Seo Gerecednis

Harry felt as though he'd just been put through the wringer when he and Ron stumbled into the Great Hall after Charms. After his initial demonstration, Professor Flitwick had instructed the class to break off into pairs. Consequently, Harry had been afflicted with--and cured of--poison ivy, warts, hemorrhoids, sneezing fits and ear infections by Ron. Although he would never say so out loud, he desperately hoped Ron didn't aspire to a career in medicine. His one consolation was that Ron hadn't fared much better at the business end of his wand, and Anthony Goldstein had had to go straight to Madame Pomfrey when Neville's attempt to cure his sneezing fit had gone horribly wrong.

Wincing as he sat down, Harry grabbed a roll from a nearby basket. "I hope we don't spend too much time on medical charms," he grumbled. "Good thing we don't have Quidditch practice today."

"It's just the beginning, mate," Ron said, tugging at his ear. "Fred told me later we'll be mending broken bones, chicken pox, diarrhea--" Harry gulped. "And supposedly in seventh year Flitwick brings in a dead body so we can practice reattaching severed limbs."

Harry put his roll down, his appetite now long gone. He was contemplating heading up to his dormitory, where he could relieve the pressure on his bum by stretching out face-down on his bed, when someone slid on to the bench next to him. He looked up to see Ginny smiling at him.

"Hello, Harry." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Rough morning?"

"You have no idea," he groaned.

Laughing, she reached across him to grab the pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Neville told me all about it," she said. "I ran into him as he was leaving the hospital wing."

"How's Anthony?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," she said. "But Neville looked like he'd gone swimming in the leavings of one of my bat-bogey hexes."

"Urgh! Ginny!" Ron said. "Some of us are trying to eat here."

Although he didn't have much sympathy for Ron and his cast-iron stomach, Harry couldn't help making a face. "That's not an image I'm keen on carrying around with me," he said.

Ginny shrugged. "Could've been worse, I reckon. Neville could've hit him with an incontinence curse."

"Okay, I think I've heard enough," Harry said, wincing as he pivoted around on the bench. "I think I'm going to have a chat with King--er, Professor Shacklebolt--before the lesson starts."

"I hope I didn't offend you," Ginny said with a worried frown.

"Nah." Harry slung his satchel over his shoulder. "Ron already pretty much killed what appetite I had."

"Oh," she said. Then, "Did he tell you about what you'll supposedly be doing in seventh year?"

Harry fought back a wave of nausea and nodded. "Yeah."

"Ron, you git!" Ginny yelled at her brother. "Haven't you learned not to believe anything the twins tell you?"

"What?" Ron said. "What did I do?"

She just rolled her eyes. "Don't listen to him," she told Harry. "You won't be putting dismembered corpses back together in seventh year. Only people training to be mediwizards and healers do that."

"That's a relief to know." Harry gave her a crooked smile.

"Some people," she said. She shook her head. "You'd think he'd have learned his lesson by now."

"Well, sometimes it is difficult to tell where Fred and George draw the line between truth and--"

"Bollocks?" she supplied with a raised eyebrow. "I just play it safe and don't believe a word they say unless I've seen proof with my own eyes. I'd sooner believe that Malfoy's doing his Christmas shopping with them than believe anything they tell me."

"You may have a point there."

"Of course I do." She gave him a bright smile. "Good luck with your Defense lesson this afternoon. I want a complete play-by-play at supper. My first lesson isn't until Wednesday."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I'll be sure to take good notes." He glanced over at Ron, who'd been observing the entire exchange through narrowed eyes. "Meet you in the Defense classroom?"

Ron nodded. "I'll catch you up in a bit."

The corridor outside the Great Hall was empty save the occasional guard, for which Harry was grateful; he'd been fielding inquiries about the D.A. most of the morning and was running out of excuses and explanations. He was thrilled by the opportunity to lead the group, openly this time, with the full support of the Hogwarts faculty and the Ministry of Magic, but at the same time it filled him with dread. If the Ministry endorsed the D.A. it meant that they had finally accepted that Voldemort had returned, which in turn meant that war was imminent. Deep down he already knew that to be true, but all summer he'd thought of it as a two-man war only, with Voldemort and himself as the only combatants. Instead the Ministry was shoring up its defenses, with Hogwarts--and its students--on the front line. That put Harry in a position of responsibility he really didn't covet. Last year the D.A. had been all about defying Umbridge; this year it was about preparing his fellow students for a battle he didn't believe should be theirs to fight. If war came to Hogwarts--and he had no doubt that it would--then students, people he cared about, might die. As leader of the D.A. his responsibility would be to ensure that they knew how to defend themselves against people who would not hesitate to maim, torture, or even kill children.

Harry took a deep breath to calm his nerves. Despite the prevailing belief that witches and wizards became legal adults when they turned seventeen, inside Harry still felt like a child. He, Ron, Neville, Hermione, Ginny--all of them--they'd barely begun to live, yet they could be cut down at a moment's notice, and no one, save perhaps Mrs. Weasley, seemed to find this idea remotely barbaric.

He rounded a corner, lost in his thoughts. He didn't see the person headed the opposite direction until they'd collided with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

"Shiban zadnik!" someone said with an oddly familiar accent. "Tapak chikidjia!"

Still clutching at his stomach, Harry looked down to see Vladimir Krum sprawled on the floor, the contents of his bag scattered across the corridor. "You should watch where you're going," he said.

Krum glared up at him from beneath thick, dark eyebrows. "You should vatch vere *you* are going, I tink." He reached around to gather up whatever was in reach.

"I--" Harry started to say, then stopped. He wasn't in the mood to start an argument, so he shrugged, then dropped his bag to help Krum collect the rest of his things. As he was handing the last wandering roll of parchment to Krum he asked, "How's Viktor these days?"

Krum's head jerked up sharply and he studied Harry through narrowed eyes. "You are Harry Potter," he said.

"Er, yeah," Harry said. "I, er, got to know your brother when he was here for the Triwizard Tournament two years ago."

"I know vy he vos here." Taken aback by the barely-repressed venom in Krum's voice, Harry raised an eyebrow. Krum pursed his lips as he closed his bag by knotting two sets of leather thongs together. "I do not know how Viktor is," he muttered, almost as though he'd forgot Harry was there. "I am not my broder's keeper."

Harry thought this was a most unusual thing to say. Before he had a chance to ask Krum what he'd meant by it, however, the other boy was striding away from him. Harry watched him for a moment or two, wondering if he should chase after Krum and demand an explanation, then decided better of it. Maybe Krum was just irritated by their collision; Harry could always ask about Viktor another time. He picked up his own bag and headed off toward the Defense classroom.

Kingsley was in there alone, studying a large sheet of parchment he'd unrolled across one of the desks. At Harry's tentative knock, however, he looked up with a curious but welcoming expression. "Good afternoon, Harry," he said, rolling up the parchment and stuffing it inside his robes. "Is it time for class already?"

"No," Harry said, taking that as an invitation to enter. He went straight to the desk at the front of the room and dropped his satchel in the chair behind it. "I was hoping to have a few minutes to talk to you beforehand, if you're not busy."

"Not at all." He leaned his weight on the corner edge of the desk he'd just been working at. "What can I help you with?"

Harry sat on the end of his own desk. "Well, er--" he began. Why *had* he wanted to talk to Kingsley? "Well, Dumbledore's asked me to head the D.A. again. Y'know, the club we had--"

"How could I forget?" A corner of Kingsley's mouth twitched. "You sound as though you don't want to do it."

Harry's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, see, that's just the thing....I don't know if I want to do it or not." When Harry looked up at him, Kingsley nodded for him to continue. "I just--in the end, it's all going to come down to me and Voldemort, right?"

"That seems to be the direction things are going, yes."

"So then why should I be dragging my friends into this as well? It's not their fight, it's mine."

"Not their fight? Harry, I should think that after what happened in June, you'd have realized it's their fight as much as it is yours."

"Don't you see?" Harry exclaimed in frustration. "I didn't want them there in June!"

"Maybe not, but that wasn't your choice to make."

"I don't want to see any of my friends get hurt. Neville, he broke his nose and had the Cruciatus Curse used on him. Ginny broke her ankle. Ron and Hermione almost died!" He realized he'd been gesticulating wildly as he spoke, and quickly drew his hands together in his lap. "Voldemort's the one we have to worry about. He's the one we--*I*--have to defeat. I don't want to have to be the one responsible for training up my friends to go into a battle where they could get hurt...or worse."

"Do you reckon You-Know-Who will agree to a one-on-one duel with you?"

Harry squinted at Kingsley, wondering what he was on about. "No."

"Do you reckon he'll show up for any battle with you without his army of Death Eaters?"

"Not likely."

"Do you reckon you could defeat You-Know-Who *and* his army of Death Eaters alone?"

Harry thought back to that horrible night when Voldemort had been reborn. He hadn't actually defeated any of them then...he'd escaped. Barely. "Isn't that what Aurors are for?" he finally asked.

Kingsley lowered his chin to study Harry. "Even with Aurors guarding Hogwarts, even with Tonks and myself here to teach you Defense Against the Dark Arts, there's no guarantee you'll be able to call on us when the time comes. Your friends though...they're never far from you."

"Sometimes I wish they weren't," Harry mumbled, ashamed to voice such a treacherous, ungrateful thought. "Sometimes I wish they'd stay far away, where they can be safe from harm."

"What sort of friends would they be if they did that?"

"Friends who can live happy and whole once Voldemort's gone?"

"Friends who would have to live the rest of their lives with the knowledge they weren't there for you when it mattered most?" Kingsley stood and walked toward Harry. "How do you reckon Ron would feel if he hadn't been there for you in June? He knew the dangers going in. He went anyway because he's your friend."

Harry stared up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes. "I just--I don't want to have to be the one responsible for their safety."

"You're not."

"I will be, if I have to lead the D.A.! They'll be expecting me to prepare them for war. *Real* war, not defying Umbridge and the Ministry of Magic, war with blood and pain and dying and...." He took a ragged breath.

He felt Kingsley's hand rest on his shoulder. "Good leaders rarely become so by design, Harry," he said. "Whether you want to be or not, you are the person they look to for guidance. You can't shirk that responsibility just because you think it will keep them from harm. You-Know-Who and his army of Death Eaters will not hesitate to injure or kill them if given the opportunity whether you've trained them up or not."

"But--"

"Harry, your friends *want* to help you. They want to be there for you when the time comes. Nothing you say or do will change that. So instead of holding everyone at arm's length, let them help. Accept what they have to offer. For all you know, someone unexpected may stumble upon the key to defeating You-Know-Who."

"And the D.A.?"

Kingsley took a step back and stroked his chin. "I think Dumbledore's right. You should lead it. Build inter-house unity. Find strength and allies in unexpected places. Develop the skills you already have. Practice new techniques. Of course, Tonks and I will be there to help, if you need us."

Harry looked up at him with renewed hope. "Really?"

Kingsley smiled. "Really. That's what we're here for."

"It would be brilliant if you could--"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "The D.A. is a student-run club, and requires a student leader. Our role will be advisory only."

"Oh."

"You'll do fine, Harry. I have faith in you."

As confused and miserable as he felt, Harry drew comfort from Kingsley's words of confidence. "Thanks."

Returning to the head of the classroom, Kingsley said, "Class is about to begin, so why don't you take your seat."

With a start Harry noticed that students had begun to file into the classroom. He looked over to see Ron slide into the seat next to his and gave him a weak grin before sitting. Harry realized when he saw Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle enter, followed by Ernie Macmillan talking to Mandy Brocklehurst, all four houses were to meet at once just as they had done in advanced Charms. Not only that, but it appeared almost everyone in sixth year had signed on for advanced Defense. He wondered how they were all going to fit and do practical spells effectively, and said as much to Ron.

"Dunno," Ron said, looking around. "We'll certainly get much better at dodging spells if they're bouncing off the walls all over the place."

Before either of them could say anything else, however, Tonks marched into the room, her face flushed with exertion. Harry watched with fascination as she as Kingsley asked and answered each other's questions using only facial expressions and minute hand gestures. He wondered if it was a skill all Aurors learned.

"Your attention please," boomed out Kingsley's voice across the throng of chattering students. Silence fell almost immediately. "Welcome to your first Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. No doubt you are wondering how we will accomplish anything useful with such a large group and in such a small classroom." He paused to allow the murmur of agreement to subside.

"For starters," Tonks continued, her voice not as deep as Kingsley's but nonetheless just as commanding, "we'll be dividing you into two groups. Ladies, you are to stay here with me. You ladsare to follow Professor Shacklebolt out to the Quidditch pitch."

No one moved or said a word. Harry glanced at Ron, who looked just as bewildered as he felt, then at Kingsley and Tonks. Kingsley lowered his chin in a gesture so slight Harry wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been looking directly at him. Taking that as his cue, Harry rose, cringing at the loud scrape of chair legs against the stone floor, and picked up his satchel. Ron paused, then followed suit. Soon the other boys, including the Slytherins--who muttered amongst themselves--had got to their feet and waited for further instructions.

"Excellent," Kingsley said. He strode to the back of the classroom and swung the door open. "If you will come with me?"

They followed him outside in near silence, subconsciously regrouping into their respective houses. They all looked nervous, even the Slytherins; none of their Defense instructors had taken them outside the castle since third year, when Lupin jury-rigged an obstacle course for their end-of-term exam on Dark creatures.

"Wonder what the girls're up to indoors," Neville said quietly.

Harry looked over at him. Neville's face was pale and the muscles in his cheek clenched and unclenched as though he were trying to talk himself out of flight. "Dunno," he said. "But look, King-Professor Shacklebolt's a decent enough fellow; he won't let anything bad happen to us."

"Yeah, mate," Ron said, giving Neville a gentle punch on the shoulder. "He's an Auror, you know, and you can't ask for a much better Defense instructor than that."

"Moody was an Auror too," Seamus whispered. "Remember our first lesson with him?"

Despite the flash of anger Harry felt in his stomach at the memory of the imposter who'd taught Defense during their fourth year, he kept his voice even. "That wasn't really Moody, so he doesn't count." He looked ahead to the tall, dark-skinned man leading them past the greenhouses. "I'd follow Shacklebolt to the moon, if he asked."

As they rounded the far corner of the greenhouses, however, Harry wondered if maybe he'd spoken too hastily. "What the bloody hell--" Seamus yelped.

Harry dropped his satchel to gaze around in astonishment. The Quidditch pitch had been transformed into what looked like a battlefield. Harry recognized it as an obstacle course; Dudley had of late become obsessed with watching television documentaries about military training and boot camp, and if Harry wanted to watch television he had to content himself with whatever his cousin wanted to watch. Many of the structures that lay scattered across the Quidditch pitch resembled what Harry'd seen in those documentaries. Suddenly the idea that they were training for war became even more frighteningly tangible.

Kingsley beckoned the boys to stand around him. "What you see before you," he announced in a voice that didn't need amplification, "will be your Defense classroom for the next two and a half months, until cold weather forces us indoors. Here you will learn speed, agility, strength and endurance: the skills you will need to survive until He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been defeated once and for all."

Neville gasped. "S-Survive?"

An angry hiss rippled through the gathered students. Several of them turned to look at Harry, some with curiosity, others with hostility. Then a familiar voice spoke up. "You don't seriously expect us to play along with Potter's little hero fantasy, do you?"

The attention that had been focused on Harry only a moment ago now directed itself to Draco. Harry knew better than to let the taunts get under his skin, but he couldn't help craning his neck to get a better look at Malfoy. "If he wants to play warrior saint of the wizarding world, that's his prerogative. But I didn't sign on for this rubbish."

Bodies shifted and anxious voices muttered to each other, many of them in agreement with Malfoy. Once again faces turned to Harry, anticipating his response, but he ignored them to focus his attention on Kingsley.

"Mister Malfoy, thank you for volunteering for my first demonstration. Please come forward."

The muttering turned into a buzz. Harry, the other Gryffindors right behind him, pressed forward to the front of the crowd; he knew Malfoy wouldn't dare turn down Kingsley's summons in front of so many people, and didn't want to miss a second.

Malfoy stepped out of the clot of Slytherins. He held his head high, but Harry could see the uncertainty etched on his face. Kingsley calmly removed his outer robe and handed it to Seamus. He then summoned two brooms to hover in front of himself and Malfoy. "I suggest you take off your robe," Kingsley said. "You'll need as much freedom of movement as possible."

Malfoy hesitated a moment, his fists clenched by his sides. Then he slowly relaxed his hands and did as he'd been told, tossing the robe in Crabbe's face. "If anything happens to me, my fa--"

"You will not be hurt, and your father is in no position to help you. Now, step up on your broom." Malfoy gave him a puzzled look before lifting his leg to mount his broom. "Incorrect, Mister Malfoy," Kingsley said. "You were instructed to *step* on your broom."

"Step on it?" Harry shared his incredulity. "You expect me to *stand* on that thing?"

"Yes, I do." He then effortlessly demonstrated his order. Everyone, the Slytherins included, gasped in amazement as Kingsley stood perfectly balanced on his broom. When he performed a flawless back flip, only Malfoy refused to applaud. "Come now, Mister Malfoy. If a man my size can do this, surely you can."

Harry and Ron exchanged a grin as Malfoy, his face pink with ill-concealed fury, stepped clumsily on to his broom. It wavered slightly beneath his weight as he windmilled his arms, trying to establish his center of gravity. The other boys snickered. Finally Malfoy managed to stand upright and face Kingsley.

"Very good," he said. "Now, I want you to knock me off my broom."

"Kn-Knock you off your broom?" Malfoy's eyes were as large as saucers. "How?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Whatever it takes. I'm ready whenever you are."

Harry tensed when he saw Malfoy reach for his wand, even if the movement did throw him momentarily off balance. He knew Malfoy wouldn't hesitate to play dirty and was tempted to step forward to warn Kingsley, but a sharp movement of Kingsley's hand stopped him in his tracks. "Let's see what he can do," Ron murmured beside him. "I'll wager Malfoy's on his arse before he can cast a spell."

"If the spell itself doesn't knock him off," Neville said.

Malfoy had his wand out and pointed at Kingsley, who still had his arms crossed over his chest, no wand in sight. Malfoy took a deep breath and cried, "Ever--"

"Expelliarmus!" Before Harry could blink Kingsley had disarmed Malfoy and knocked him flat on his back. He now stood over him, his wand pointed directly at Malfoy's heart, heedless to the smattering of applause from the ranks. "Speed, Mister Malfoy," he said. He extended a hand to help Malfoy to his feet. "Sometimes it's your only defense against an Unforgivable. Were I a Death Eater like your father, you'd probably be dead by now."

"My father's not a Death Eater," Malfoy snarled, brushing aside Kingsley's hand to stand on his own.

"Really? I'm sure Mister Nott's, Mister Crabbe's and Mister Goyle's fathers would all be very surprised to hear that. As would the students he tried to ambush this summer." Harry heard Ron and Neville suck in their breath; he returned the fierce glare Malfoy sent his way before rejoining the Slytherins, but gave no either reaction.

Kingsley summoned his robe from Seamus and turned to address the students. "Speed. Agility. Strength. Endurance. Knowing defensive spells is only half the equation. You must also know how to stay one step ahead of your opponent at all times. You must be able to outlast him. To take what he throws at you and come back fighting. Someday, your very lives may depend not just on what spells you know, but your physical ability to withstand and avoid the spells your opponent knows.

"As Professor Dumbledore told us last night, a storm is brewing just outside the gates of this school. None of us knows when or how it will come to us, but make no mistake: there will be war. You will be asked to choose sides and to fight for your cause. Some of you may be seriously injured or die as a result. My job, as your Defense instructor, is to give you the skills you need to forestall that as long as possible, that you may survive to fight another day."

He motioned to the far end of the pitch, where Harry saw starting gates lined up before each of four different courses. "For today, divide yourselves by house," Kingsley said. "I want each of you to complete at least two courses. Later, when you've built up your skills, I'll divide you into teams and time you through each course." His gaze swept over the students once more. "Go."