The Temple of Le Fay

Chapter Ten: Swordswoman

Harry caught up with Hermione in the queue outside the Great Hall. She shook her head when he opened his mouth, looking pointedly over his shoulder. Harry turned to see Professor Skeeter walking down the corridor towards them, her long hair bulled back in a severe bun and a gleaming sword in her hand. The tip of the sword clinked gently against the flagstones as she walked, and several students stopped to have a closer look as she passed. While the sight of staff members bearing weapons wasn't entirely uncommon -Hagrid, for instance sometimes brought his crossbow into dinner while Filch the caretaker occasionally carried a horsewhip around with a wistful look upon his face- it was a rarity to see a bare sword being carried around so openly.

"Good morning class," Professor Skeeter said as she walked past the queue of expectant pupils. They chorused a greeting of their own as she opened the doors to the Great Hall and watched them file past. As they walked in, they noticed that the house tables had been stacked on one side of the Hall, and their anticipation increased markedly.

Once everyone was in the Hall, Professor Skeeter closed the door and walked to the centre of the room. She turned slowly, taking in all of the class as they stood in a ring around her. At N.E.W.T. level, classes tended to be smaller, meaning that the four houses were studying the class at the same time.

"Good, all here," she said. If she was nervous about teaching her first class, she didn't show it.

"Now, I am carrying a sword as you may have noticed. Can anyone tell me what sort of sword it is?"

Several hands were raised, inevitably including Hermione's. Professor Skeeter turned to take in all the prospective answers, tapping the pommel of the sword against her chin as she did so. Eventually, she pointed at Ernie McMillan.

"It's a rapier, Professor," he said.

"It is in design, yes," she said. "Five points to Hufflepuff. Anyone else?"

Fewer hands were raised. Hermione was almost levitating, standing on tiptoes as she strained to be seen in front of anyone else. Harry marvelled for a second at his friend's enthusiasm for lessons even after more than five years at school.

This time, however, Professor Skeeter pointed at Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw.

"It's a magic sword, isn't it?" he said. "I mean it doesn't look quite real."

Skeeter awarded five points to Ravenclaw while Harry studied the sword more closely. Boot was right, it didn't look quite real. The handle and guard appeared real enough, but the blade wasn't made of metal. If anything, it appeared to be made of ice, slightly transparent but smoky at the same time. Harry squinted, struggling to make out any detail on a dark shadow that seemed to come out f the handle and into the icy blade.

"Now, can anyone tell me what is special about the spell I use to make my sword?"

Harry's hand went up almost without his thinking about it. He had noticed the empty sheath hanging from Professor Skeeter's belt, and had instantly drawn a conclusion.

"Yes, Potter," she said. Harry could almost feel the disappointment radiating off of Hermione, the only other person who had raised their hand.

"It's your wand, isn't it?" Harry asked. "You don't have your wand in its sheath on your belt, and I can see something dark inside the blade of your sword."

"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor," Professor Skeeter said. "Yes, the spell used to make this sword transforms the bearers wand into the core of the sword, in the same way as each of our wands has its own unique core."

She raised her sword so that everyone could see it clearly. "Finite Incantatem," she said loudly. There was a puff of steam, and she was suddenly holding her black wand in her hand.

"Now, the spell to make a sword is simple," she said. "Gladius."

There was a hiss, and the wand disappeared, replaced once again by Skeeter's sword. She brought her arm down, carefully guiding the sword until it was once more pointing at the floor.

"Now, I want you all to find several feet of free space and practise the spell. Make sure that your sword can hurt no one around you. Just as everyone has a different wand, so everyone will produce a different sword. Therefore please make sure that you are holding your wand with two hands, and that your wand is pointed at the floor. If I see anyone ignoring or disobeying these rules, you will lose fifty house points, no appeals, am I understood?"

There was a general chorus of agreement as the teenagers made room for each other on the floor. Harry looked around, gauging the different moods of his classmates. Ron looked determined, as he always did these days when he was working on a Dark Arts spell. Hermione stood beside him, their wands pointing away from each other, just in case. She had a determined look on her face, but the underlying excitement that Harry could see in Ron was missing from Hermione. Harry smiled slightly at the thought of Ron and his brothers as children. They had surely played at being knights, or pirates, or any of a thousand other games where swordplay was involved.

Further afield, Harry saw Terry Boot staring grimly at his wand as the class settled around him. Susan Bones looked around herself a little fearfully, evidently not at ease at the thought of bearing a weapon. Harry wanted to say something to her, but knew that that was Professor Skeeter's job, at least in class. As he watched, Skeeter paused by Susan to exchange a few words, and the Hufflepuff girl looked rather happier when the teacher walked away. Harry couldn't help but smile. He decided that he liked Professor Skeeter. She may have been as mad as most of the Hogwarts staff, but it seemed that she was a good teacher, and she seemed to also understand her pupils, a gift all too rare in Harry's experience.

"Right then," Professor Skeeter said. "After me, then. Gladius."

Her wand transformed once more into the rapier. She brandished it skilfully, letting it flick through the air in a series of lethal looking swipes. Bringing it down to her side, she looked around at her class.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

Harry was first to cast the spell. "Gladius."

His wand grew heavy in his hands, and he could feel his grip loosening, except it wasn't loosening. Something was forcing his fingers apart. His wand stayed firmly in position, however, as though his fingers were still wrapped around it. A faint outline appeared, growing more and more opaque. Harry smiled as he recognised Godric Gryffindor's sword taking shape in his hand.

Around the room there were others trying the incantation. Terry Boot held a magnificent cutlass that could have been drawn straight from Long John Silver's belt. Susan Bones was wielding a katana that gleamed brightly in the morning sun. Hermione held a short sword, and was thrusting it experimentally at the air in front of her.

Ron stood as still as a statue. The sword he held was long, and probably very heavy, but Ron held it effortlessly. The hilt was ornate, the blade marked with writing that Harry suspected he'd never be able to understand if he studied Ancient Runes for the rest of his life. Hermione turned to face Ron with a smile on her face, a smile that turned to shock as she took in her boyfriend's magic sword. Harry saw his friend go pale, her own sword clattering noisily on the floor as it fell from her fingers. Professor Skeeter turned sharply to seek out the source of the commotion. When she saw Ron standing there as though entranced by the weapon he held, her hand shot to her mouth. She breathed deeply, evidently calming herself before she made her way over to Ron.

"Mr. Weasley," she said, her voice uneven. "Have you. . . Have you ever cast this spell before today?"

"What? Oh, no Professor," Ron said. He barely looked away from the sword he held, his gaze returning to it as though attached to it with elastic.

"Ron," Hermione breathed, her sword lying forgotten on the ground behind her. "Do you know what that sword is?"

Ron's gaze was still fixed on his sword, but he nodded his head slightly. "Sure, it's a broadsword. It's like the ones used by knights back in Merlin's time. I think the knight in my Patronus carries one just like it. It's a bit heavy, but it feels nice to hold."

"'It's a bit heavy. . . It feels nice to hold. . .'" Professor Skeeter drew her hand across her forehead. "Mister Weasley, as long as I've been fencing, which is longer than I care to think about, I have seen wizards cast the Gladius charm. Almost everyone who has read The Once and Future King, or pretty much any story about King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table dreams of conjuring one sword. Without exception, they have been disappointed.

"And now you, in the middle of my class, without any sword wielding experience in your history. . . You stand there and conjure Excalibur."

The sword dropped from Ron's fingers. "Bloody hell," he exclaimed as it clattered to the floor. Professor Skeeter winced.

Hermione crouched down cautiously and laid her hand on the hilt of Ron's sword. She picked it up with difficulty, the weight of the blade clearly proving difficult for her to balance.

Professor Skeeter took the sword from Hermione reverently, seemingly perfectly at home behind the blade. She swept it from side to side and up and down in a series of moves that Harry was sure were every bit as smooth as the ones she had run through with her own sword.

Professor Skeeter grunted softly. "Nice, but not right," she said. Hermione nodded. "You felt it as well, Miss Granger?"

Hermione nodded. "My sword felt as much a part of me as my wand," she said. "But that sword, Excalibur," she whispered the name of the legendary sword. "It just felt like, well, like a sword."

"Each sword is unique to its owner," Skeeter said, handing the faux-Excalibur back to Ron with a slightly sad look upon her face. "And you would no more feel comfortable with another wizard's sword than you would their wand."

Ron looked at his sword dubiously. "This is Excalibur?"

"There can be no doubt," Skeeter said. "I know a great deal about Arthurian legends, and this sword is most definitely Arthur's blade or," she amended "as much as a Gladius-cast can be."

She looked around the class, all of whom were looking at Ron.

"Has everyone managed to cast the spell?"

Two pupils shook their heads, but most brandished their swords carefully. Skeeter talked the two who were having difficulty through the spell, and soon both wielded blades of their own.

"Now then," Skeeter said. "I would appreciate a volunteer to assist me in the next phase of the lesson. Tell me, has anyone any experience of fencing?"

Only one person raised their hand. There was a long, heavy looking sword held in it. Dean Thomas stepped forward. "I do."

"Mr. Thomas, I believe?"

"That's right."

"Tell me about your experience with fencing."

"It all started when I was nine years old," Dean said. The sword hung listlessly by his side. "My brother, Andy, he was in a gang. Most of you don't know East London. It can be pretty rough. Lots of fighting between kids our age.

"Me and my brother were out at a West Ham match with some of his friends. Afterwards, one of his friends got into a fight. He was getting a hiding and my brother went over to help him."

Dean's voice was flat, his gaze fixed on a point above his classmates heads.

"My brother and his friend got battered by the gang this other kid belonged to. The rest of my brother's mates did a runner. Some of the ones who beat my brother gave me a kicking, until. . ."

Harry watched Dean uncomfortably. He found himself thinking about the time in his fourth year when he had found out the truth about Neville's parents. He had shared a dormitory with Dean for five years, been in nearly all the same classes as him, and he still hadn't known about this. He glanced at Seamus, Dean's best friend, and saw that the Irish boy was as surprised as he himself was.

"I ended up with a broken arm, and cracked ribs. My brother," Dean's normally pleasant face contorted into a scowl. "My brother ended up in a coma. He didn't wake up for three months.

"My Dad put me in for self-defence classes. He wanted me to make sure I'd never get beaten up again, and he also wanted to be sure I wouldn't go running around with any gangs. It worked, too," Dean said with a happy smile. "I met those kids a year and a half later, and two of them attacked me again, and I laid them out. The rest ran.

"The next day I got my Hogwarts letter," Dean said, his face fading back into blank neutrality. "Whenever I go home, I go back to the classes. My sensei taught me a lot, including fencing. Now, if I need to defend myself, or anyone else, then I can."

The class was silent after Dean's revelation. Many of the students shifted uncomfortably, but Harry watched his friend carefully. Dean shifted his weight, and brought his sword up in a high guard.

Opposite him, Professor Skeeter looked at him thoughtfully, then she nodded and raised her own sword. "En garde," she whispered.

Dean lunged forwards, the heavy looking blade of his sword slashing out at Professor Skeeter. She blocked easily, pushing Dean's sword off to one side. Dean whirled around, the blade flashing in the bright sunshine that came through the windows. There was a metallic clash as Professor Skeeter blocked the swing, and pushed Dean back.

"See how Mr. Thomas mixes his strikes," Professor Skeeter said as their blades clashed. "In a fight this would help keep your opponent off balance."

Dean grunted. "What's this, then?"

"An exhibition, Mr. Thomas," Professor Skeeter replied. She stepped forward and, for the first time, took the offence in the duel. It didn't last long. She moved nimbly, far exceeding Dean's own impressive efforts. Her sword flicked once, twice, three times and Dean was suddenly swordless. He scowled slightly as Professor Skeeter's sword dropped to her side, but the two combatants bowed to one another. Dean collected his sword and took his place once more beside Seamus, who leaned over to whisper something in his friend's ear. Dean shrugged, then shook his head.

"Right, form into pairs, please," Professor Skeeter said. She turned her sword back into a wand, and sheathed it by her side.

"I don't expect any of you to be able to fence properly. Try and concentrate on defending yourself from attack, rather than attacking."

"We can't all defend at the same time," Ron protested.

"Of course you can, Mr. Weasley," Professor Skeeter replied. "Don't attack, just block each other. You'll soon develop a rhythm. Now, before you begin," Professor Skeeter drew her wand once more. "Hebere!"

Harry glanced at his sword, and noticed the gleam fading slightly on the edge. He supposed that the spell cast by Skeeter had blunted the edge of their swords, in order to stop them hurting themselves. Harry looked around, smiling as he saw Ron and Hermione pairing off. Dean and Seamus were already stood opposite one another. Dean bowed to Seamus, who bowed back, a worried expression on his face at the thought of facing the only trained fencer among the pupils.

"Harry?" Harry looked around, and saw Neville before him. He held a curved scimitar almost as large as he was, and was struggling to hold it upright.

"Neville, where'd you get that sword?" Harry asked in surprise.

"It's my Gladius," Neville said patiently. "But I can barely lift it!"

Professor Skeeter approached them. "Mr. Longbottom, surely you know the Feather Light charm?"

Neville coloured slightly, and stammered. Professor Skeeter shook her head.

"No excuses Mr. Longbottom. I know that anyone who is in their sixth year at Hogwarts can do it. You have your wand in your hand. Cast the spell."

Neville grew furiously red, but stared at the dark shape of his wand inside his sword. Muttering under his breath, he tried to lift the cutlass again. He scowled, and looked up at Harry.

"You can do it, Neville. We practised it in duelling class last year, remember? Ron taught you."

Neville smiled tightly, and nodded. He stared at the cutlass again, and then, in a firm, calm voice, said: "Wingardium Levitata."

This time, Neville lifted the sword easily. Harry noticed a faint glow emanating from inside the sword, at the tip of the dark wand shape. Professor Skeeter followed his gaze, and nodded slightly.

"Sharp mind you have there, Mr. Potter. The wand does glow when a spell is cast with it in Gladius form. If nothing else, it stops someone from hexing you in a dark alley and then cutting your head off. It's also a lot harder to cast most spells when the Gladius is cast. You can't be duelling someone and throw an effective Leg Locker jinx at them, for example. In much the same way as any other spell would, the Gladius drains the magic from you the longer it is cast, and weakens any spells you try and cast while it is active. Of course, unique to the Gladius spell, as far as I know, is that you can cast another spell while it is active. Don't underestimate that in a fight; Many wizards have died at the blade of a Gladius because they weren't ready for a Disarming charm or the Jelly-Legs jinx."

Harry looked over at Hermione, who looked a bit queasy at the thought of being stabbed with one of the many weapons which now filled the room.

Skeeter moved away, her less than cheerful words lingering behind as Neville and Harry bowed to each other. Harry shifted Godric Gryffindor's sword in his hand, the weapon feeling as very much at home in his hand as the real thing had more than three years before in the Chamber of Secrets. They awaited Professor Skeeter's command.

"You have five minutes before lunch," she said. "Begin!"

Harry and Neville moved forward, neither wanting to attack when they were supposed to have been focussing on defence. Eventually, Harry struck out in frustration, thrusting the flat of the sword toward Neville, who was rather more than an arm's length away. Nevertheless, Neville's sword came up, and there was a metallic clash as the blades met. Harry and Neville exchanged grins as they pulled back a step. Without attacking directly, Harry realised, they could fight without putting one another in danger. The blades clashed, and Harry settled into the rhythm of the combat. He found himself looking for openings in Neville's defences as the time passed. Once or twice, he thought, he could have broken through Neville's guard. He wondered if Neville had in turn spotted any opening that he could have attacked.

The five minutes had passed, and Professor Skeeter brought the tentative duelling to a close with a loud "Finite Incantatem!"

Harry scraped his hair back from his eyes, his fist tightening around the shrinking sword as it turned back into his wand with a puff of surprisingly cool steam.

"Right then, lunchtime," Professor Skeeter said. "We didn't get as much time to practise as I had hoped. We'll pick up on Thursday afternoon. Don't forget your wands."

The class made its way quietly down to the Great Hall. Ron toyed listlessly with his food, making Hermione stare at him curiously.

"Are you okay?"

"Not hungry," he said, pushing his plate away. "I haven't done anything to be hungry yet."

"Double Transfiguration after lunch," Harry said. "You'll be hungry after that."

"Yeah," Ron said, staring at his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Hey, d'you reckon it means anything, me turning up Excalibur with that spell?"

"Yeah, it means you're the reincarnation of King Arthur," Harry said. Ron snorted, and smiled at his friend.

"Seriously, though?"

"I don't know, Ron," Harry said. "Maybe it's because you come up with a knight as your Patronus. Almost everyone else has an animal of some sort."

"Yeah, could be," Ron said. "It was pretty cool, though. Weird lesson, though. What about Dean?"

"Yes, where is Dean?" Hermione asked, looking around.

"He's over there," Harry pointed. Dean was standing by the Hufflepuff table, talking to Hannah Abbott and Ernie McMillan. A broad smile on his face, he laughed at a comment of Ernie's. He turned, and made his way over to the Gryffindor table, sitting next to Ron and Hermione.

"Good lesson that," he said, piling food onto his plate.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Harry asked. Dean looked up, and nodded.

"Me? Yeah, great," he said. "I just saw Hannah and Ernie. Reckon they'll be getting together soon. They look pretty cosy together."

Ron snorted into his pumpkin juice. "About time, too."

"Yeah, well, you can't talk Weasley," Dean said. He stabbed his knife into a pork chop. "Shame, really. Hannah's really nice, and, well, Ernie's a bit of a stuck up twerp, isn't he?"

Harry smiled, but said nothing. Hermione leaned around Ron.

"You really liked her, didn't you?" she said. Dean looked at her in alarm, then his shoulders sagged.

"Yeah, she was nice. Not many witches in my part of the world. It was nice to have someone to talk to."

"You can still be friends, though, can't you?" Hermione asked. Both Harry and Dean shook their heads in response to this. They caught each others eye and grinned.

"Hermione, when you like a girl, it's really hard to be friends with her. Especially if she dumps you for someone else," Dean said.

"Never mind mate," Ron said. "Plenty more fish in the sea."

"You reckon? Seems like I missed out last year when everyone was hooking up. D'you reckon there'll be another Ball this year?"

"Bound to be," Ron said. "There was dress robes on the list again this year, right?"

"Yeah. Mine are getting a bit manky, though," Dean said. "I've had them since fourth year."

"So transfigure them into something else," Hermione said. "You must be able to do that."

"Yeah, I could transfigure it into a really long bit of thread," Dean chuckled. "I can draw, but I can't sew."

"Well, I'm sure that Parvati, Lavender and I can help, if you want," Hermione offered.

"Yeah, cheers Hermione," Dean said. "Listen, what'd you think of Skeeter?"

"I was wondering if she was related to Rita Skeeter," Harry said. Hermione nodded.

"Me too. I don't see any family resemblance, but I know that Rita Skeeter didn't have any sisters. I suppose they might be cousins. Rita was in Slytherin when she was at school, and Professor Skeeter was in Gryffindor. I can't imagine that they were very close when they were young, they probably don't even keep in touch now."

"How on earth-" Ron began, but Hermione cut him off.

"When we had that trouble with Rita during the Triwizard Tournament, I did some research on her. She's almost ten years older than Professor Skeeter, too. Maybe they're cousins. I know a lot of wizarding families are related."

"Yeah, that's true," Ron said. "Hey, d'you know what Mum told me once?"

The others shook their heads.

"She said that virtually everyone is related if you go back far enough. She says that the Potters and Weasleys were related about three hundred years back."

Harry looked at Ron with a smile on his face. "Really?"

"Yeah, honest," Ron grinned. "Your great-great-great-great grandmother was our great-great-great-great-great grandfather's cousin. Weird, huh?"

Harry felt a strange sensation in his chest as he digested this bit of news.

"Anyway, I don't think Professor Skeeter has anything in common with Rita Skeeter," Hermione concluded. "She seems really nice."

"Good swordfighter, too," Dean said. "I thought I could fight anyone, but she battered me."

"We've got a lot to learn if we're going to be as good as her, then," Ron said. Seamus sat down beside Harry and grimaced at Ron's comment.

"We've got a long way to go to catch up with this one here," he said, pointing at Dean. "Defensive, Dean, you did hear that, didn't you?"

Dean grinned into his plate. "Sorry mate. Guess I got a bit carried away."

"Carried away, he says," Seamus scowled good-naturedly. "You chased me halfway around the room, you eejit."

"Practise, Seamus, practise," Dean said. "Besides, my sensei knocks me around the dojo every time we spar, and he doesn't bother with blunt swords. He uses kendo sticks, and they hurt when they hit you."

"Hey, Dean," Harry said suddenly. "You want to help with the Duelling Club? None of us know anything about fighting with weapons."

Ron nodded enthusiastically, although he was prevented from speaking by the food in his mouth. He had apparently re-discovered his appetite. Hermione looked at him with a trace of amusement in her eyes, before turning to speak to Dean.

"Harry's right. We do need someone to show us weapons fighting. Professor Skeeter seems like a very good teacher, but there may be some pupils, especially the younger ones, who relate better to a younger instructor."

Dean looked as though his three friends had boxed him in, but eventually he nodded.

"Great," Ron managed, swallowing half a potato in one go. "You can show me how to do that spin thing you did earlier."

*

After lunch the sixth years moved on to Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Harry had been looking for Ginny throughout lunchtime, but she hadn't been in the Great Hall, as far as he could tell. He joined the line outside the Transfiguration classroom just as she dashed past, her broomstick in one hand and Ron's fifth year Potions textbook in the other. She barely nodded to the others on her way past.

"She hasn't been out on the Quidditch pitch all through lunch has she?" Ron asked.

"I expect so," Hermione said. "She's really taken all that 'Weasley tradition' rubbish seriously."

"She's mad," Ron said. "She knows that Bill and Percy didn't play for the house team, what's she worried about?"

Harry's gaze followed Ginny down the corridor until she was lost from view among a crowd of seventh years. He wasn't happy about her missing lunch, but he wasn't sure how to tell her without provoking her temper.

"Harry?" He turned to see Hermione looking at him curiously.

"Just worried about Ginny," he said. She nodded.

"She'll be okay. I'll talk to her tonight if you want."

Harry shook his head. "I'll do it. I'll say, er. . ."

"That a Chaser needs to take care of herself or she's no use to the team?" Hermione suggested. Harry grinned in relief.

"Yeah, that."

Just then, Professor McGonagall rounded the corner and the line of pupils fell silent. She fixed them all with a steely glare, and unlocked the classroom. They filed silently into the class, taking their seats in a way that kept them grouped in their houses. McGonagall stared at them as they settled down, her lips pressed firmly together.

"Everyone up," she said at last. "Stand up, please," she repeated. Slowly, the class rose to their feet. McGonagall looked around, a slightly impatient expression on her face.

"Professor Dumbledore wishes you all to work more freely during your lessons," she said. "You will try, as much as is possible, to sit with people who are not in your house during my lessons. I am afraid that this does mean splitting up such notable groupings as Weasley, Granger and Potter, and Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson, but nonetheless, the Headmaster feels it should be a useful experiment."

Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at each other, disbelief on their faces. Shrugging, Ron stepped away from the table they occupied and went and stood by Ernie, Hannah and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Slowly, the class followed his example, and by the end of five minutes, no-one was sharing a table with anyone from their own house.

The last person to take his seat was Draco Malfoy, who sat beside Hermione and Justin, his expression blank despite his previously expressed loathing for the two Muggle borns.

Harry was sat between Crabbe and Terry Boot. He wasn't sure why Crabbe had chosen him to sit with, but one look at the Slytherin's malevolent expression suggested that he was looking to cause trouble.

"Right, good," McGonagall said as she walked around the classroom. She began handing out kittens, one to each table, which, she said, they would be learning how to Transfigure into fully-grown cats. The spell, which was called Aetas, was immensely complex.

"I suspect that each group will require complete co-operation among its members for the spell to be at all effective," she said. "Do work hard, and don't mess about. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a muted chorus of agreement. Harry looked from Terry to Crabbe, and shrugged.

"Suppose we'd better get on with it," he said. Terry nodded, while Crabbe grunted. They drew their wands, and pointed them at the kitten, which was mewling weakly as it lay on the desk.

"On three? One, two, three, Aetas," Harry said. The spell was matched by Terry casting at the same time, but Crabbe grunted "Ehtus" and nothing happened.

"It's Aetas, Crabbe," Terry said. "Ay-eh-tass, okay?"

Crabbe nodded surlily. They pointed their wands at the kitten again.

"Aetas," they intoned. It wasn't perfect, but there was some reaction. The kitten rolled onto its front and stood up shakily. Professor McGonagall, who was circling the room, nodded encouragingly as she walked past.

"Well done boys," she said. "I'd say that the kitten has been aged about two weeks. Not bad."

There was a minor distraction at the front of the classroom as Hermione's table succeeded in turning their kitten into a fully-grown cat. The cat, which didn't seem to enjoy the process, swiped at Malfoy with its claws, leaving a nasty set of scratches on the Ravenclaw's cheek. He hissed in surprise, but sat still while Hermione, used to dealing with Crookshanks, swept the cat into her arms and pinned it in one place while McGonagall swept forward and reversed the spell. The cat shrunk quickly back to a kitten, and McGonagall quickly healed Malfoy's cheek.

The rest of the lesson passed without too many more incidents. Ron, who was working with Ernie and Blaise Zabini, managed to grow his kitten into a docile Siamese that rubbed its head against Blaise's cheek. Ron scratched the cat behind its ears, pleased with the spell the three of them had cast. At the end of the lesson, McGonagall made her way around the room again, collecting the cats and turning them back into kittens, which mewled in frustration as they shrank back into their miniaturised forms.

"I suggest you get used to these kittens," McGonagall said. "We shall be working with them extensively this year."

Hermione was smiling as they left the classroom.

"That was a really nice lesson, wasn't it?" she said. "Those kittens were just adorable."

Harry, who had no feelings either way about cats, just shrugged. Ron slipped his hand into Hermione's.

"Can I practise on Crookshanks, Hermione?" he asked innocently.

"Only when you can do any of those spells on your own, Ron Weasley," she replied, grinning.

"Crookshanks would be the first to volunteer himself for duty," Ron said. "Think of all those times in third year when he put himself in danger for us."

"For me, Ron. He didn't like you."

"You can talk to your cat now? Hey, Harry, Hermione is a Kittytongue."

Hermione scowled at Ron, who just grinned back at her.

"No-one, not even I, will be practising on Crookshanks," Hermione said. "Go and find Mr.s Norris if you want to practise."

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said suddenly. "If we're going to be using those kittens to do loads of magic on, won't that make them resistant to spells or something?"

"I shouldn't think so," Hermione said. "I'm sure Professor McGonagall knows what she's doing."

"How was working with Malfoy, Hermione?" Ron asked as they made their way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. She was quiet for a moment, considering her answer.

"Unusual," she decided on. "It was strange to have him sitting beside me and not spewing bile and vileness everywhere. He made a very good suggestion at one point that didn't even occur to me. I suppose he does belong in Ravenclaw."

Ron shook his head in horror. "Next you'll be telling me I can't even daydream about him as a ferret."

"Ron. . ."

"No, it's okay. I really don't think about it that much. I mean, you wouldn't say that five times an hour was obsessive or anything, would you?"

Harry laughed, which seemed to placate Hermione somewhat. She gave the Fat lady the password ("Bravery and honour.") and they clambered through the portrait hole to find Dean Thomas scowling at Seamus.

"Well, it's not my fault, is it?" the Irish boy was protesting.

"Oh no, not at all," Dean yelled. "'Woy nut tell us Din's fertune, Professor?' You pillock!"

"Dean, that is one horrible attempt at an Irish accent, mate," Ron said, stepping between the two friends. "What happened?"

"Well, we were in Divination," Seamus began. He held up his hands at the grimaces on the faces of Harry, Hermione and Ron. "I know, I know, but we had to do something for our fifth N.E.W.T. Anyway, Lavender said she wanted me in there with her. I told Dean he didn't have to come in with me, but he insisted."

"Yeah, and I also insisted on sitting at the back and not drawing attention to ourselves." Dean said. "Pillock," he added, seemingly unwilling to let the idea go.

"Yeah, well, we wouldn't have had any problems if you hadn't hung around to try and chat up Padma Patil," Seamus said.

Ron and Harry regarded Dean in shock.

"You were chatting up Padma Patil?" Harry asked.

"Didn't you go out with her sister?" Ron added.

"I went with Parvati to the New Year Ball," Dean said, reining in his temper. "Nothing happened. Nothing happened with Padma, either, because this twerp was standing behind her the whole time pointing at his watch and pulling faces. So we dashed off to Divination, and of course we were the first ones there," he turned to yell at Seamus. "And this idiot suggested she read my palm to pass the time until the others arrived."

"So, what are you going to die of?" Harry asked sympathetically.

"He's not," Seamus said, a grin on his face. "D'you want to hear what the old hag said?"

Hermione's face contorted at the thought of agreeing with insulting a Hogwarts teacher. Eventually, she settled for finding an empty table away from the four boys and getting to work on the homework Professor Vector had set her for Arithmancy.

"She said, and I quote, 'You will betray a friendship but make it stronger then ever afterwards, you will fall once and then once again, you will rise bright and strong and you will play your part.'"

"Well, that's not so bad," Ron said.

"That's not what he's got a cob on about," Seamus grinned. "Trelawney's decided to make Dean our personal study this year. She was mightily impressed with the reading she gave him."

"Yeah, well, it's all rubbish," Dean said, subsiding into a chair. "If she knew anything, she'd be able to tell me if I'm going to make it onto the Quidditch team this year. When I asked, she just said 'The Eye does not lower itself to such mundane matters, Mr. Thomas.'"

"I didn't know that you fly, Dean," Harry said.

"A bit. Probably not good enough to make it on the team, but I've got to give it a go right? I mean, it's Quidditch."

"Good man," Ron said. "If you can swing a club like you do a sword, you'd make a great Beater."

"That's what I figured," Dean said. "So, what d'you captains reckon to me and this idiot as your Beaters?"

Harry grinned as Seamus rounded on his friend and they started bickering again. As he and Ron enjoyed the show, neither of them noticed Josh Cochran, the tall American fifth year, watching the group closely.

*

"You might want to read that," Moody said, tossing Malfoy a copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Thank you, but no," Malfoy said, not moving his manacled hands to pick up the newspaper. "I'm sure that the latest news about the hunt for Sirius Black is fascinating, and the 'At Home' feature with the drummer of the Weird Sisters still more so, but I feel that I should be better off without polluting my mind any further than the potions I am forced to drink each day."

"Open it to page eleven, Malfoy," Moody growled. "About halfway down. I should think it'll interest you."

Malfoy sighed, the faintest hint of a scowl crossing his face. He reached for the newspaper, the Dark Mark a bright red stain against his pale forearm. Slowly, he pulled the paper towards him, and fumbled it open to page eleven.

"'First Hogwarts Resorting in Two Hundred Years,'" he read aloud, before shutting the paper and pushing it back across the table to Moody. "The boy was always a disappointment," he commented, his gaze for once losing focus. "Took after his mother's side of the family, of course. Much too sensitive. He spent five years trying avenge a thoughtless slight against him by Harry Potter, and now he has abandoned his heritage. Well, a disappointment, as I said, but hardly a surprise. If he had gone to Durmstrang, as I wished, then he would have been far more mature. Dumbledore has coddled him."

Moody sat silently and stared at him, taking a swig from his hip flask.

"Really, Moody, did you expect me to become tearful and make a full confession of my guilt? Draco has abandoned his family, apparently believing that I am guilty. Well, when I am proven innocent, then he shall not be welcomed back to Malfoy Manor. If a lack of forgiveness is a crime, Moody, then by all means lock me away. However, that is the only crime of which I am guilty."

Moody remained silent, save for a grunt of effort as he stood once more and walked away. He paused by the door.

"You can keep the paper," he said. "Interesting article in there about the rebuilding of Hogsmeade after your attack on it." With that, he was gone.

Malfoy didn't touch the paper, instead sitting quite still until a guard came to take him back to his cell.

To be continued...