Harry Potter and the Siren's Song

"Myself?" Harry gaped at her. "No, I don't practice the Dark Arts!" Was she kidding?

"Never tried to curse a fellow student? Never used magic to get by a teacher?" Velange asked briskly.

"Well, yeah, of course I have." Harry was getting annoyed. "That's not the same thing."

"Isn’t it?" she asked. "All right - what are the Dark Arts?"

"They're illegal spells." Harry said, having a feeling he knew she was going with this. "Spells wizards use against others to make them do their bidding, to cause harm."

"Exactly." Velange smiled and leaned forward, her face only a few inches from his own. "I somehow doubt the spells you used to get by a teacher, or on a fellow student would be strictly classified as illegal, but they would still fall within this definition. Wouldn't they?"

She leaned back. "Don't look so horrified, Harry - I'm not accusing you of anything," Velange said casually. "It's just important that you know that not everything can be easily categorized when it comes to discussing the Dark Arts. Tell me, you grew up in a Muggle household, did you ever watch old Hollywood westerns?"

He had, at Mrs. Figg's. "A few," he volunteered.

"How could you tell the good guys from the bad guys?" Velange asked.

"Their hats." Harry answered promptly. "The sheriff traditionally wore white, and all the villains wore black hats."

"Exactly. Fatal flaw in that, you know. Realistically, they should have all been wearing grey hats. Too many people try and apply the white hat-black hat equation in the real world. Unfortunately they tend to not like the results when they try and oversimplify. Can you give me an example of a time when someone tried to make a choice based on this oversimplification, and didn't like the results?"

This was the oddest class Harry had ever had - more of a discussion then anything. Yet he was enjoying himself. "Yes." He remembered all too well watching Mr. Crouch and his son in Dumbledore's pensieve. "Barty Crouch."

"Ah." Velange's green eyes lit up. "An excellent example. Explain." Harry couldn’t help but notice how the candles reflected in those green eyes. She looked extremely pretty sitting there in her robes, hands folded under her chin, giving him her complete attention.

He forced himself to focus on her question. "Mr. Crouch saw himself as a white hat and the Death Eaters as black hats. He saw his job at eliminating ALL the black hats. Even when it came to his son, he couldn't see beyond the black hat. In handing over his son to the dementors, he became what he was fighting. He never gave his son a chance, never gave anyone a chance to find out if his son really was a Death Eater. So, we'll never know if his son became a Death Eater because of his father's betrayal, or if he had been a Death Eater before that."

"Exactly. By authorizing the use of the Unforgivables on those practicing them, was Crouch himself not practicing the Dark Arts? The Aurors who died using the Unforgivables under his orders - were they not bending to his will?" Her teeth were very white in her smile, he noticed. "We could talk philosophy all day, Harry. You grasped the issue very quickly. That's excellent. Remember that when we start on the DAS - the Dark Arts Society."

It was the most interesting lesson Harry had ever had at Hogwarts. Professor Velange had him outline what he felt made someone chose to join the Death Eaters. Then she had him look up several famous Dark wizards and compare their histories to see if any threads were common throughout. He couldn’t help but notice that the three she'd assigned him were all from Slytherin. However, when he'd tried to include this as a reason that they may have chosen to join the Death Eaters, she ended that train of thought quickly.

"While it's true that more then the usual amount of dark wizards and Death eaters came from Slytherin house, there have been dark wizards from every house at Hogwarts." Velange said firmly. "In addition, not all dark wizards come from Hogwarts - there are dark wizards all over the world, most of whom have never even met a Slytherin. So that argument won’t work. Try again."

His brain was exhausted when the hour was up. All he wanted to do was to go flop by the lake and watch the squid. Or maybe go to Hogsmeade and enjoy a drink at the Three Broomsticks. Velange gave him an approving look when he left. "You did very well, Harry. I hope all my students this year have as good a grasp of what the real issues are in the wizarding world. I'll see you tomorrow."

Harry nodded, his mind in something of a daze. Professor Velange was going to be one interesting teacher. He looked forward to watching how Seamus, his fellow Gryffindor and the best debater Harry had ever known, would handle Velange's rapid fire delivery.

Harry made his way down onto the lawn, his Firebolt in his hand, thinking he would practice a bit. Nothing ever cleared his head as effectively as a good flying session. He realized with a start that smoke was coming from the chimney of Hagrid's cabin, and hurried in that direction instead. He had missed Hagrid. Besides, he was wild with curiosity to know what Dumbledore had Hagrid working on.

Hagrid opened the door, a broad smile crossing his face. He pulled Harry into a tight hug that nearly crushed Harry's ribs before letting him go. "Heard you were here, Harry. Good 'ter see ya, Good 'ter see ya!"

"You too, Hagrid. Have a busy summer?" Harry grinned at him, settling himself in one of the massive wooden chairs at Hagrid's scrubbed wooden table.

"Might have had one, yeh. Nothing I can talk about, so ya needn't bother asking questions. Ron's been writing his hand clean off asking me the same thing. Nah, when you need to know, you'll know." With that mysterious comment, Hagrid poured them both a steaming cup of tea and pushed a plate of cookies in Harry's direction.

Unlike Hagrid's usual cooking, these actually appeared edible. "These look - good, Hagrid." Harry said, unable to keep the note of surprise from his voice.

"Took a few cooking lessons from Olympe - not quite up to snuff on her fancy French cooking, but I might've picked up a thing or two." Hagrid said. "Try it - it won't bite."

The cookies were good, Harry thought in shock. He ended up eating half the plate as he and Hagrid discussed the summer and the new year. Hagrid pressed the rest of the cookies on him when he left and headed back up to school in time for dinner. "You've shot up a fair bit, Harry - need to eat a bit more to fill you out now."

Smells of food wafted from the Great Hall as he passed it on his way up to Gryffindor tower. Giving the password, he stepped inside and looked around, smiling. The tower's common room was clean and shiny, the fire already blazing - despite the warmth of the afternoon it would be chilly that night - and the pictures on the walls all waved and shouted their hellos. Harry headed up the curving stairs to the boys' dormitory, entering the circular room labeled "Fifth Years".

Inside the room, his bed was already turned down, with his trunk opened and his things neatly arranged. Someone was waiting for him, sitting on his bed and giving him an annoyed look with her amber eyes. "Sorry, Hedwig." Harry leaned over to stroke her forehead. "This was my first chance to come up all day. Did you have a good flight?"

Nipping his finger, Hedwig hooted in a way that let him know he was forgiven, then spread her wings and fluttered out the window. Harry stood, carefully placed the Firebolt in his trunk and headed downstairs for dinner.

The weeks that followed fell into a comfortable routine for Harry. In the mornings after breakfast, he met with Moody and worked on his Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. Moody was working with him on conjuring the extremely complex Impenetrable Spell, which, when used correctly, allowed Harry's wand to set up a magical net that blocked and contained most minor curses. Done well, the Impenetrable could block such powerful curses as the Impediment, the Imperius and the Disarming Charm. "With real strength of mind, you can even use it to block the Cruciatus . Only one wizard I know has ever managed that, but it's a good goal to work towards." Moody said.

Harry didn't have the strength to comment, even though he was curious to know who that wizard was. Setting up the Impenetrable Spell required his mind to focus on sending out pure magical energy from the tip of his wand, and it was even more draining then when he was learning to summon a Patronus. He'd gone to Professor Flitwick for some extra help, and the Charms teacher had spent over an hour explaining the dynamics of how the spell worked.

Hermione would love this, he thought to himself as Flitwick droned on. She had always been fascinated at the theory behind a spell, how it worked, the mechanics involved. He just wanted to be able to do a real Impenetrable so they could move on the next task. Moody had told him that they would likely not get to actually learning any Dark arts until after school started. Harry had been less then pleased to hear that - in addition to his normal lessons, he was expected to continue with his training with Moody once school started. Between school, Moody's lessons, studying for his O.W.L.s and Quidditch practice he would scarcely have time to breathe.

After meeting with Moody, Harry usually spent several hours in the library, studying. He knew once school started, he would be distracted by - well, truthfully everything - and he knew any uninterrupted studying would not only prepare him for his O.W.L.s, but also would make the year much more satisfactory academically. He spent the largest portion of his time studying Potions, determined not to allow Snape to keep him from getting good marks this year.

After lunch, he met with Professor Velange. Soon they had moved on from what traits Dark wizards shared. They studied the origination of the Dark Arts Society, a secret organization as old as Hogwarts that supported the education and use of the dark arts for the protection of wizard society. The DAs, Harry learned, was still very much in existence, and had political and financial ties throughout the world. "The DAs sees itself as above the usual mores of the wizarding world, Harry…they feel the use of the dark arts to protect our world is perfectly acceptable, even if it means some people get caught in the crossfire. Their attitude is, better for a few Muggles be eliminated then have the world discover that we exist. The DAs ensures its members a certain amount of protection, power and influence - and not all of its workings are bad. They sponsor a number of students in schools around the world, children whose parents have been killed by Death Eaters. DAs loyalists view themselves as a separate entity from Voldemort and his supporters. They feel the Dark Arts are something sacred, not to be toyed with. Their members spend years studying them and feel Voldemort is throwing unwanted attention their way."

This beat Binns' lessons any day, including the day he talked about the Chamber of Secrets, Harry thought. After their lessons, Harry would often go practice Quidditch (Madam Hooch bewitched half a dozen Snitches for him so that he was able to practice chasing and diving without supervision.) At night, he usually studied, wrote letters to Ron and Hermione, and continued to write in the diary. A few days a week he would visit with Hagrid, playing with Fang, and trying to make Hagrid tell him how he'd spent the summer. Sirius met up with him at least once a week in the village to check up on him. All in all, it was one of the best summer holidays Harry had ever had.

Towards the end of August, Harry received a letter from Hermione.

Harry remembered how the impostor Moody had made that suggestion last year. He hadn't given it any more thought since the night of the third task. Now that he was getting to learn so much more about the Dark Arts, wouldn't it make sense to become an Auror?

He read on:

Harry frowned. Just what had Viktor been thinking? Had he tried to take advantage of Hermione? It didn't make sense though - Viktor Krum hardly seemed the heavy-handed Lothario type.

Thoughts of Viktor Krum taking advantage of Hermione floated through his head all afternoon. Even visiting Hogsmeade, and spending a good deal of money at Honeydukes didn't manage to distract him. Sirius, following behind him, couldn't help but notice that something was the matter. His godfather followed him up the stairs and into Gryffindor tower before he transformed. "Harry, what on earth is on your mind? You didn't even notice when the owner of Honeydukes offered to let you sample their newest flavor of Bertie Botts Beans - lasagna!"

Rather then share what Hermione had written to him, Harry kicked at the floor. Looking up at Sirius, he asked "How do you shave?"

Sirius look startled. "Excuse me?"

"How do you shave? I've been using a razor, and it's doing a piss poor job - I'd just as soon not start out the new year as a prefect with tissue all over my neck and whiskers sticking out everywhere."

Sirius sat down, and began to laugh. "Of all the questions I was expecting you to ask first about growing up, Harry, this was definitely not what I envisioned!" Sobering, he said "Actually, I use a regular Muggle razor and cream - I've just charmed the razor to never go dull and to never cut the skin. I know many wizards who use their wand, but it's not as effective - they use a version of the Severing Charm. Why do you think so many wizards have beards? They get tired of walking around looking like they have dirty faces." He stood and said, "Come on - I'll show you."

It was one of the best days that summer. Sirius showed him how to shave, how to enchant his razor, and which soap to use to make his own shaving foam. Afterwards, they talked for hours about girls, and life, and growing up. Harry couldn't help but notice Sirius's face going red when they discussed sex. "I'm sorry, Harry - not that you're not old enough to hear - and I'd much rather you hear this from me then from the boys in the dorm. It's just that I can't believe you're old enough for us to be having this conversation."

"I already heard about it - mostly from Seamus. But it makes more sense coming from you." Harry said truthfully.

"Were you ever in love, Sirius?" Harry asked, as they toasted bread in front of the fire - they'd been so busy talking Harry had missed dinner. He and Sirius, disguised as usual, had made their way down to the kitchens and put together huge sandwiches to take back upstairs with them.

"Dozens of times." Sirius said with a smile.

"No. I mean, really in love." Harry watched his godfather closely.

Sirius's eyes were bright, and he took a long time to answer. "Once. She was a very dear friend of your mother's. Lily chose her to be your godmother."

"I have a godmo-" Harry was silenced by the look on Sirius's face - a haunted, hopeless look. "What happened to her?"

"She went mad, after your parents were killed and I was accused. Just snapped. The last I heard she went to St. Mungo's." His voice was flat. "She couldn't handle - everything was going much too fast for her, Harry."

"Oh." Harry looked at his toasting stick, and then at his godfather. "Did she, um, die there?"

"I don't know what happened to her." Sirius's tone indicated that there would be no further discussion on the subject. They sat in silence, watching the sparks of the fire dance.

Then Sirius asked him "How do you feel about Hermione, Harry?"

Harry's head shot up. "She's one of my best friends." His answer was as flat as Sirius's had been.

"And?" Sirius prompted.

"No 'and'. Just the friendship - nothing else." Harry felt Sirius's eyes on him as he poked more bread on the end of his toasting stick.

Sirius was quiet for a long moment. "It's always a difficult situation when friends grow up, and there's attraction there Harry. You, Ron and Hermione have been quite the threesome for four years. Remember that real friendship sometimes involves sacrifices Harry." His godfather stood. "I'll check on you again in a week or so - have a pleasant evening." And Sirius left, leaving Harry with his very confused thoughts.

Harry sat in front of the fire for some time, watching the flames and thinking about what Sirius had said. "Accio! " he said at last, and his diary and quill spiraled down the stairs and into his hands. The diary had become one of his most prized possessions in a very short amount of time, and it had become habit to log his thoughts in it almost every night.

Tonight he wrote only four words: