywhere else, a horrid thought crossed Harry's mind. His strength had left him... his telekinetic abilities must have been tied into his super-strength and now they were both gone.

Rourke and Jonathan were screaming at Harry to get up and fight, but now Harry's left eye was severely swollen, his nose was bleeding, and by the uncomfortable looks on the crowd's face as they watched him, he must look much worse.

Harry summoned enough strength to pull himself up and hit Luke once more, but it was a futile effort. Harry was down on the ground with a final kick in the gut. He felt like he should say something, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make him sound like a pathetic loser. Not only had he made a complete fool out of himself in front of countless people he would encounter the following morning, but Piper, the woman he had held this show for, was probably thinking that Harry was a giant pansy, unworthy of her attention.

Luke grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt. "Stay out of this pub," he growled, dropping Harry back on the ground. He heard the shuffling of feet back into the noisy pub. He didn't want to look to see Piper scowling at him, or Rourke and Jonathan who were probably near tears. At least the nickname would go away. Instead of "Thrasher" he would be "Thrashed." He groaned at the thought. Once the loud music was muffled by the door to the pub being shut, Harry braved his first view. Yep, Jonathan and Rourke looked ready to sob and Piper was no where to be found.

Harry groaned as the throbbing pain became more aware now that his attention wasn't focused on his embarrassment for having his butt whooped. He felt Jonathan and Rourke lift him up, but he pulled away from them once he was on his feet.

"Harry," Rourke said mournfully.

"Don't," he replied, not facing him. "Don't say anything." He walked back to his residential dorm with his head low, avoiding attention he hoped. He opened the door to his room, entered, and shut it behind him. He stood there for a moment, his head pounding with shame. Then he shuffled over to the bathroom to stare at himself in the mirror. His left eye was sealed shut and swollen, his lip was cut and puffed, the right side of his face was turning blue, and there was dried blood under his nose. His shirt was torn with blood stains.

Harry turned on the water and wet a hand towel, then whipped the blood off his face. He pulled his shirt over his head, wincing because he was so sore. He stepped inside the shower and turned on the water. Even the gentle flow caused him pain. He had been beaten. And not just by a technicality, or because he was under the weather, he had been beaten fair and square and by a long shot.

By the time Harry finished, Jonathan was still gone. Harry assumed that he would be out until late, talking with Rourke and countless others about the defeat. He couldn't sleep with that knowledge. He passed both hands through his hair as he tried to think. What had gone wrong?

He couldn't stand not knowing anymore. He threw on some clothes then Disapparated to Hogsmeade so he could walk to Hogwarts.

Walking through the entrance hall was like strolling back home. A sudden warmth washed over him when he glanced into the Great Hall, glittering with wonder.

The stone gargoyle which guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office now recognized him, something Dumbledore had set up in Harry's sixth year. Soon Harry glimpsed the spiraling staircase; he hopped on and was taken up.

Harry heard murmurs and mumbles. Dumbledore must be talking to some of the portraits. Harry knocked on the door and the murmurs ceased.

"Come in," Dumbledore's kind voice sounded.

Harry eased inside, turning his back to Dumbledore as he shut the door.

"Harry," Dumbledore said with a grin. "What an unexpected surprise."

Harry slowly pivoted around, hoping that it was very dark. By the sudden mood change, however, Harry knew it wasn't dark enough to cover his face.

"What has happened to you?" he asked, walking forward to get a better glimpse. "Did you start a fight?" he asked.

Harry looked into his face now, frowning. "You're using Occlumency against me," he said.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "No, Harry," he said sadly, "I didn't. It was your second day today. Yesterday you harmed one of your instructors and today this. Your name will only get you so far, Harry. You need to behave," he said firmly.

Harry threw up his arms in frustration. "I didn't come here for a lecture," he said.

"Why did you engage in the duel?" Dumbledore asked.

"Because..." he cast out his mind for a good reason other than 'I was trying to impress a girl.' "He cheeked me," he said flatly, thanking his cousin for those words.

"Ah," Dumbledore breathed. For some reason everything he said sounded so wise. "You were defending your honor. What, may I ask, did he call you?"

"Four eyes," he replied quickly.

"I see. You have tolerated Draco Malfoy and his friends, held up to criticism from me and others about your skills, and you defeated Lord Voldemort, but when a stranger calls you 'four eyes' you have to throw a punch?" he said, ending with a disbelieving smile.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You could just say you don't believe me."

"Yes, but I wanted to see how long you could keep up your lies. In order to be an Auror you must toe the line. You need to stop acting like a selfish young boy and act your age. You are responsible for your actions. I feel like we've had this conversation before, Harry. You must do as you are told and you must respect your instructors, whether you agree with their philosophy or not. Is that clear?" he asked with his eyebrows very high.

"Yes," Harry said, "now can we talk about something I need to talk about?"

"Please," Dumbledore said, showing Harry to a seat, which he took. Dumbledore placed himself in his large chair, folded his hands on his desk, and nodded to Harry.

"My powers are gone. My 'superpowers.' The ones that made me who I am. They're gone," he said. "Look," he added, holding out his hand as if preparing for a ketch. "Nothing. I want that book to come to me, but it's not. What's wrong with me? The only reason that git beat me was because my power was gone. I wouldn't enter a fight I knew I couldn't win. But yesterday I was fully functional. What's wrong with me?" he asked.

Dumbledore did not seem wholly concerned. Instead he nodded and said "hmmm."

"What does that mean, hmmm?" Harry asked.

"I'm not surprised. Those powers were on loan so you could complete your task. Now that you have they are gone," he said.

"But they worked yesterday. And what do you mean about my task? Killing Voldemort? I did that months ago, why didn't they stop then?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I'm not sure. Witches and wizards can only achieve wandless magic when they are frightened or angered, but you have always been a strange case. I assume that part of the protection you were given when you were small included those gifts you took advantage of. Now that you no longer need the protection, they have faded away. The source has been removed. Like I told you last year, Harry, all magic has a source. It appears as if yours has dried up."

Harry shook his head. "No. No, you said I had that power in such quantities that--"

"Yes, I know I said that. But time has passed and time has changed. If you expect results, then you must find a new source."

Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was on about. From experience he knew Dumbledore wouldn't come out and say it, but try to lead Harry to it. It was annoying. Harry started to leave when Dumbledore advised him to take a stop by the hospital wing. At first he said he didn't need to see Madam Pomfrey, but then he decided it would be better if he didn't stand out so much with his black and blue face.

Madam Pomfrey made a number of comments about Harry's obvious reckless behavior, which he neither argued nor defended. Once he was fixed and set to go, he walked back to Hogsmeade and Disapparated back to his dorm room. Jonathan still hadn't come back.

With a tremendous sigh followed by an equally significant yawn, Harry crashed on his bed and fell asleep.

He woke with a startle the next morning, after having a terrible dream. Ron had stolen his power and made Harry turn into a clown. He didn't care what anyone said; clowns were terrifying. He jumped out of bed and redressed then grabbed his schedule. Dueling basics, physical training (Harry groaned), and Global politics. Well at least he wouldn't humiliate himself in the last class.

He made his way for the Unferth section in Beowulf's Arena. Unferth was quite a bit smaller than the main arena and wasn't much to boast about. What was nice was the fact that all the walls were lined with cushions. Rourke and Jonathan, it appeared, had partnered up to duel each other. There was much more talking now than on the first day, and there was a causal air about the room. Harry wished he could feel casual. There was a dueling platform in the front of the room where the instructor, Harry assumed, was still preparing for his class. Harry checked his watch; it was time to start.

The instructor was very short and walked like a penguin. He had a very wrinkly face, wispy white hair, and dull eyes. Somehow Harry didn't think this instructor could handle too many duels. A young woman was helping him; she had her head in a trunk looking for something, apparently.

"Are you all in pairs?" the instructor asked with a paranoid voice. Immediately everyone began looking around and pairing up. Harry didn't make any sudden movements so no one really noticed him, which was just fine in his opinion. He was sure that the rumor had spread and he was now a humiliating legend.

"Fine," the instructor creaked on. He didn't introduce himself. He waited for his assistant to bring him his wand-- Harry ducked his head low. The assistant was Piper, her curly red hair pulled back in a pony tail.

"We will start to see what exactly you people don't know," he said grumpily. Harry chanced it and looked up at Piper. She was smirking at the instructor, clearly not taking him seriously.

"You have to take roll," she told him.

"Oh yes," he said, throwing his hand down. Piper handed him the roll sheet and he started to call off names very quickly, not stopping at any of them. "Good," he said once finished. "All right then," he added, waving his hands in a dismissive manner, "off you go. Duel already."

The class gazed around at each other, several shrugging their shoulders, then they started to duel. Harry was embarrassed for many of the students, half of whom couldn't get their aim right. Harry wondered how or why any of them wanted or were planning on being an Auror.

"Why don't you have a partner?" Harry heard Piper ask from his right side. He jumped, his face going flush because of it, and turned to her, his lips not functioning properly.

"Er," he said, now his face flushing redder. The first word he said to her was 'er'?

"Did you come in late?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said, nodding again. "Late." If he could've kicked himself without anyone seeing, he would have.

"Well we can be partners for the first round. Rowan likes to walk around and criticize before he actually teaches something. He likes to tell everyone what they're doing wrong."

Harry shook his head, then spoke because he had to have a reason to say no. "That's okay," he said, "I'm fairly good at dueling actually."

"Oh," she said, "as good as you are with fighting outside pubs?" she asked with a perfectly straight face.

If only he could have turned into a pile of ashes and then vaporize. "You saw that, did you?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. "I have seen it three times actually. Every year some hotshot first year tries to break inside and break tradition, and every year they're beaten down by a third year at the top of his game. Usually someone puts the first year up to it."

"Oh no," Harry said, waving his hand casually, "I made a fool out of myself alone. No one put me up to it." It was comforting, strangely, knowing Harry wasn't the only idiot out there.

"I see," she said with a hint of a smile. "Shall we get this over with?" she asked, drawing out her wand. He nodded and got ready. He took a few paces back and took aim, but Piper had already fired her first spell and hit him right in the gut, sending him flying ten feet back.

When he looked up at her she was laughing. If she wanted to play rough, why disappoint her? He slammed his fists on the ground then rose smoothly. She only seemed partially impressed by his action. Harry took aim again, but Piper shot another spell at him and Harry found himself winded on the floor. He shot at her from where he was. This time she flew across the room.

Rowan, the crusty old instructor, furrowed his grey eyebrows and came at Harry with his finger shaking at him. "You have bad form," his creaky voice sounded.

"Huh?" he asked as Piper fired another round. Harry ducked this time.

"Your form!" Rowan nagged, now trying to mold Harry's body into the right position. "Piper, quit it!" he yelled at her. She smiled at Harry. Rowan turned back to Harry and slapped his hand that held his wand. "Lower your wand!"

"Sorry," Harry said.

"Keep your back straight with your right foot forward. Well do it!"

Harry stifled a laugh and did as told.

"There. You have to aim with your entire body, you pipsqueak." He shook his head at Harry then walked away to yell at someone else. Harry turned his head to watch Rowan shake his finger at Jonathan for his shoes.

"Patrificus Totalus!" Piper yelled. Instantly Harry's hands and legs locked to his sides and he fell backwards. He could hear Piper giggling as she sauntered over to survey him.

"You defeated You-Know-Who?" she asked. She performed the counter curse on him then helped him up.

"Well the situation and environment was a bit different. Besides those spells we used weren't the kind of spells Voldemort and I used against each other. And I wasn't worried about hurting him," he added.

"I suppose that is a valid point. I was afraid I might hurt you. But your technique was good. You have a nice aim and you deliver power. Now why don't you partner up with that man over there," she said pointing. She started to walk away when Harry grabbed her hand.

"You're leaving?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm Rowan's aid and you're a student."

"Yeah but there are people still dueling and he hasn't stuck his finger in their faces yet."

"I have to go," she said.

Ask her out to dinner, you lump. Go on, ask her out. Ask her out to dinner. "Ask her out to dinner," Harry said stupidly, blushing again.

"Pardon?" she said.

Harry took in a breath, internally praying that his stomach would knock it off already, then looked back at her. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me?" he asked.

Piper's mouth twitched. "You're asking me out?" she asked. "You're asking me out?"

"Yeah," Harry said.

"What's my last name?" she asked, her hands folded behind her back.

Harry smirked. "O'Rielly," he said.

She shook her head.

"O'Donnell? O'Toole? O'Connors? O' something Irish?" he asked.

"No, none of those. It doesn't matter, though. I'm flattered by your offer, Mr. Potter, but I'm afraid I don't date first years. Nothing personal." She started to go again.

"You must have at some point. Come on, Piper. Go with me. Just once and then you can blow me off. Give a guy a chance, will you?" he asked, smiling at her.

"No," she said. "You're in a classroom, you know. It wouldn't hurt you to listen and learn." She winked at him, turned back around, and leaving Harry with mixed emotions which included confusion, she walked back to the front of the class to stand next to Rowan. Class was about to begin.

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