Intersections

Chapter 10: Lessons

Harry woke to the feeling of something scrabbling over him and lightly scratching his face. With a frown, he sat up, letting out a shout as he saw a fat rat running down his legs and disappearing into the corner behind Ron's pile of books and parchment. Something about rats niggled at the back of his mind, but before he could place a finger on it, Ron sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "S'matter, mate?" he asked. "Another nightmare?"

"No," Harry answered with a frown, picking at the frayed edges of the blanket. "There was - a rat..." He trailed off as Ron let out a loud snore. "Right then," he sighed. He'd woken Ron up every other night this week, screaming and flailing as he watched Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on his mother and himself, and while he was glad that he hadn't had to experience it again tonight, he dearly wished he could have one night of long, uninterrupted sleep. Ever since Voldemort's hatred had pulsed through him that one rainy night at Privet Drive, he hadn't been able to sleep for more than five hours at a time.

He stared out into the dark garden, watching as a lone figure rose up on a broomstick and began to make loops in the air. Ginny had sneaked out to practice Quidditch again; Harry knew that she was the Seeker for the Gryffindor House team. Ron and Ginny had taught him all about flying, Quidditch, and Hogwarts Houses for the past few days. Harry closed his eyes, smiling slightly as he remembered his first flying lesson.

"Everyone in position? Good. Right, so, try lifting up in the air," said Ron, giving Harry and Hermione an encouraging grin. Ginny hovered up in the air nearby.

Hermione gripped the broomstick under her tightly, looking as if she were going to be sick. "How? Do we just kick off? From the ground?" Her feet were planted firmly on the grass, and they didn't appear to be moving any time soon.

"Yeah. Relax your grip a little - you'll get better control of the broom that way." Ron poked at Hermione's fingers. "Relax, Hermione!"

Hermione huffed, her cheeks pink, but she let Ron take her fingers and position them correctly.

Harry loosened his fingers slightly, shut his eyes, and thought of how he felt when he ate the Fizzing Whizbee on Boxing Day, weightless and free in the air for a few seconds. Without waiting for Hermione, he kicked off quickly from the ground, a fierce joy rushing through him as he soared through the air, the wind blowing his hair back from his face and making his eyes water. Ron cheered, and Ginny zoomed toward him and weaved around. He matched her movement, watching the sunlight give her bright red hair streaks of gold.

"Are you sure you've never flown before?" she yelled, flying under him as he dared to turn his broomstick upside down.

"I don't know," he answered, righting himself. He thought of the dream he had with his parents and Sirius Black.

"What does that mean?"

Harry grinned and shot downward toward Ron and Hermione, ignoring Hermione's squeals of terror as, with a rush of excitement, he nosedived toward the ground, pulling himself up at the last minute with a sharp breath. He smiled broadly as his feet hit the grass, his heart pumping with pride and adrenaline.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled. "That was so dangerous -"

"Bloody hell!" Ron interrupted, looking at Harry in amazement. "That was brilliant! A real Wronski Feint, Ginny, did you see that?"

Ginny landed and looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. "You'd be a good Seeker," she said. "If only you played on the House team...I could finally play Chaser..."

As Harry reviewed the rules of Quidditch in his head, he watched Ginny dance in the air, her long hair twirling behind her like a glimmering moonlit skirt. An odd disappointment washed over him as she landed and began walking back toward the house. He heard a faint creak as she opened the back door and came inside, and then another as she shut her bedroom door.

Laying down, Harry tried to imagine what his life would be like if he'd gone to Hogwarts. He knew that first-years were sorted into one of the four Hogwarts Houses. Each House was like its own family, with its own common room, set of dormitories, and amount of points that could be gained or lost by House members. Harry figured he would've liked Hogwarts much more than Stonewall, where he'd been outcast, alone, and indifferent to everyone until Hermione came along. At Hogwarts, he probably would've been in Gryffindor with the Weasleys and best friends with Ron and Hermione.

Ron and Ginny claimed that there were three "good" Houses and one "bad" House. All of the Weasleys were in Gryffindor ("for the brave of heart"), though they had friends in Ravenclaw ("bookworms") and Hufflepuff ("a little boring but loyal"). Slytherin House was an enemy to all of the others; apparently it was full of Death Eaters' children or "pureblood idiots who hated Muggles," notably one "slimy bastard named Draco Malfoy." Harry still had trouble believing that someone actually existed with that name, but Ron had assured him that Draco Malfoy was unfortunately quite real.

Harry pondered whether Slytherin was really as evil as Ron and Ginny had claimed. After all, at Stonewall, people had claimed Harry was a juvenile delinquent, but that was an outright lie. He didn't doubt that there were Death Eaters' children in Slytherin House, but surely not all of the Slytherins were "useless, slimy snakes."

With a shrug, Harry let his thoughts wander, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. In the corner, a large grey rat with one missing toe crept out onto the floor, scampering down the stairs to the kitchen and nestling itself in the pantry.

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Hermione cast Harry and Ron a disapproving look as they helped themselves to some breakfast the next morning. "I see that you're ready and dressed to go to Diagon Alley," she said, looking up from her perusal of the newspaper.

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he looked down at his blue- and green-striped pajamas.

"There's nothing wrong with eating breakfast in your pajamas," said Ron, his mouth full of eggs. "It's the holidays, after all." He shrugged.

Hermione glared at him fiercely and swept upward, dropping her plate in the sink with a loud clang and stalking out of the kitchen.

Ron looked after her, befuddled. "Is she always like that?" he demanded, turning to Harry.

Harry looked back at him, equally bewildered. "No." He'd never known Hermione to have a temper.

"Girls," Ron sighed, shaking his head and pouring himself some orange - no, pumpkin - juice.

"Yeah." An image of Ginny flying in the moonlight flashed through Harry's mind, and he felt his face flush as he tried to shake the thought from his head. He grabbed the newspaper curiously. This was the first one he'd seen since arriving at the Burrow. The title of the newspaper, the Daily Prophet, stood out in big black letters above an equally bold headline.

Death Eaters Attack Major Muggle Underground Stop

The Dark Mark floated high in the sky as over 300 Muggles were evacuated and rescued from Paddington Station, a major Muggle Underground stop, on the night of New Year's Eve. Five unidentified Death Eaters stormed the station and began to Stun and hex Muggle passersby while casting Blasting Curses on the train and on the walls of the station. Ministry Aurors rushed onto the scene and drove off the Death Eaters before they could cause any more damage; however, no Death Eaters were apprehended. While no Muggles were killed, several were injured and directed to the nearest Muggle hospital with the help of local Muggle authorities.

The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, stated that this act of violence was the work of "rogue radicals who had a tragic hate for Muggles," and that it was not at all related to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Underneath the article, a large picture showed the glowing Dark Mark illuminating the partially collapsed Paddington Station. Frazzled policemen moved in out of the frame.

Harry frowned. He'd never been to Paddington Station, but he had a feeling that it was important to Hermione. Perhaps her old school or house had been nearby.

After finishing the rest of his breakfast, he went to Ron's room and changed into a jumper and jeans, pulling on Ron's old black wizard's robe over it. The sleeves billowed slightly as he held his arms out, and the fabric swished about his ankles. Harry grimaced slightly; he almost felt as if he were wearing Dudley's old hand-me-downs, even though he had fitting clothes underneath.

"Hey, mate, you ready? Dad and Sturgis are already waiting downstairs." Ron stood at the doorway expectantly. Harry guiltily noted the dark circles that stood out prominently on the freckled face. Ron shot him a strange look. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "Just a bit nervous about getting my wand, that's all."

A look of envy passed over Ron's face. "I've never been to Ollivander's - I have to use my brother Charlie's old wand." An embarrassed flush crept up his face. "Wands are expensive," he mumbled, and he scuffed the carpet with his toe.

Harry knew very well what it felt like to not be able to afford something. "I never had any money in the Muggle world," he told Ron. "Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon never gave me pocket money or bought me anything new till this year. They always spent all of their money on my cousin, Dudley."

Ron looked immensely cheered, and then a questioning expression came over his face. "I wonder who's paying for your wand, then."

"Definitely not my aunt and uncle," said Harry, shaking his head emphatically. Although they'd been treating him more nicely, they'd flatly refused to acknowledge his existence on Boxing Day when he'd left to go to the magical world. "They hate magic."

Ron plopped down onto his bright orange bed, his face still curious. "That bad, huh?"

Harry nodded shortly and went down the stairs. He hadn't told Ron much about his life at the Dursleys. He'd simply told his new friend that he'd gone to the local Muggle school, tried to keep his marks up, and avoided his aunt and uncle when he could. Although life at Privet Drive hadn't been too terrible once Harry had started at Stonewall, he didn't want Ron to know that he'd slept in a cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of his life or that he'd basically been a servant to his relatives until he'd ended up in hospital.

"Ah, there you are, Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. Sturgis, the square-jawed wizard, nodded once at him in acknowledgement, while Hermione gave him a strained smile. "If you'll just hold still for a moment - we're going to put glamour charms on both of you so that you won't be recognized." He tapped Harry's head once with his wand, and Harry felt his hair fall down flat onto his face. It changed from jet black to light brown and brushed the tips of his eyelashes, covering his scar. His spectacles also changed from round, black frames to square, tortoise-shell ones. Next to him, Hermione's hair changed from bushy brown to a sleek blonde, and her eyes from brown to blue. She blinked rapidly.

"What happened to my eyes?" she asked curiously, staring at the new Harry and picking up a strand of blonde hair, examining it with fascination.

"Your eyes are blue now," said Harry.

"Really? That's incredible. Eye color is genetic - I didn't think you could ever change it -"

"We didn't exactly change it," Mr. Weasley said, leading them out into the back garden. "It's just a temporary charm. It'll wear off in a couple of hours."

Hermione nodded, though she still looked as if she were burning with questions.

"We're going to Apparate," said Mr. Weasley, checking his watch. "Hermione, grab my arm and hold on tight. Harry, grab onto Sturgis. On the count of three - one - two - three - go!"

Harry gasped as he felt his whole body being squeezed as if through a very thin, very high-pressure tube. When the squeezing sensation stopped, he and Sturgis were standing at the end of a street in front of a shabby, narrow shop, whose small window displayed a wand lying on a faded purple cushion. Harry tried to look around at the rest of Diagon Alley, but Sturgis blocked his view and forcefully pushed him inside, Mr. Weasley and Hermione followed closely behind. Harry caught a glimpse of a sign above the door that said "Ollivander's Wand Shop."

"Ah, Mr. Potter," said a soft voice from the dusty shadows. Harry jumped as an ancient, wispy-haired man appeared at his side. "I wondered when I would finally be seeing you."

"Mr. Ollivander, sir," said Harry nervously.

"And this must be Miss Granger," said Ollivander, looking past Harry's shoulder at Hermione. Harry suddenly remembered the glamour charms and wondered how Ollivander could recognize them. "Which one of you would like to go first?"

"Go ahead, Hermione," said Harry, seeing the eager look on Hermione's face. Hermione stepped forward.

"Wand arm?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"Right arm, sir?" Hermione said, questioningly.

"Very well, hold it out then," he said, puttering about the shelves as a tape measure danced around Hermione's outstretched arm.

"Ah, yes. Try this one." He set down five boxes on the counter and opened one of them, pulling out a wooden stick. "Oak, ten inches, unicorn hair...well, what are you waiting for? Give it a wave."

Hermione waved the wand, and Harry ducked as several boxes came flying toward his head.

"Perhaps not," said Ollivander, gazing at Hermione with wide silvery eyes. He frowned and pulled out a box from one of the shelves. "Try this one. Nine and a half inches, dragon heartstring, ash."

Hermione jumped backward as she accidentally set the floor on fire.

"No matter," Ollivander said, looking considerably livelier than he had before. The fire extinguished itself as he handed Hermione another wand. "Try this. Ten inches, willow, dragon heartstring."

This time, Hermione managed to cover the counter in ice. "Is there something wrong with me, sir?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh, no, no, no. The wand chooses the witch, Miss Granger. Your wand is here waiting for you. We have yet to find it."

Hermione looked at Harry worriedly. Harry attempted to look reassuring, but in reality he was quite entertained by Hermione's mishaps so far.

"Ah yes...a tad unusual..." Ollivander muttered. "Try this one, Miss Granger. Vine wood, dragon heartstring, ten and a half inches. Very versatile."

Hermione waved the wand, her eyes lighting up as a series of blue and gold sparks flowed through the air. "I think this is it," she said wondrously. "I can feel it."

Ollivander smiled peculiarly. "Yes, Miss Granger, you are correct." He turned his silver eyes onto Harry. "Are you ready, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded, stepping forward. He held out his right arm and watched as the tape measure began to measure the length of his forearms, wrists, and fingers.

"I remember your father and mother, you know," said Ollivander, going toward the back shelves and pulling out several boxes. "It seems like just yesterday that they were in here, getting their wands. James Potter...mahogany, eleven inches, pliable, excellent for Transfiguration. Lily Evans...willow, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, nice wand for charm work. I do wonder what that combination could produce..."

Harry tried many more wands than Hermione, accidentally breaking glass, flooding the store, and turning one of the boxes into a mouse in the process. The pile of wands stacked higher and higher, and Harry began to get frustrated and impatient. Ollivander, on the other hand, seemed to become more and more excited with each attempt.

"Oh, no, that won't do at all..." Ollivander muttered, shaking his head and plucking the length of poplar out of Harry's hand. "I wonder..." He turned his silvery gaze onto Harry's forehead. "Curious..." He disappeared to the very back of the store for a moment, carrying a dusty wooden box when he emerged. Laying it down on the counter, he took it out almost reverently and handed it to Harry. "Try this one. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather, a very unusual combination..."

Harry grasped the wand, his eyes widening as his whole body tingled and a stream of brilliant red and gold sparks shot out of the wand. "This is it," he breathed, feeling the magic thrum through his veins.

"Very curious," Ollivander said, his eyes flicking to Harry's scar. His voice was as soft as it'd been when they first entered the shop.

"What is it, sir?" asked Harry, unnerved.

"The phoenix whose feather is in your wand only gave one other feather, for one other wand," Ollivander replied. "That wand is the one that gave you your scar."

"You mean..." Harry stared at Ollivander in disbelief, and he felt a wave of dizziness strike him. "You mean my wand is related to Voldemort's?"

"Brother wands, yes," said Ollivander, still in the same soft tone. "I think we can expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. For He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Harry's palms sweated, and he looked down at the wand with horror, resisting the urge to throw it as far away from as possible. He nearly dropped it as he stepped backward, crashing into Hermione with a grunt. Mr. Weasley, who had been standing outside with Sturgis guarding the door, came in and handed Ollivander a handful of gold coins, quickly escorting the teenagers outside.

"We're not going anywhere else," said Mr. Weasley, "it's not safe." He lowered his voice. "Professor Lupin will bring the rest of your materials when he comes to to each you. Grab my arm, quickly, now." As soon as they were ready, Mr. Weasley nodded sharply at Sturgis and disappeared with Hermione as a loud crack! rent the air. Harry caught a glimpse of a black-robed figure walking towards him as the squeezing sensation threatened to crush his body again. When the Burrow's back garden reappeared, Sturgis waved his wand to take off Harry's glamour, told Harry to quickly get inside, and disappeared with another crack!

Harry entered the kitchen to find a hook-nosed man sitting at the table, sipping a cup of tea. He had long, greasy black hair and fathomless black eyes, and he looked oddly familiar. Hermione was nowhere to be seen.

"Harry, this is Professor Snape," Mr. Weasley said. "He's going to be teaching you Occlumency. Professor Snape, this is Harry." He smiled warmly at Harry and left the kitchen, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Snape sneered at Harry, disgust rolling off of him in waves. Harry squared his shoulders and extended his hand nervously. "Professor Snape, sir. Harry Potter."

Snape did not shake Harry's hand. "I am well aware of who you are," he sneered, and he gestured for Harry to sit down. Harry did, watching the professor warily. "Put your wand away, boy," Snape sneered, and Harry looked down at the wand clutched tightly in his right hand. Harry stuck it into the pocket of Ron's old robe. "Now," said Snape softly, "do you even know what Occlumency is, Potter?"

"It's the defense of the mind against external attacks, sir," Harry quipped, remembering Dumbledore's explanation.

Snape sneered. "Very good, Potter. I see that you do have some intelligence in that miniscule brain of yours."

Harry felt his face heat in anger. He'd barely met Snape two minutes ago, and the man was already insulting him. He looked down at the table, avoiding Snape's eyes.

"Already losing focus, Potter?" Snape said softly, coming around the table and standing over Harry. "I should've known. Your father could only ever focus on the Golden Snitch - his attention span was too short to pay attention to anything slower."

"Don't insult my father," Harry hissed, feeling a white-hot anger rush through him.

"Precious James Potter," said Snape, his voice dripping with contempt. "He died a fool, you know. The idiot thought that he didn't need his wand against the Dark Lord..."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to muster up the indifference that he used to use to shield himself in the hallways of Stonewall High and the walls of Privet Drive. Snape was just another classmate who thought he was a freak...Snape couldn't hurt him...Snape -

"Look at me, Potter!" Snape snarled, and Harry jumped in his chair, glaring fiercely at the professor. Something clicked in the back of Harry's mind as he took in the sallow skin and crooked teeth that were currently an inch away from his face.

"You're Severus!" Harry blurted out, remembering the photograph in the album of his mother.

Snape looked faintly surprised for a moment, but he quickly collected himself. "Excuse me, Potter?" he said in a dangerously quiet tone. "Did I give you permission to use my first name?"

"No, sir," Harry protested, "but -"

"You will be quiet, Potter," Snape said softly. "You will listen. You will not interrupt me. You will address me as 'sir' at all times. You will not use my first name. You will not talk back to me."

Harry shut up and nodded, glowering resentfully at Snape.

Snape's eyes searched Harry's face for a moment, and then he whirled around abruptly, taking his seat across from Harry. "The basic principle behind the art of Occlumency is the control of emotions." His voice was dry, as if he were giving a lecture to a classroom full of students. "Your connection to the Dark Lord only allows you to view his thoughts when he is experiencing extreme emotion, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

Snape smirked faintly. "The Dark Lord is not an Occlumens. Rather, he is a master Legilimens - he is able to extract emotions and thoughts from people rather than block them."

"Do you mean he is a mind-reader, sir?" Harry asked with a slight frown.

"No, Potter, he is not, as you so crudely put it, a 'mind-reader'," Snape sneered. "The mind is not like a book that can be opened and perused at will. It is a complex and many-layered thing. A Legilimens can explore a person's mind with a specific intent. For example, the Dark Lord always knows when someone is lying to him."

Harry was beginning to get unnerved about Snape's constant mention of the Dark Lord - not to mention annoyed at how rudely Snape was treating him. Unconsciously running a hand through his hair, he asked, "How do you know so much about Voldemort, sir? Have you met him before?"

"Do not say his name, Potter!" Snape snarled, and he clutched his left arm as if in sudden pain.

"I'm sorry, sir - I didn't know -" Harry stuttered, taken aback by Snape's reaction.

Snape visibly restrained his temper and looked at Harry coldly. "Do not say it again, Potter. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly. He was still confused about Snape's explanation of Legilimency; it sounded just like mind-reading. He didn't know why people were so scared of Voldemort's name, either. Dumbledore seemed to have no trouble saying it. Then again, Dumbledore didn't keel over when the name was mentioned.

"As I said, the principle behind Occlumency is the control of your emotions - or in some cases, the emptying of your emotions. When you go to bed tonight, I want you to empty your mind of all thoughts and feelings." Snape's black eyes bored into Harry's. "I will return tomorrow at two o'clock for your next lesson. Rest assured, I will know if you have not been practicing." He stood abruptly and turned toward the back door, quickly Disapparating as soon as he reached the garden.

Harry sighed and looked at the spot where Snape had disappeared. "Empty all thoughts and feelings," he repeated to himself. If he were still at Privet Drive with no friends, that would be easy - how many times had he lain in bed, staring at the ceiling dully after finishing his chores and homework? But ever since he'd met Hermione and learned about magic, he'd felt more alive and excited than before. Every day, he had something new to think about, something new to learn and to feel and to look forward to. And Snape was asking him to go back to the dull torpor that used to be his constant state of mind? Impossible! Plus, from what Harry had seen, Snape had trouble controlling his own emotions - how did he expect Harry to do it?

Still, Harry knew that he had to try - even if Snape wasn't a shining example of an Occlumens himself. Harry really didn't want to look into Voldemort's mind again; the thought alone made him nauseous. Maybe the Occlumency lessons would also get rid of his nightmares.

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Hermione came downstairs to the kitchen, a book tucked under one arm. Harry was sitting at the table, rubbing his temples and looking rather pale. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said unconvincingly, giving her a pallid smile. "Where've you been?"

"Up in Ginny's room, writing letters to my parents and friends," she said, and she shook her head in exasperation. "I don't understand why they use quills instead of biros - quills are terribly messy. I haven't been able to master them until now, or I'd have written earlier." She set down the book distractedly, her mind still on the newspaper article from this morning. Witsford and her old house were located in Kensington; she and her friends used to take the Tube at Paddington every day. She hoped that they hadn't been at the station during the attack. To think that she'd only contacted them once since she'd left the city...

"Are you all right?" Harry asked quietly, gazing at her with his bright green eyes.

"I'm fine." Hermione pushed her thoughts away forcefully. "Mr. Weasley told me that the adults were having some sort of private meeting here." Her eyes narrowed. "Were you at it?"

"Private meeting," Harry repeated humorlessly. "Yeah, you could say that. I met Professor Snape, the Potions professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh! He's teaching you about that Occlu - Occlumency thing, right?" Hermione's eyes sparked with interest. "So you won't be able to see inside Voldemort's head?"

"Something like that," said Harry shortly. He tilted his head curiously at the book. "The Standard Book of Spells, Year One?"

"It's Ginny's," Hermione explained. "I wanted to try out some spells after I finished the letter." Harry's mouth twitched. "What?"

"I have biros in my suitcase for writing," he told her. "If you'd told me..."

"Oh, that's all right - I wanted to learn how to use a quill anyway. It's the proper wizarding thing to do," Hermione replied with a smile. She opened the book and began to read out loud. "Let's see. 'The first thing any young wizard or witch should know is a basic theory behind magic. Magic is an innate power that manifests itself in various ways. With the exception of brewing potions, wizards and witches must use wands to channel their magic. Wandless magic, while possible, is extremely exhausting on the mind and body and should only be used in emergency situations.'" Hermione stopped as Harry started to fidget impatiently. "What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "I was - I was hoping to get to the spells."

Hermione fixed him with a fierce glare, remembering briefly how she used to do the same to an unrepentant Matthew at Witsford. "If we're going to learn magic, we're going to learn it properly," she said. "Don't you remember what happened in the wand shop? If we do something wrong, we could accidentally set the house on fire!"

Harry mumbled something under his breath that sounded like "Yes, ma'am," and he sighed. "You're right. Go on."

"All right. 'Another type of magic is accidental magic, most often performed by children in emotionally charged situations.'" Hermione's eyes widened as she scanned the text. "That's what happened at Stonewall with Piers Polkiss!"

"Yeah," said Harry, leaning over her shoulder and reading for a moment. "And it happened when I was a kid, too. Remember that time at the zoo that I told you about, when the glass disappeared from the snake's cage?" Hermione made an affirmative noise in her throat. "That must've been accidental magic. I must've been really annoyed." He shrugged and grinned suddenly. "Polkiss was with me and Dudley at the zoo," he said. "He ran screaming like a baby."

Hermione laughed, brow creasing as she thought of her childhood. "I don't think I did anything magical until Stonewall...well...I did once set my parents' office on fire by accident when I was really angry," she said, "I told them that I'd been playing with the machines, but in reality I hadn't even touched them. I just built up all of my fury and then - boom! The desk was on fire." She paused meditatively. "I was so frightened. I vowed never to let my temper get out of control again, and I suppose I didn't until Polkiss tried to attack us."

"I suppose I wasn't 'emotionally charged' enough once Dudley went off to Smeltings," said Harry thoughtfully. "No one around to make me lose my temper and perform accidental magic. I reckon that's why Dumbledore didn't think I was a wizard."

Hermione suspected that Dumbledore knew a lot more about Harry than he let on, but she didn't say so. She and Harry sat in contemplative silence for a minute and then continued reading, finally reaching a spell on the tenth page of the book. "Levitation Charm, used to lift objects in the air," Hermione read out loud. "Pronounced Win-GAR-dium Levi-O-sa, accompanied by a swish and flick motion of the wrist."

"Swish and flick?" Harry asked blankly. "What does that mean?"

"There's a diagram," said Hermione, pointing to the book with one hand and testing the displayed movement with the other. She pulled out her wand and glanced at Harry nervously. "Shall I try it?"

Harry nodded, practicing the wrist movement and pulling out his own wand. "Go ahead."

"Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione intoned, pointing her wand at the teacup on the table. Nothing happened.

"You forgot the wrist movement," Harry pointed out.

"Oh, right." She focused on the teacup again. "Wingardium Leviosa..."

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"Wingardium Leviosa," Harry declared, pointing his wand at the teacup with a quick swish-and-flick motion. The cup wobbled in the air for a few seconds before dropping to the table with a clunk. Harry breathed a sigh of mixed frustration and relief. He'd finally succeeded in casting the charm, but he couldn't hold it for very long. Hermione was already able to levitate her cup and move it around at different heights.

"Try it again," she said, "and put more emphasis on the 'o'."

"Wingardium Levi-O-sa," Harry repeated impatiently, barely remembering to swish and flick his wand in the right manner. The cup lifted off of the table by a few inches, slightly higher than his previous attempt. He focused on it with his eyes and his wand, feeling the magic thrum through his arm.

"Try moving it," Hermione said in a hushed voice.

Harry flicked his wand sharply. The teacup jerked away from the table and shattered into several pieces as it hit the floor.

"Reparo," said Hermione. The teacup shards came together and melded seamlessly. "I'm glad Ron told us about that one," she said, placing the cup back onto the table. "I can't imagine how many teacups we would've broken without it."

Harry nodded, setting down his wand and shaking the soreness out of his arm. He and Hermione had been practicing the Levitation Charm for the past couple of hours, and he was quite tired, even though doing proper spells didn't exhaust him the same way his previous experiments with wandless magic had. He didn't like touching the wand much, either, since it was related to Voldemort's.

A loud, outraged shout came from upstairs. Fred and George ran into the kitchen a moment later, gleeful smiles on their faces.

"Poor ickle Ronniekins," said Fred with a tragic sigh, shaking his head.

"He won't know what hit him," George grinned.

Ron stormed into the kitchen, his face and ears nearly matching the color of his hair. "Change them back!" he yelled angrily.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked warily.

Ron scowled. "These two tossers have charmed all of my robes to be pink and lacy."

"Pink's a perfectly good color for robes," Ginny said, choking back laughter as she came in behind the twins, "not that I would ever wear such a color."

Harry felt his lips tug into a smile despite his urge to defend Ron.

"I'm sure the charm will wear off," said Hermione, glancing back and forth between the twins and Ron. "Your dad said that most do after a couple of hours."

"Your robes will be back to normal by the time we go back to Hogwarts," George promised solemnly.

"It's just another fortnight," said Fred, with an evil grin. "Another long and beautiful fourteen days."

"I'll show you long and beautiful," Ron muttered, the tips of his ears turning red.

Fred and George raised their eyebrows. "Better not use that one when you're trying to ask Lavender Brown to Hogsmeade," George said lightly, and Harry stifled a snigger.

"How's it coming along, then?" Fred asked, jerking his head toward the textbook. "Done any spells yet?"

"Just levitation," Hermione answered, taking out her wand and demonstrating briefly. Fred and George whistled and applauded. Hermione's cheeks turned pink.

"What've you been doing?" Harry asked, realizing that the house had been unusually quiet during his lesson with Snape and his and Hermione's trials with magic. The only noise they'd heard was the ghoul banging pipes upstairs in the attic, minus the time Ron had come into the kitchen for a drink of water.

"Homework," Ron and Ginny replied simultaneously, while Fred and George replied, "Tool shed."

"Dad's testing your astronomical model out in the tool shed," Fred told Hermione. "We were helping him with the car."

"Astronomical model?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. "My friend Daniel" - her voice cracked slightly, and she blinked rapidly before continuing -"Daniel gave me a model of the solar system for Christmas. Ginny said that it looked like something you could find in Diagon Alley, so I thought...I mean, my friends aren't wizards, but..."

"I told Dad to check just in case," said Ginny. "I hope nothing's wrong with it - it'd be very useful for my Astronomy essay."

Ron perked up at this. "Can I use it too?" He looked at Hermione hopefully.

"Of course," said Hermione, turning away for a moment. Harry saw her eyes glimmering, and he hesitantly patted her on the shoulder.

After an awkward silence in which everyone looked either at the floor, the ceiling, or their hands, George said, "Dad said he'll bring the model in when he's done. And he wants help from you two on setting up the telly-fone later."

"Telephone?" Harry said.

"Yeah, that thing."

"I thought it already worked," said Ron.

"It broke. Dad thinks he shouted in it too loudly the last time he used it."

Harry sent Hermione an amused glance, knowing full well that telephones couldn't break that way (although he supposed that magical telephones might be able to). Hermione, however, was too busy frowning at George suspiciously. "When's the last time he used the telephone?" she asked.

George shrugged, and nobody else seemed to know, either. Hermione started to worry her lip. "What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"Oh - nothing," she said. "I just - the phone - yes, probably - it makes sense! I think?"

Harry stared at her. "English, please?"

"Remember how I told you that someone called my house looking for you?" Harry searched his memory and nodded. "I think that was Mr. Weasley. I wonder how he did it, though - how did he know which number to call?" Hermione frowned. "Maybe it was the magic I was doing that night? But why wouldn't he call your house? And how would he know the number anyway? We'd just moved in!"

Harry exchanged bewildered glances with the Weasley children. "Er...what?"

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head, "I'll ask Mr. Weasley when he comes back." She chewed her lip, still lost in thought.

"Who wants to play a game of pick-me-up Quidditch?" Ginny suggested suddenly, smiling at Harry. Harry felt his heart jolt with unexpected pleasure. "Fred, George, you should see Harry play. He's brilliant on a broom...."

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