Come Hither

Chapter 3

Dumbledore's Letter

Leaving the train alone, since Ron and Hermione were prefects and thus were having a meeting in another compartment, Harry waved emphatically at his half-giant friend, Hagrid, who waved back at him with a huge and continued to bellow orders, "This way, first-years this way!" at the even smaller new first-years.

Harry slipped through the thick forest of bodies and eager voices to the horseless carriages that would take them to the gates of the castle of Hogwarts... or they were supposed to be horseless.

Harry stopped dead and stood there with his jaw hanging somewhere in the region of his middle and eyes swelling at the... things that were strapped up to the carriages. Suddenly laden with misgivings about approaching them, he scanned around and noted that he was the only one with such hesitation - all the kids were all climbing up happily, chatting inanely, completely oblivious to the ugly creatures that would drag their carts to Hogwarts.

Before he could form an opinion on what he thought about the horse-like abominations, seeing as he was in the process of absorbing their apparentness, a pale girl with waist-length blonde hair and abnormally protuberant eyes floated over to his side and said in a dreamy voice, "You can see them as well?"

Harry turned abruptly to her. "Er, yeah?" he said in an inquiring sort of manner, testing the waters, however ridiculous it was, for he didn't want to sound loony to the girl. To enhance this facade, he adopted a sceptic and judgemental look so that he could appear as though he were regarding her as strange - in short, he was trying to appear normal. Nonetheless, the girl only smiled and nodded approvingly as though ushering him into her own crazy world; apparently, his sceptic look hadn't carried.

"Thestrals, they're called," said the girl vaguely, but before she could continue - as there was every indication she would - she was interrupted by an admonishing voice:

"Honestly, Ron, he's not planning anything evil! I think he was tolerable more than any other time since we set foot in that castle! Now hurry up! Harry! You should have been up there by now!" Without a moment's notice, Hermione swept them all off towards the repulsive 'Thestrals', as that blonde girl had called them, and into one of the awaiting carriages.

The Sorting took a little longer than last year this time around, but it finished soon enough, followed by the great feast and a couple of interspersed speeches by Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry idly let his eyes roam around the Great Hall thereafter to see the students of Hogwarts in their entirety: he saw the same faces, and a good sprinkling of new ones mingled among them, of course. A cursory look down the Slytherin table, just for the sake of completeness, revealed that nothing was new there as well.

Inexorably, his gaze was led to Malfoy, the figurehead of the Slytherin House and who appeared just as arrogant and aloof as ever. Harry narrowed his eyes at the lean, blond figure, wondering when Malfoy was going to take the Dark Mark, if he hadn't already, but he then let his attention go back to his food, not wishing to work himself up, even though Death Eaters were a considerable part of the reason why he was having that lingering apathy that had smothered him in his summer. He pushed aside any and all negative thoughts and focussed on his friends. He caught up with their chatter and laughed with them at the right places.

Feeling quite filled and content a few minutes later, Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room with his other Housemates without Ron and Hermione, since both of whom were charged with guiding the first years to their House. Harry was shocked to discover that Malfoy had also been made prefect.

In the common room, Harry met everyone in his year more intimately, played Exploding Snap with him or her, and also wizard chess with Ron. He made a point to show Hermione the dagger Sirius had given him as well; he thought that perhaps Hermione would somehow be able to decipher the strange markings on its smooth blade and hilt.

After Hermione finished off a sentence she was on (she was already busy with her schoolwork, preparing timeously for her O.W.L.s, and the year hadn't even officially started yet), she said, "Hm," as she squinted at the markings on its smooth surface within an inch of her face. "Well, they seem to be ruins, but I don't think we have covered these types of them in class; I'm going to have to do some research in library for this."

Harry felt apprehensive at first at the thought of separating from the gift his godfather had sent him but rationalized that it would be better to understand what the markings on the dagger meant; ignorance was never a good thing, Harry had learnt.

"Sure. Thanks."

Shortly after, the three of them went down to go visit Dobby in the kitchens and then out to the grounds to Hagrid's hut, but the half-giant was not there, which Harry found strange, as he, together with the rest of the school, had seen him only hours previously.

"I'm telling you, he's shacking up with that Olympia giant," Ron said.

"Giantess," corrected Hermione, as they made their way back to the castle. "And her name was Olympe."

"Nah," said Ron, "that makes her sound better, but she isn't any. She could take down a tree without breaking a giant sweat and then she has the audacity to feel insulted by Hagrid?"

Unfortunately, the few hours that separated Harry from the following day were quickly spent, and in no time, he found himself in a classroom. Everything went off without a hitch that first day, and for the consecutive days, provided one didn't count Professor Snape's escalated viciousness towards Harry and the Gryffindors. It became so bad to the point where somewhere along the line, instead of snickering as usual, the Slytherins approached something akin to pity for them.

No one knew what had gotten into their Potions master and prompted his new, invigorated spitefulness, which would sometimes, amazingly, make victims of even Snape's own House. However rarely this happened, the fact that it did in the first place was something to be said; thus, indeed Potions class was quite a tense and precarious affair and of which no one was inclined to test the bounds.

As though Harry hadn't had enough to deal with, also high on Professor Trelawney's list of priorities was making his life miserable, with her newly inspired and rather creative, long-winded, misty tales of his death, and these were coming with rapidly increasing succession.

"Beware the cliff that calls your fate, my dear boy! Beware the cliff! Despair in brief but resist the chasm that abounds! May your courage be stiff!"

One could only take so much of hearing one's own death relayed to one so many times and in so many gruesome ways before it started affecting one, even though one knew it was utter bollocks.

All things considered, it was with a dour mood that Harry approached the second week of school, already exhausted with the daily stress of having huge piles of homework to go through every night (since they were to write their O.W.L.s that year), Snape's unprecedented levels of sourness toward almost anybody, and having his death prophesied in almost every single Divination class he attended.

On a particularly splendid day, the stress of these issues drove Harry to seek solace from the nice spot under the thick Sycamore tree that stood just next to the lake. Unfortunately, Hermione, buckling under the pressure of their merciless workload, wished to accompany him, and at this, Ron suddenly developed his own stress symptoms as well, so he too joined. Along the way, they somehow, vaguely, managed to pick up Luna, much to Harry and Ron's chagrin, until the four of them, where it was initially meant to be one, journeyed to Harry's favourite spot, and along the way, Harry suffered one more misfortune when he passed by Malfoy and his boulder-sized cronies.

Strangely enough, Malfoy, and by extension Crabbe and Goyle, had never seriously bothered him since the very first day. Admittedly, it happened but certainly not to the extent it did in previous years; the ridicules came, but in lesser numbers. Granted, Malfoy's arrogance and his belief that he was superior never left him, but he was different somewhat - he was quiet and rarely attempted to bait him or insult Ron or Hermione. This new behaviour struck Harry as odd, but, of course, because it was Malfoy, he did not push the issue. He thought if something was letting the boy down, then let it, and then some more, just because he deserved it for simply being Malfoy.

As they lumbered past, Crabbe and Goyle took the liberty to fleetingly push him and Ron threateningly, eliciting a smirk from Malfoy, who hadn't even called for this but had sauntered past wordlessly. Nothing further untoward happened to them, which was particularly due to Luna admonishing the two goons in that echoing voice, even though no caves were nearby. Harry resented every single thing that sparked the girl off, especially whenever he found himself in her vicinity, which happened with indecent frequency despite the fact that she was in Ravenclaw, a house almost as far from Gryffindor Tower as it was the Slytherin dungeons.

Putting Malfoy and his gang out of mind, Harry, together with Ron, Hermione, and their beloved guest Luna under a heavenly clear blue sky with a few wisps of clouds, and rolling down shining grass that gave the surroundings a picturesque view, proceeded down the grounds to Harry's favourite shade under the large tree with a nice view of the lake. They reclined on the ground and on the bark of the tree, doing either homework, throwing things into the lake, or just talking nonsense (needless to say who spearheaded that particular discussion). Crookshanks was scuttling about on the edge of lake, tempting his fate each time he clawed its surface.

Harry was juggling engaging in the chatter around him and studying the birthday present Hermione had gifted him. He was just browsing and had failed to see the point of the book having been published in the first place, as he had yet to come across a spell that he could use practically, or advantageously, more precisely, particularly one that was defensive or perhaps even mildly malicious. But all he gleaned from the book was Teeth-Yellowing Charms, Spray-Painting Charms, Perforating Charms, and there was even one that made the target of the spell shake their bum, like in doing the funky chicken. The only thing the book satisfied was its title; it was rather useless. Honestly, he couldn't see why he would want to see someone shaking their bum.

What about a bloke doing that, though?

Harry grinned. Now that would be funny.

He wondered if he could hex Malfoy with it, and immediately, a new liking for the book burgeoned. Yes, Malfoy shaking his bum on top of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall in front of the whole school... The embarrassment would shut him up until graduation. With new vigour, Harry turned a page and studied the book more intensely. This was sporadically interrupted when he was summoned by either of the other three to take a stance in their arguments.

It was when he was defending Ron on the value of Quidditch against the girls that he was interrupted by a first-year Gryffindor boy who looked like he was trying his best not to stare at him and redden, and who wordlessly gave him a rolled parchment with an elegant, silver ribbon. Perplexed by this and ignoring the eyebrows raised in his direction, as well as an encouraging smile from Luna, Harry took the letter warily with a frown and muttered his thanks. He watched the boy already turning tail and was a step short from breaking into a run in the opposite direction.

Ron was first to speak in the silence that fell thereafter. "Well, he's no doubt a Gryffindor. By Merlin, a love le--" Harry whipped his head round and glared at him, whereupon Ron cut off abruptly and held his hands up in resignation.

"We don't even know what it is yet!" Harry indignantly told his presumptuous, freckled friend, unnecessarily reddening in his cheeks.

Luna, on the other hand, cooed dreamily, "That's so sweet!"

Harry heatedly ripped off the ribbon in answer to her preposterous insinuations. He hoped his friends didn't think or suspect he swung that way because Merlin knew he didn't.

The parchment was quite simple and a touch rich, giving a modest impression, and Harry unfurled it to read the message therein:

Mr Potter,

Please be so kind as to report to my office as soon as you finish dinner tonight. I apologize for any inconveniences and for those of the current mode of notice.

For the entrance - I squeeze a few of them onto my fish and chips!

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

For several moments, Harry frowned at the small note, floored, his mind working rapidly. What did Dumbledore want with him? And more strangely, why was he sending first-year blushing Gryffindors to him to send messages? One more thing to add to the strange new things happening at the start of the year was Dumbledore's curious absence on most mornings: sometimes he wouldn't be seen at the High Table for days on end. Harry wondered where the headmaster was going. He guessed Dumbledore was probably doing damage control at the Ministry - that is, if Fudge even let him through the doors - or perhaps fending Voldemort off before he could do damage on some Muggle schools or random villages. He could find out tonight, if he could conjure enough nerve to ask the question.

"What is it, Harry?"

"It's from Dumbledore," Harry answered, and handed the parchment to them. He was most surprised to see Hermione frown and turn the parchment over and back again, only to see that it was blank on both sides.

"Harry, it's blank," Ron said, puzzled.

"It probably has a script-concealing charm on it," Hermione said, with contracted eyebrows. With the air of someone already defeated, she drew out her wand, and all watched keenly as she muttered, "Scriptus Revelum," and then, "Aparecium," but nothing happened on both turns. It seemed to Harry that she had already known this. "Well, of course it wouldn't work. Dumbledore probably put a more complicated spell or possibly, spells, on it. I knew it wouldn't be that simple - it's Dumbledore." It was as though the man's name explained everything.

"Shouldn't expect anything less, with brains like his," Ron remarked proudly, about his favourite hero.

Harry, who thought Ron was showing his patented lack of tact yet again, conversely sympathized with Hermione for her inability to solve a problem, as he suspected she usually took this personally. He reached out to grab the parchment to draw it away from her, if her deepening frown was anything to go by, and when his fingers made contact with the parchment again, the inked letters reappeared.

Hermione's face cleared. "Oh, you have to touch it, Harry, to reveal the message. Figures."

She looked somewhat pacified after that, so Harry made to pocket it again but Luna requested to see it for some strange reason. Harry didn't bother to question her, not craving any kind of answer from her, but gave it to her readily, and as soon as she touched it, the parchment instantly ignited and fell in her hands and to the ground in ashes. Crookshanks, who had streamed over to them as soon as her lamp-like eyes spied the messenger boy, jumped back and hissed accusingly at Luna, who didn't seem startled whatsoever by an igniting letter. If anything, it made her eyes glaze over even more brightly.

Hermione turned to Harry after witnessing the auto-incineration. "Harry, this probably means that this meeting is top secret and very important," she intoned, almost in chastisement.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, probably, but I have so much homework." He knew he was riding his luck but was amused to notice that Hermione looked torn by his words: the apparent importance of this meeting and the certain importance of doing homework were warring against each other in her head, but eventually, a smile broke out on Harry's face as her expression turned into a scowl, to exasperation, and then to an amused shake of her head.

"Fine, Harry, I could lend you my notes."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, his face breaking into a broad grin.

Beside her, Ron looked scandalized. She ignored his spluttering and beseeching for similar favours, however, taking to pet Crookshanks, at whom Ron now glared, looking grossly underappreciated.

Later hours found Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Great Hall, enjoying their dinner along with the rest of the school. Harry dug into his shepherd's pie whilst Ron shovelled chicken wings and some tart into his mouth indiscriminately.

"Food is like a blowjob," Ron told them around a full mouth, while Hermione's eyes bulged and Nearly Headless Nick's narrowed cluelessly. "It doesn't matter if the person is a boy or girl - a mouth is a mouth - it has no face, it has no gender. Food is food whether it's sweet or salty."

Harry grew red and wondered if his friends were still suspicious of his orientation following the small Gryffindor boy who delivered Dumbledore's letter. His stomach flipped when Ron winked at him with cheeks bulging with, er, food. He grimaced back excitedly.

Harry was feeling apprehensive as well as excited about the meeting he would have with Dumbledore tonight. He wondered what the headmaster wished to discuss with him that was so significant that the letter had to be sent by a random student, have a spell that would ensure the message would appear only at his touch, and to self-detonate afterwards, or at least if Luna Lovegood touched it. Whatever it was, it gave him butterflies in his stomach. Somehow, dinner suddenly seemed indecisive of its procession, going back and forth; it felt at moments too long and at others too short. What was certain to him was that this meeting was not anything good; nothing coming out of that office was ever good.

Nevertheless, Harry steeled himself for the event, marshalling positive thoughts to course his mind instead of the negative ones that were going to leave him tense and discouraged. He kept trying to catch Dumbledore's eyes for a clue, but he got nothing for his efforts except a twinkling blue glance over half-moon glasses that revealed nothing. Harry tried to return the gesture with a smile, but amongst his cringing stomach, forced himself to eat for eating's sake, and his swirling thoughts, it probably turned out to look like the constipated grimace he gave Ron.

After coming up to Gryffindor Tower in an agitated and tense mood to settle his affairs - which included giving Hermione his Transfiguration essay on Trans-species Transfiguration and grinning smugly at Ron's indignant scowl - he journeyed to Dumbledore's office wearing still his school cloak over his Muggle clothes, as it turned out to be a little chilly outside. Not long enough a time later, he was standing before the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.

"Lemon Drops," he said firmly, remembering the cryptic clue Dumbledore had given him in the letter, and he swiped at his thigh to dry his sweating hands.

"Come in!" trilled a soft, muffled voice from beyond the large oaken doors after he rapped on them, having ascended the spiralling staircase. Harry took in a deep, bracing breath and opened the door.

"Ah, Harry my boy, good to see you!" sang Dumbledore, as though the sight of Harry was the highlight of his day. "May I entice you to a Mint Toffee?"

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Harry greeted, with a mixture of cautious cheer and apprehension.

The room was just as bright, welcoming, and cluttered as always. Various paraphernalia lay scattered on many surfaces, the numerous portraits looked down on him with a host of mixed expressions on their painted faces, some less welcoming than others (and Harry had seen a few of them frowning disapprovingly at Dumbledore for his overenthusiastic reaction), and Fawkes was perched regally on his wrought platform in his scarlet and golden glory.

He accepted the proffered Mint Toffees and, out of sheer nerves, popped more than few in his mouth at once.

"How has your term been thus far?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, beaming up at Harry.

Harry thought back to all the hell that characterized his school life thus far and couldn't decide where to begin.

"It could have been better," he answered finally, with a rueful smile, choosing to be vague and as brusque as possible; he was getting lockjaw from chewing five Mint Toffees all at once.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at him, and his eyes twinkled. However, the smile slowly fell, the beaming expression fizzled out, and the last trace of the twinkle in his eyes vanished altogether. "Very well. I think it's best we get to why you're here tonight before time makes fools of us."

Harry's insides turned cold at this. "Is this about Sirius?" he blurted out. Has he been caught? Is he all right? Is he alive?

"Yes, exactly what has my great-great-grandson been up to after his escape?" asked a sly voice from above. "I have seen him at Grimmauld Place not once."

"Thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore dismissively without looking at the portrait, thereby missing Phineas Nigellus' dignified but clearly affronted sniff. Dumbledore livened his lingering, wan smile. "No, Harry. I believe Sirius is quite fine at the moment. However, there are other very important issues that we need to deal with."

Dumbledore paused, and then he continued, "Harry, since the resurrection of Voldemort, there has been increasing tension amongst all. We have reason to believe that Voldemort is preparing to launch an attack very soon. He has been delighting almost absentmindedly in a couple of wanton skirmishes. This may serve as a message to inform all that he certainly is back and is to be feared." Dumbledore gazed back at Harry piercingly as though through his eyes he wished to communicate the sheer gravity of the situation.

Harry paled slightly at these words and his heart began hammering against his chest, a familiar dread encompassing him once more. Voldemort striking soon should have been expected. He forced himself to listen to Dumbledore speaking.

"We have to begin to prepare for open war as soon as possible, and this means primarily preparing you, Harry."

Amongst the sharpening of ears of the portraits above them, Harry found his hands getting clammy again.

"How do you mean?" he managed to croak.

Dumbledore eyed him steadily, a touch of commiseration and apology in his eyes. Then he leant back in his chair and touched his fingertips together.

"I mean, you have to be trained for war, we have to minimize your vulnerabilities, and educate you on your enemy so you know how best to tackle him."

He was going to become a soldier. He was going to be trained for war, a war that he had to lead, and to finish. This was it. He had known this would come one day after seeing Voldemort reborn, it had been a permanent cloud at the back of his head - a lingering, morbid eventuality that attacked him unawares - in his sleep, in his thoughts, everywhere. And what accompanied that knowledge was the impotent rage stemming from the fact that he was targeted by the whole of the Wizarding world for this, that his purpose was defined by others when he became the Boy Who Lived, that everyone around him expected him to do this. He couldn't speak through the sheer overwhelming thoughts flitting through his mind as he relived those familiar grey feelings, distinctly the thought of the moment when Voldemort rose again. He thought Dumbledore was speaking again...

"I have thus arranged for us to meet in my office twice on the weekends since you will be occupied with your schoolwork on weekdays."

Harry nodded absently, somewhat registering the words.

Dumbledore's eyes grew dull, their twinkle absent, and in front of Harry Dumbledore seemed to assume every digit of his age and look every bit of it. "Harry, this is to prepare you for what is to come. Do you think you can make those times or should we reschedule?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "The weekend is fine," he said, wincing at how his voice broke a little. He paused to collect himself and then said more firmly, "I can make it."

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "Then it's settled." His expression sobered, the lines of his face making it brittle and hard. "Furthermore, there's one detail we should to discuss."

Harry forced his breathing to normalize. He gazed back steadily at the headmaster for him to continue. "Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a moment, but he spoke nonetheless.

"I said you will learn more about your enemy," he began, while Fawkes flustered about strangely on his perch for a spell. "This is not compulsory. However, I feel that it is time I repent from my mistakes, an old man's grave mistakes, Harry, and to finally enlighten you on some of the questions you asked me in your first year here." Dumbledore looked down, his face sad and uncharacteristically contrite, and his hands spread out on the smooth oak of his desk.

"Really. I don't understand, Dumbledore, why you have to answer to such bedraggled and clearly insolent... students." It couldn't have been clearer that Phineas Nigellus Black had had a far less polite term in mind. "'The weekend is fine,' as if you're entitled to a choice. Headmaster or no headmaster, I would never have allowed such--"

"That will do, Phineas," said Dumbledore a little more sternly.

Ignoring Black, Harry thought he had never seen Dumbledore acting like this, and it scared him. It scared him more than the words themselves. Why was Dumbledore saying things like that? What was going on? What had suddenly happened, suddenly changed? Couldn't he just reverse what had just happened between the two of them and go back to the Gryffindor common room with nothing to worry about? But no, Dumbledore's words penetrated him to the bone. Surely, Dumbledore didn't make mistakes. He only realized now how childish the thought was. But who cares? His headmaster - the only man Voldemort feared, one of the most powerful wizards alive, if not the greatest - was talking in parables and acting strangely; it was deeply unsettling to him.

"Yes, sir," was all Harry could say - his throat had suddenly turned to sawdust. Trepidation blossomed inside him for what would follow from now on, whether in here or out there where Voldemort was. He would find out what exactly what the process would entail on the weekend, four days from that day. He swallowed thickly and tried to calm himself.

Dumbledore smiled back at him, but it didn't reach his eyes, which were now tainted with emotions Harry couldn't decipher.

"Very well, Harry." Dumbledore then cleared his throat delicately. "Now, I have homework for you." Seeing the suddenly bemused expression on Harry's face, he continued, "I would like for you to start meditating, every night, before you sleep - clear your mind of all thought and concentrate on nothing. Sit still, do not move, but leave your mind blank. You will need this for some of our lessons to come."

This caught Harry off guard. Nevertheless he said, "Yes, Professor."

He couldn't fully dwell on the peculiarity of Dumbledore's latest request - his mind was still reeling with the words and actions of Dumbledore and the news he was being told about the lessons, preparing for war, and especially about 'mistakes' that Dumbledore had made in the past. Of all that Dumbledore had told him, what threw him off the most was these 'mistakes' and Dumbledore's strange demeanour when he confessed this. For it was hard to attribute anything unsavoury to Dumbledore; Harry loved his man and trusted him absolutely, thought the world of him.

He vaguely registered Fawkes giving a brief, melodious trill.

Things had turned serious in too short a space of time: minutes ago, he had entered this office feeling relatively peaceful, light, and content, with no problems and only paltry complaints such as overbearing homework or Professor Snape. Now he would be leaving this office with a mind a few worries heavier.

Dumbledore smiled again. "Excellent. I hope I haven't wasted too much of your time. You best be off to your House. If there's anything you wished to ask me...?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, catching himself just barely before automatically uttering, 'No, sir'. He had so many questions to ask, and he thought Dumbledore knew this. Perhaps the man asked him this just to be polite, as he always was, or perhaps he was manipulatively relying on Harry to answer instinctively 'No, sir' so that he wouldn't have to answer to anything. Perhaps that could partly explain that short brittle aura about him that Harry had witnessed a few moments earlier. Nevertheless, he didn't want to find that out, not just yet, if there was anything to find out.

"No, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will see you on Saturday at eight o'clock in the morning for our first lesson. Have a good night, Harry. You're welcome to some more Mint Toffees..." Again, he held out the bowl to Harry with an amused smile on his face, which somehow didn't fit. Harry smiled back as he stood up and took more of the proffered sweets, never wanting to disappoint his mentor, and curiously, especially tonight.

"Thanks, sir. Goodnight."

He stepped out of the office, his mind dancing with thoughts competing for attention as he made his way into the corridor and up to Gryffindor Tower, all along trying, and failing, to keep them at bay. This explained why he didn't notice Dumbledore slipping out of from behind the gargoyle guarding his office and turning to go down a separate hallway.

What was that all about? What would these new lessons entail? What would he be learning? How would he be 'prepared'? Harry idly hugged himself tighter as he passed a shadow he thought to be the moon blocked by a statue, and continued hurriedly to the portrait of the Fat Lady in Gryffindor Tower, since there was a slight, chilly breeze.

Before Harry could even set a foot down into the common room, two blurs of hair came flying at him.

"So? What did Dumbledore say?" Hermione whispered frantically, eyes widened in anticipation, whizzing back and forth between his own, while Ron nodded vigorously.

"Can I at least sit down first?" Harry said warily, a little amusement creeping into his voice, which he welcomed after being clouded by his depressing musings upon leaving Dumbledore's office.

Initially, Ron and Hermione looked bewildered as though Harry had just spoken Gobbledegook, but then together, they flustered about for him to join them at the couches in front of the fireplace. Harry settled himself into the plush, scarlet couch and attempted to compose his words and thoughts as he stared into the cackling fire.

His two friends sat expectantly opposite him, almost leaning forward enough to topple over their seats. Apparently, a letter bearing a superior Script-Concealment Charm had piqued Hermione, and the fact that it had been able to ignite upon Luna Lovegood also held Ron's interest. He couldn't help notice they were sitting rather closely to each other.

Harry exhaled before beginning. "Dumbledore said that..." But he couldn't help a grin touching his lips when Ron's hand shot out to a neighbouring couch to brace himself before falling off his seat after the both of them leant even more forward out of their seats as he started speaking. However, the smile fell as soon as it had come. "I have to prepare for the war that's coming."

It was clearly not what his friends had expected him to say: Ron looked comically confused, and Hermione looked similarly flummoxed.

"'Prepare for war?'" Hermione finally asked, with an undercurrent of polite scepticism in her tone as though she couldn't believe Dumbledore found it proper for Harry, a mere peer of her own, to be trained for war.

Harry nodded solemnly before he lowered his voice so the surrounding students couldn't hear. "Since Voldemort--" Both friends flinched. "--has come back to life I have to start to prepare for when I meet him again. And judging by the current trend, I think that meeting might not be that far off." Harry refused to think about the last time him and Voldemort 'met'.

Both of his friends looked visibly shaken: Ron's eyes were bulged impossibly out of their sockets, and Hermione's face had gone a few shades paler. There was silence for a moment in which they absorbed his words. Harry thought it was remarkable that they hadn't even met Voldemort and yet such fear emanated from them. But he had, had seen him three times thus far, seen the horrors of which the man was capable, and he couldn't react like them, not with so much fear.

If Harry was truly honest with himself, if he thought too long on it, he knew he did secretly fear Voldemort, and he did fear to die; it was only human to do so, but this fear was vastly eclipsed by the intense hatred and fury he had towards that pale face with the red slits for eyes. How he seethed upon thinking about him. A fierce culmination of vengeance, unmitigated rage, and overwhelming fury seemed to smother that fear he harboured for the man, but not vanquish it completely.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew he was looking forward to meeting with Voldemort again face to face, to do what he wanted to ever since he learnt that he was the one responsible for his parents' death, and especially - he was ashamed to admit - after he killed Cedric as well, right in front of him, no less. He hated Voldemort for making him an orphan, hated him for tainting his innocence by making him witness a death, and hated him for threatening the lives of everyone he loved. Merlin knew he wanted to rip his reincarnated flesh from piece to piece with his bare hands, and...

"Harry?" A tentative query.

Harry snapped out of his raging thoughts to see the tongues of the fire in the hearth and the candles in the common room flickering and leaning strangely towards him, Hermione's quill and parchments vibrating on the round desk, his own robes fluttering as though there was a wind nearby, and finally, his friends' bewildered and worried faces.

One of these faces turned awed and impressed.

"Merlin's toenails!" Ron exclaimed, wonder evident in his voice and glittering in his eyes as he gaped at Harry.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished sharply, seeming to reprimand him with her eyes as well, as though communicating through them, whereupon Ron seemed to understand and accordingly contained himself. Harry wondered when this had started to happen as he watched a doleful Ron sulking but with some awe lingering in his face.

What just happened to him? Perhaps it was that raw magic thing he accidentally used to do when he was young, throwing tantrums.

"Harry," Hermione chastised softly, "you need to control yourself." She looked around at the common room indicatively at the curious glances coming their way.

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. Then she asked, "So Dumbledore told you you're going to be prepared for war? How so?"

"I don't know," Harry confessed, and petted Crookshanks after she had jumped onto his lap, whereupon Ron's face had done a complete turnaround, morphing from amazed-looking to a haunted scowl. "He's going to start teaching me on Saturdays and Sundays from now on." He failed to tell them of Dumbledore's strangeness in that meeting.

Hermione's and Ron's eyes widened to the size of their elfish counterparts.

"Dumbledore is going to teach you himself?" Ron asked loudly, as though it was a huge honour to be taught by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry, belatedly, had an inkling it was, and a trifle of pride sprouted within him. Hermione's face looked now tinged with a little green instead of the stark paleness it had previously assumed; Harry observed that jealousy didn't look good on her.

"What is he going to teach you?" asked Hermione, and Harry could swear she almost spat out the 'teach' word, and if she did, then she held it off just barely.

"He wasn't specific," he answered her cautiously. "He just said that I need to be trained for war, minimize my vulnerabilities, and be educated on my enemy."

Ron sat back in his chair with a mixed expression, which Harry knew Seamus would think was an achievement on its own: Seamus was of the opinion Ron was not the most complicated of people. Hermione, on the other hand, had a calculating, thoughtful frown on her face and stayed silent for a moment. Harry studied the fire as it cackled and licked the air, a few sparks falling into the logs. He idly wondered when Sirius would fire-call him...

"'Trained for war' - that could mean you'll be taught advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, possibly. 'Minimize your vulnerabilities' - maybe shutting down the connection Voldemort has to your mind or something else. Perhaps improve your eyesight?"

Harry tried to remain not affronted, and Ron stifled a snicker with a cough. Hermione didn't notice any of this.

"And 'educate you on your enemy'. Perhaps he'll teach you about You-Know-Who's own weaknesses, if he has any, so you can capitalize on them."

Harry once again found himself awed by Hermione's shrewdness and thought how lucky he was.

"I think you're right about the shutting off my connection with him: Dumbledore said I should try every night to clear my mind before I go to sleep - meditate, sort of."

Hermione's eyes went round again, and understanding dawned on her face. "He's going to be teaching you Occlumency, Harry!"

"Oh yeah," Ron said belatedly, wearing a sheepish expression, as though he had already been thinking of it.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously.

Hermione's features morphed such that Harry knew he was going to receive a lecture. He braced himself.

"Occlumency--" Here, Hermione glanced sideways at Ron, as though inwardly disgusted that he hadn't taken the opportunity to tell Harry about it himself, since he was a pureblood, who has lived in the magical world all his life, and generally more magically aware than either her or Harry. "--is about clearing your mind and finding an inner peace so that you can reach a state of calm where you are not easily affected by your emotions. Occlumency can also give you some protection from Legilimency."

She finished off with that ever-present hint of pride in her voice for knowing something someone else didn't. It was a very slight thing, negligible in fact, but it was there nonetheless. No one can be perfect, Harry and Ron would always conclude together.

Even more puzzled and feeling distinctly dumber, Harry asked almost exasperatedly, "What's that now?"

Hermione looked put-upon but in an amused way.

"Legilimency--" Again she stared pointedly at Ron as though expecting him to say something, not outright glaring but clearly on the brink of it. "--is the skill of, for want of a better phrase, 'reading people's minds'. It also acts as sort of polygraph for the Legilimens performing that Legilimency. You can see into the other person's mind and view their memories and you can also see what the person is currently thinking. This is all very complex and it's not as simple as I'm explaining it. If anything I'm insulting the intricacies of the two things, actually..."

Harry was amazed at this. You could read people's minds? There was so much he didn't know about magic. Curse the Dursleys.

Ron, doing his utmost best to ignore Crookshanks, was nodding at him knowingly as though he had said all of this.

Hermione was nodding and smiling too. "Occlumency - occlude - block. Legilimency - legible - read." Her smile broadened as Harry's eyes swelled even further in comprehension. On a more serious note and darker tone, Hermione went on, "Dumbledore's probably going to teach you Occlumency so you can block out You-Know-Who from your mind."

Harry was puzzled by this. "But why block him out if I can see what he does through the connection so that I can tell again who else Voldemort captured or killed or whatever he's planning?" he asked. Crookshanks jumped off his lap and whizzed away with his bottlebrush tail erect in salutation. Ron looked relieved.

"Maybe," she began slowly, thinking as she said it, it seemed, possibly remembering Harry telling her and Ron about the vision in which Voldemort and Wormtail kill a Muggle in an abandoned house , "maybe Dumbledore suspects that You-Know-Who can somehow manipulate the connection he has with you, so that what you see isn't real and tricks you into going somewhere to save someone like how you would normally tend to do, and get yourself killed in the process," she finished, in a chastising tone.

Harry rustled at the reference to his apparent 'hero-complex,' as Hermione dubbed it. "Probably," he said meekly.

Ron shuddered deeply at the thought of having to share a mind with You-Know-Who. "That's good an' all, mates, but... blimey, Harry, how did you do that?" It seemed Ron was still taken by the phenomenon following Harry's raw magic a few threads of dialogue back.

Hermione looked offended she was referred to as a 'mate,' judging by the slight pursing of her lips and the sideway glance she shot at Ron that was something more than disapproving, both missed by Harry.

"I was just angry, thinking about Voldemort and what he has done," he replied, in a flat tone. He was also secretly amazed he could still do that at his age, and it left him feeling distinctly less mature.

Ron's look of awe remained. He made to say something but held himself after one look from Hermione.

"Well, Harry, at least you'll be in good hands with Dumbledore. I mean, who else would you rather be taught by?"

The tinge of green flickered back in her face for a few seconds but went away again, replaced by anxiety and worry.

"This means that the war is about to start in earnest. He's back."

She jumped up and started pacing a trench in front of the fire, the golden light making her hair glow and look fierce.

"Harry, we also have to start preparing ourselves," she said finally, after Harry counted her pacing eight steps. He looked up at her uncertainly as did Ron. She continued her silent pacing.

"What do you mean 'preparing ourselves'?" asked Ron warily, never one desiring to be acquainted with work.

"I mean, Ron--" She glared at him finally, her blazing mane and the fireplace backdrop accentuating the look. "--we have to start some sort of club or something where we can come together and practice defence. Harry," she said, turning to him with a pleading look, "maybe you can teach us what Dumbledore teaches you in his lessons."

"Er--er--of course, yeah, sure," Harry agreed uncertainly, wanting to reassure her. However, what if he was not going to be taught advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts? These were only assumptions, albeit astute ones but conjectures nonetheless. How disappointed would she be?

Hermione nodded and started pacing as she worried her lower lip and tapped her fingers on her shoulder. "Yes, we assemble some people who care about fighting this war and defending their loved ones, meet in an abandoned classroom, maybe once a week, and train there, so that we also can be prepared for this war." She looked like she was trying to be strong, but Harry suspected she, too, was scared under that determined veneer. The darkest wizard of the century had returned to full power and was looming in the unknown, but would soon present himself openly. It was only a matter of time.

"We'll do it, Hermione," he encouraged firmly, wanting to brace his friend and be strong for all of them; he felt like he owed them that.

Ron nodded alongside him. "Yeah, Mione, let's do this... defence club thing, now that everyone knows that You-Know-Who's back."

Hermione nodded as well. "We'll get through this, we have to." Her eyes lost focus for a few seconds. "I need to work out the logistics of this meeting thing and get things started and organized," she said quietly, almost as an aside. "Excuse me." She returned to her place on the couch and started finishing off her homework.

Harry remembered that he hadn't even started on his work yet. Suddenly, he felt exhausted and miserable. He grabbed on a lifesaver. "Hermione, you said I could use your notes..." Before he even finished his sentence, she slid a few pieces of parchment from under her work towards him and continued the sentence she was writing. Harry grinned. "Thanks," he said, but he was given a wave of her hand which practically said, 'Shove off.'

Ron grumbled indignantly under his breath as he watched Harry claim the footnoted notes and then went to do his own homework, surprisingly. But he was immediately distracted - and a look of tremendous relief crossed his face - by Seamus and Dean after they came over to them. They started an animated conversation about the toys they enjoyed over their summer from his twin brothers' joke shop, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Seamus shared, "Me batty aunt came over to visit and this time around it was a good thing she brought that funny cat of hers. It found one of me Explosive Éclairs in the sofa and they both left the house the same day with half the fur they came in with! Aunt Maeve looks loads younger now! And she's engaged now, if you can believe it!"

The topic then invariably drew to Quidditch, which Harry dredged up the courage to join after shooting a wary glance at Hermione, whose eyebrows were tightly knitted together in disapproval while her quill skated so feverishly over her parchment that her table trembled.

It soon became apparent that it wasn't only Harry, love Quidditch though he may, who had a few complaints about the gruelling training sessions which had started in earnest even though the Quidditch season was a comfortably long way off. Angelina Johnson, it seemed, was taking no chances and looked to follow in the footsteps of her predecessor, or at least attempt to (Oliver Wood's training regime and enthusiasm was a force to be reckoned with and by no means easily matched or, more ambitiously, surmounted).

"You'd think we were vying for the World Cup," Seamus said, casting a mixed glance of irritation and admiration at Angelina bent over her homework, her dark, long braids flowing over the back of her chair and quivering slightly in tune with her scribbling quill.

"Maybe she's scared we'll become the Hogwarts Chudley Cannons with her, and she'll send us to the relegation zone," suggested Dean, who had his hand under his chin and who observed their subject with a touch of sympathy in his dark-brown eyes.

"Oliver would suffer a stroke just hearing you say that if he were still captain," Harry warned quickly, over the reddening of Ron's cheeks; Ron was clearly offended.

Good things come to an end, and when Dean and Seamus finally left, Ron and Harry were left to return to their blanks parchments, and Harry found his concentration absent and in its place was seductive sleepiness, and seeing Hermione packing up her things loudly and pompously and sweeping off towards the girls' dormitory to her calling bed was hugely irritating.

Eyelids droopy, Ron and Harry turned to each other blankly. They shrugged simultaneously before stuffing their incomplete homework into their bags and heading for their own beds in the boys' dormitory after making sure Hermione was out of sight.

Before going to bed, Harry tried meditation as Dumbledore had assigned him to do. He changed into his pyjamas and sat crossed legged on his bed. Trying to empty his mind as instructed, he soon found that it was much harder than it sounded, but a few minutes into it saw him being more aware of his own heartbeat and his even breathing, and a nice, thin patina of contentedness soothed him, something he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was only moments later that he met oblivion.

Back down in the common room, Sirius' face flickered into the flames of the hearth, and upon seeing the room empty, the crestfallen apparition vanished once again.