Harry Potter and the Chains that Bind

Chapter 9 - Another Week in the Life

"Mister Colier! What are you doing?"

"I'm shorry professhor."

Malfoy, who was standing with a group of Slytherins directly behind Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Connor, was openly laughing.

"That's enough, Mister Malfoy! Is there something amiss with your wand, Mister Colier?"

"No Ma'am. Ish jush toushy today."

"I can see that. Those teeth are four inches long!" The professor extended her hand and Connor sheepishly relinquished his wand. She gave it a slight flick, and Connor's teeth were now far too short.

"Typically American," she said with a frown, glaring down her nose at the golden wood, "over powered and under-precise. You should watch where you point it, Mister Colier." She waved her own wand and Connor's teeth were suddenly back to normal.

"I told you I shouldn't be here," Connor said glumly, as the Professor moved on to other groups.

"Nonsense," Harry replied. "That kind of thing happens all the time."

"Of course it does," Malfoy added, from behind them. "Honestly, I don't understand why you're surprised - after all, you have to live with yourself. You of all people should understand how incompetent you really are."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry spat.

"Or you'll do what? Threaten me? Try to fight me like a Muggle?" Suddenly, Malfoy stood bolt upright.

"That's more like it," hissed Ron, who had slipped behind Malfoy while they were arguing. "It's a wand. How'd you like to spend some more time as a ferret?" The surrounding Slytherins were silenced, and a few of them glanced nervously at their wands. Pansy Parkinson even raised hers slightly, as if she intended to give Ron a taste of something nasty. Blaise Zabini quietly put his hand on her shoulder, restraining her as he peered around for Professor McGonagall.

"You couldn't do it, Weasley." Malfoy started to turn slowly, daring Ron to try.

"Maybe not," Ron said with a jab, "but then that would be even better, wouldn't it? I think Hogwarts would enjoy seeing you with a stupid ferret's face, and you know how long it takes broken magic to wear off...you could be stuck like that for weeks."

"You'd regret it," Pansy jeered, menacingly.

"I doubt it."

"That's enough," Hermione whispered. "Stop it, both of you! Honestly!"

"I-" Malfoy began, but Connor interrupted him.

"One more word, Malfoy, one more and I'll beat you like a Muggle. Sneer about it all you want. It'll look pretty stupid when you're missing teeth. You couldn't even make a proper ferret, then."

Malfoy remained silent the rest of the class, even with Ron taunting him every five minutes. There were several other Slytherins in Transfiguration, but after the summer, only Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini seemed really loyal to Malfoy. The others would laugh at his jokes, but they didn't seem likely to risk their necks for him. Nott sat in the back. He very rarely spoke to anyone, unless called upon.

As they stepped into the hallway after class, Malfoy pushed passed Harry, knocking him into the wall. Harry, who was on the verge of shouting something rude, instead found himself laughing as Draco tripped over someone's foot and sprawled face first into the corridor floor. Pansy Parkinson shrieked as he looked up, bewildered, with blood running freely from his smashed nose.

Harry felt a hand on his shoulder as Connor moved up in the group. He thought that the tall American might be bracing for a fight, but it turned out he needn't have worried. Everyone in the hallway was laughing, and Draco rushed away, with Pansy in tow.

All during charms, they laughed at Draco's misfortune.

"I wish he'd have fallen a little harder," Ron said. "I'd like to see that arrogant git with a flat face for a while. Unfortunately, Madam Pomfrey will probably have him sorted out all too soon."

"You shouldn't be that way, Ron," Hermione chided him. "It could come back to haunt you."

"Why are you taking his side? He's the biggest prat this school has seen, since Snape was a student!"

"I'm not taking his side," sighed Hermione. "I'm just saying that you oughtn't wish bad things upon others, because it's like tempting fate!"

"That's right," Neville said from behind them. "Think of the embarrassment he must have gone through and...and..." Neville paused for a moment, looking at his wand. "...and I wish the slimy ponce would have knocked out a tooth or two." The people around Neville roared with laughter. Malfoy seemed to hate all Gryffindors, but Neville certainly got more than his share of humiliation at the hands of the Slytherins.

"What's this?" Professor Flitwick asked, pausing in front of the laughing students.

"Oh," Ron answered, "we were just discussing someone getting something they really deserved."

"Ah...Mister Malfoy! Yes, I heard about that...most unfortunate. Still, that sort of thing is nothing to laugh about. After all, it will probably end up being quite painful - Terribly, excruciatingly, hideously painful."

Hermione had her hands clamped tightly over her ears. "I'm not hearing this. I'm not hearing this!"

Regardless, she undoubtedly heard it the rest of the day, as Ron made certain that everyone he even remotely knew heard the entire story. By that afternoon, people Harry had never even talked to were congratulating or scolding him for something he hadn't even done. He'd so far heard that he punched Malfoy, that he tripped him, that he threw him, and that he hit him with some kind of un-blockable nose-breaking curse.

That last rumor was his favorite.

Needless to say, by the end of the day Harry was both content and exhausted. He, Ron, and Neville were all sitting around one of the tables near the window. Connor, as usual, had disappeared after his last class. Normally, no one used the table at which they sat, because a chilly draft came in through the windows. Katie Bell and Hermione had finally grown irate enough to repair it, which took all of ten minutes, but most other Gryffindors still avoided the seats out of habit. They'd just gotten into their Defense notes when Connor staggered through the portrait hole. He was quite filthy, and dirt and grease was packed under his short fingernails. His casual clothing was stained, and Harry thought he looked very much like a Muggle auto-mechanic. He looked dead tired.

"Been playing in the dirt, mate?" Ron offered. He and Connor had been on relatively good terms so far this week, with the earlier incident with Draco only cementing it.

"Nah. Been working on something. Unfortunately, I'm not so great at cleaning spells."

"Scourgify," Ron said, waving his wand casually at Connor's robes.

"Thanks."

"S'nothing. What are you working on?"

"I can't tell, it's a secret...but you ought to see it pretty soon."

"What do you mean 'a secret'?"

"I think," Hermione said, appearing from nowhere, "that means he's not allowed to tell."

"I know what a secret is. And how did you get involved?"

"I have unique skills, Ron! And how do you know I'm involved?"

"Because you just conveniently showed up when he did, and every time someone is doing something they aren't supposed to around here, you're involved." Ron said, staring down into her eyes. He had grown so tall that when he stood close to her, Hermione nearly had to lean backwards to look him in the eyes.

"Only because you two are usually the ones breaking the rules and you always drag me into it."

"Ah ha!" Ron cried triumphantly. "So you don't deny it? Well, that proves it then!"

"So you know what's going on?" Harry asked.

"I may or may not," said Hermione.

"Women," Ron said, turning to Harry and nodding sagely, "they're impossible...honestly!" Harry was left wondering when Ron became such an expert on women, but then again, Ron did have a girlfriend now, and he didn't. At least, that's what he supposed Ron and Hermione were.

Bah...Not that, not now, Harry thought miserably.

"You're lucky women will talk to you at all, as thick headed as you are, sometimes," Hermione said.

"Well, you talk to me," Ron shot back, "don't you? And you'd be awfully lonely if I toddled off someplace now, wouldn't you?"

In an effort to disengage himself from the depressing thoughts that were starting to flood his mind, Harry glanced out the window, looking for something, anything, to draw his attention from the current developments in his best friends' love lives.

"Say, who is that?" By now, Ron and Hermione's flirtatious bickering had grown so loud, Harry had to repeat himself.

"I said 'Who's that?'" He pointed.

"Well, I don't recognize her," Connor said, glancing down at the black-haired woman who twirled on the cobblestones below.

"You haven't been here long enough to know all the Gryffindors, let alone all the students." Dean roughly shoved Connor out of the way. Inwardly, Harry sighed. Many of the people Harry knew thought Connor shouldn't be at Hogwarts at all; and at times, Harry had even wondered if perhaps it wasn't all a very big mistake. If things came to a head with Dean, something bad would surely come of it.

The strange girl below was still spinning, dancing over the stone walk on her toes. Her skirts fanned out around her as she flowed, and her long black hair swirled about her head.

"I've seen her before," Dean said, shielding his eyes against the light in the common room, so he could see into the night. Harry thought he'd seen her too, though for the life of him, he couldn't say where. Around them, other Gryffindors were crowding the window to see what they were looking at. Murmurs of speculation flowed through the throng.

"Maybe she's visiting," Ron said. "I've seen that face before; maybe she has a relative here."

"She looks a bit like Daphne Greengrass," Collin Creevey said, fogging the window with his breath and promptly wiping it off again with his sleeve.

"You're a nutter," Seamus pronounced. "Maybe the hair, sure, but she's loads better looking than Greengrass."

"She must be the nutter, out there dancing alone in the dark when it's this cold," Collin said. No one disagreed.

"Whoever she is," Seamus said, "she's Scottish."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked, incredulously.

"You just know," Seamus replied without looking away.

"What's your thing with Scotts?" Parvati asked. "You're Irish anyway!"

"If you only knew," Seamus retorted, somewhat wistfully.

"Maybe she's another transfer student," Neville said enthusiastically.

"We're not sharing you!" Lavender cried, throwing her arms around Neville's neck from behind. He blushed madly.

"We shouldn't even have the one we do," Dean added without looking at Connor.

"Let's not get into that," Hermione said softly, in an attempt to recover the situation before it got out of hand.

"Yeah," Ron added. "I mean, we need to stick together now. You heard the sorting hat, and all." Harry didn't like to feel like he was putting his relationship with Connor, whom he'd known for only a month or so, above that with Dean, which had been fairly healthy for six years. He was, however, happy to see Ron acting supportive of anyone.

"Maybe if he didn't destroy other peoples'-"

"Enough!" Hermione roared, startling everyone there. "If you keep on at this, I'll take points from Gryffindor!"

"But-" Dean protested, clearly scandalized.

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"What are you doing?" asked Dean with a shout. "He comes here and carves up Harry's-"

"Ten Points," Hermione said coolly.

Nobody spoke for several minutes, until Dean asked somewhat quietly "Can I just add-"

"No," Hermione cut him off, "but I can subtract. Would you like to test me?" Dean fled up the stairs, and after a moment, Seamus reluctantly followed, cursing under his breath. Harry was going to pursue them, but Hermione held him back.

"Leave them alone. It won't do us any good if we punish them to make a point, only to have you aggravate it by going right back up. Anyway, we have D.A. tonight, and it's almost time to go."

D.A. had been going well this year. Doing two meetings hadn't been as difficult as Harry originally surmised, owing mostly to his friends' involvement. Ron, Hermione, and even Neville had stepped up to assist with the younger and less-experienced students, leaving him to concentrate on the fifth, sixth, and seventh years. He'd stopped in to talk to Kingsley very shortly after their first meeting for advice on what to do this year, since now they didn't have to make up for Umbridge's mess.

"Well, Harry," he said softly, "we'll be doing quite a few counter-curses through the course of the year - you have your schedule?"

"Of course," Harry answered.

"Strictly speaking, I'm not allowed to teach you much in the way of curses."

"I understand, sir."

In class, Kingsley was methodical and unexcitable, sometimes even a bit distant. He had high standards, and demanded nothing less than a full effort from every student. Out of class, he was slightly more social. The blank mask was replaced by the merest hint of a smile, and his piercing gaze came with a sparkle in the eye. Harry still got the impression that the man was continuously evaluating, compensating for, and re-evaluating everything that happened.

"That being the case, I know you're acquainted with a few of them. Tell me: Do you think that the practice of counter-curses would be along the lines of what you want to do?"

"Sure," Harry said. "I mean, that's part of what we did last year."

"Well, someone would have to provide the curses to counter, wouldn't they?"

"Yes...I suppose so. Would you be willing?"

"Willing, yes. Able, no. I haven't resigned my commission as an Auror, and I haven't been sacked - yet. I teach during the day, of course, but at night I still perform certain duties that would prevent me from spending enough time with your club to do any real good. I could, however, assist you in learning them on your own, strictly for academic purposes, to assist other students in the practice of combating them, of course."

"Of course."

"And I expect you'll want to show them in turn to those who will be assisting you with the club, those who you trust enough to help you in that way, so they can help others learn the proper counter-curses. Do you understand, Harry?"

"Yes sir, I believe I do."

"You have two meetings a week?"

"For now," Harry answered. "Wednesdays and Thursdays, mostly, but it can change."

"Very well then. What if we met for a bit on Thursdays or Fridays? That would give you enough time to practice them before your meetings, and to teach them to your assistants."

"Later on Friday or directly after class on Thursday?"

"That will do," Kingsley nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

As Harry was rising, the auror placed a large hand on his shoulder.

"Do I need to warn you to treat this opportunity cautiously?"

"No, sir," Harry replied with complete honesty.

Since then, he'd had two meetings with Professor Shacklebolt, and although he already knew the curses they'd reviewed, learning them properly helped him do them better. He then taught them to Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Neville, Dean, Ginny, and many of the others who had been loyal D.A. members last year. The Protego charm was the counter to nine out of ten curses and jinxes that Harry knew, and fortunately, he performed it admirably. After two weeks of continuous practice, both sections of the D.A. were mastering it as well. Harry got the feeling that some of the students, especially the older ones, were growing weary of simply shielding themselves, so he began to string things together. This forced them to think, and sometimes they couldn't block them all, so they had to deal with the repercussions of the curse, or use an actual\ counter-curse.

Tonight, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Seamus, Parvati, Padma, and Cho Chang all took turns casting various binding curses, which the other D.A. members attempted to block or otherwise deal with. All three types of binding that Harry knew could be blocked with Protego, but fortunately, several of the advanced D.A. students were fast enough with a wand to make defending against the continuous barrage difficult. Cho continued to attend D.A. meetings, even though Marietta Edgecombe didn't, and though she hardly even looked at Harry, she progressed well. She was one of the few students powerful enough to cast a Patronus, and she proved a capable dueler.

As Harry watched, Michael Corner deflected a minor jinx. Cho was quick today, however, and she continued relentlessly.

"Diffindo!"

"Prot-" Michael started, but he was too late. Sticky black ropes snaked around the sixth-year Ravenclaw, binding him tightly. Somehow, he managed to hold onto his wand.

"Dissocio!" The black bands severed with a 'pop' and Michael got his wand up just in time to shield himself from a petrifaction spell. Harry was silently impressed at how well the advanced D.A. members were doing. He'd thought long and hard about teaching some of the curses but in the end decided that part of the problem they'd had in the ministry was keeping the fallen Death Eaters to stay down. Harry did not intend to let that happen again.

To his left, Luna Lovegood was keeping Ron surprisingly busy. Her casual, dreamy movements were oddly graceful. Next to them stood Seamus and Katie Bell, who were both taking full advantage of their athleticism. As Harry watched, Katie dodged three spells, finding time to return three of her own, which Seamus leapt, blocked, and ducked. Hermione and Terry Boot traded spells which looked as if they were simply chosen at random. Harry knew better; Terry was one of the cleverest of the Ravenclaws, and Hermione was easily his equal - Harry knew there was nothing random or haphazard in either of their choices of spells. Others were engaged in various stages of dueling, some successful, some, not so much. Hagrid was absent. After attending one of each meeting, he'd fallen into the habit of attending the less advanced sessions.

"They're a bit more my style," he pronounced after watching the younger students, "if you know what I mean!" Harry did...Hagrid hadn't made it that far before he was expelled for causing the death of a student - a crime of which he was innocent. Regardless, his wand had been snapped and he was forbidden to do any magic. Knowing this, Harry could easily understand why he was more comfortable being surrounded by the younger students if magic was going to be involved.

After another twenty minutes of dueling, and several partner changes, they called it a night, and before Harry knew it, he was back in his dorm room, preparing for his Occlumency lesson. It was sometimes difficult to feel as if any appreciable progress had been made, but then, sometimes it did take Snape slightly longer to bring him screaming to his knees. There had even been one or two occasions where Harry had almost felt something. It provided him with something of a bitter goal; to have Snape fail at humiliating him would almost make all these lessons worth it. Tonight, however, something had occurred to him. He caught up with Hermione on his way out of the Common Room, and she walked with him, nearly all the way to the dungeons.

"So you say your father was in this memory, and he'd been assaulted by Death Eaters?"

"Well, I don't think they were Death Eaters yet, exactly. I think they may have just been students then, but he named off a few that definitely were, eventually."

"Hm. And you've talked to Professor Lupin?"

"No. When I tried to contact him it was the night of the full moon, and I haven't had the chance since then."

"Well, do you think it wise to upset the man who is teaching you Occlumency? You really need to learn this, Harry!"

"I just...need to know. They hated each other, and I need to know if Snape was involved."

"And what would you do if he did? He was a different person then! I mean, he was a Death Eater and now he's not!"

"Look, I don't know if I blame him or...or what, but I need to know what happened. It seems as if my mother kept that memory for a reason. It must be important!"

"Perhaps she just kept it because she was proud of your father?"

"I don't know, but the only way I'll find out is by asking. He can't kick me out for asking, can he?" Hermione sighed and put her arm around Harry, pulling him close to her. He'd never known her to wear much perfume, but he could smell something now, and it was agonizing. Fortunately, he'd already started to prepare himself for Occlumency and he was able to suppress it this time.

"Just don't get kicked out, Harry. We can always try to find out what happened that night. If you get tossed from your lessons again, you may never get back in them."

"Then Dumbledore could teach me."

"Perhaps Professor Dumbledore has Professor Snape teaching you for a reason. Maybe he really is better at it." Now it was Harry's turn to sigh.

"I won't get kicked out. I'll ask him last, and if he's in a foul mood, I guess I'll just wait."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione hugged him and turned to leave. She paused for a moment. "Why do you really want to know?"

Harry didn't answer.

"If you're looking for revenge, maybe you could reconsider?"

"Why should I?" Harry said loudly, almost shouting. Hermione cringed, and Harry concentrated again on his Occlumency. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry Hermione. But really, why should I?"

"Because hurting someone out of retribution is evil. That's the kind of thing a Death Eater does...hurt Muggles out of pure spite and bigotry and revenge for...for just being! It would make you too much like Lord Voldemort if you were going to do something out of revenge."

Harry looked at his feet, not daring to speak to her. He had a pretty good history of not lying to Hermione, and he didn't want to start now.

"Just a thought," she said quietly, and turned to go. Harry took a few moments to compose himself before he knocked on Snape's door. The door opened silently, revealing the bleak and cramped office. The Potions Master was sitting at his desk, a pile of parchment before him. He waved his hand at the chair in front of his desk, and Harry took a seat.

They very rarely wasted words anymore. Instead, Harry would come in, sit down, and wait for the assault to start. After a bit - the amount of time had been slowly but steadily increasing - they would take a short rest. This week, there was even a pitcher of ice water and a pair of glasses. During their break, Snape would tell Harry all the things that he'd done wrong, in practice, class, and life in general. After a quarter hour of verbal abuse, they would go at it again. So far, Harry had never made it until the end of their scheduled practice. This week, however, he was set to try something different. Poking a Stick in the Mind's Eye suggested in his most recent reading that diversion might be as effective a technique as obstruction. Today, rather than attempt to clear his mind, Harry let it flood with what he judged irrelevant details. The color of his socks, what he'd eaten for breakfast, and Muggle football scores swirled through his head.

Nearly twenty minutes passed as Harry saturated Snape with one wave of extraneous thoughts after another. Finally, the professor stopped, which Harry actually felt, and relaxed. He poured himself a glass of water, and then set the pitcher in front of Harry without a word. Normally, Harry was drenched in sweat by this time, but tonight wasn't so bad. He was still thankful for the drink, and he was quietly pleased with his lesson so far.

"Is it your intention to provide the Dark Lord with so many details about your life, and those of the people around you?"

"Well, no. But I thought -"

"That is precisely the problem you incompetent twit; you thought of them. It is apparent to me that you have read chapter three, so why did you insist upon showing me the faces of those most important to you for the past twenty minutes? Do you intend to be impetus of their destruction?" Harry knew that he hadn't had more than passing thoughts of his friends, but he also knew that arguing would simply enrage Snape, bringing about more vicious attacks after their break. He'd done that last week, and didn't want to repeat the performance tonight.

"I'm sorry, sir. I guess I just didn't consider that."

"That," Snape drawled, "is nothing new."

"What about the rest?" Harry asked, ignoring the barb.

"The rest was...acceptable. I take it the numbers were from some sort of Muggle game?"

"Football, sir."

"Is it in any way comprehensible?"

"Mostly not, sir."

"Then I suggest you concentrate on that. If you can find a game that's more confusing, perhaps you should look into that as well. If you have any compassion for the people around you, you'll keep them out of your thoughts. Now...prepare yourself."

Harry had just enough time to call into his mind the colors of the teams that he knew, and their nicknames. While those were flashing through his mind, he attempted to bury his other thoughts, hiding them under the river of colors and meaningless numbers. Bit by bit, he managed to completely clear his mind of anything relevant. The problem before, he realized, was that he was trying to clear his mind of everything. It was a good deal easier to simply try to clear it of anything that mattered and then try to fill it back up with garbage. After all, he'd been doing that for one reason or another for as long as he could remember; to escape from the Dursleys, to make it through the long summer holidays, and even to get his mind of Hermione.

"Watch it, Potter."

"Sorry, Professor."

"Don't waste my time apologizing; correct your shortcomings."

After another twenty minutes, longer than Harry had ever lasted, Snape relaxed. Harry was proud of himself; all night the Professor had been kept at bay.

"It seems you are finally paying attention. Now, there is something you wished to ask me?" It seemed Harry hadn't been entirely successful.

"I...uh...don't know if I want to ask it or not."

"Whether you want to has already been established, Potter. Do not presume that your temporary and extremely brief success can allow you to hide your thoughts from me."

"I do want to ask, sir, I just...I don't want to get tossed out again." Snape's eyes narrowed. He twirled his finger, indicating that Harry should continue.

"My father was once caught alone and involved in a fight with five Death...with people who would be Death Eaters. I was wondering what...what you could tell me about it."

"In my experience, your father richly deserved what he got, every time he got it. When was this alleged incident?" Harry swallowed his pride.

"Well, the thing is, maybe he did. I think it was during his sixth or seventh year, and I was just...er...I just wanted to know if you could tell me anything about it...if it happened because they were Death Eaters or if they had a reason to hate him."

"Everyone in this school had a reason to hate your father, Potter. What surprises me is not that he was involved in an altercation, but that it didn't happen with a great deal more regularity. If you want my opinion, which you obviously must, since you insist on causing me great aggravation to get it; some of the people left in the wake of your father's arrogance recognized a good thing when they saw one, and took matters into their own hands, as they ought to have done so many times before." He paused for a moment, doubtless torn between feeling gleeful at James Potter's misfortune and directing more hatred at Harry. "It is, however, a shame that Black and the Half-Breed weren't there to share in his...reward. They deserved it just as much."

"What about Peter Pettigrew?" Harry asked, his curiosity momentarily overwhelming his anxiety. Snape scowled.

"That little rodent became very adept playing both sides. It's no surprise to me that he wasn't to be found."

Harry was surprised to find himself moderately satisfied with Snape's answer, since it indicated to him that Snape, while happy that it had happened, hadn't been directly involved. He was pretty sure that the slimy git would have been happy to take the credit, had he been there. He forced himself to be polite to the dour and thoroughly detestable Potions Master for another moment.

"Thank you, sir," he said, reaching for the door.

"Potter." Harry turned to face the professor.

"I do not expect you to become any more competent, but I will accept nothing less than the minute success you have shown tonight. You will not waste my time."

"Yes sir," Harry acquiesced.

He slowly wandered back to the Gryffindor common room, still subdued by the wash of insignificant thoughts. Why had his mother saved that memory above all others? Why did it even stick in his head? Somehow, something about it seemed important.

He awoke the next day having dreamed of his mother and father. There was something at the edge of his mind, something that felt very significant, and it just wouldn't come out.

At breakfast, Neville was almost annoyingly cheerful.

"Here mate," Ron said. "What are you all on about? It's too early in the morning to be that awake!"

"I finally did it," Neville said proudly. "I finally convinced the old bat to let me in!"

"Let you in to what?" Dean asked, through a mouthful of bread.

"Potions! I finally got into potions!" The surrounding Gryffindors stopped dead, as though they'd been magically silenced. Harry hadn't realized that no one else knew of Neville's quest to get into Snape's N.E.W.T. level class.

"Potions?" Ron said, dropping his fork and crushing a piece of toast in his left hand.

"You mean you...you tried to get in?" Dean added.

"That's bloody suicide, if you ask me," Seamus said, poking at a slice of ham as though it had something to say. "You know how much Snape hates you."

"That's right," Ron added. "Don't you remember that filthy boggart?" In the third year, their class had been trained by Professor Lupin to deal with boggarts; shape changers that assumed the form of whatever their victim feared the most. Neville's had taken the form of Professor Snape.

"I've got to get in now, or I can't go into magical medicine," Neville replied. Dean set his cup down, which wasn't really necessary, since he'd already spilled most of his juice on an annoyed looking Lavender Brown anyway.

"Magical med...have you gone mad? Do you know how difficult that is?"

Harry, who knew a bit more about Neville and his family than most of the other Gryffindors, felt that Neville was probably anything but mad. "So you're willing to do all the work, hey Neville?"

"I'm willing to do if they'll let me try," Neville replied, though he sounded somewhat nervous.

"Well then," Hermione said, after a full minute of silence, "let's go to potions, shall we?"

"Longbottom? What's he doing here?" Draco complained. His nose was still red and swollen, and his normally arrogant drawl was a nasally and pathetic whine. The other Slytherins laughed with Malfoy and leered at Neville, who was starting to look as though he already regretted his decision very much.

"Pay attention!" Snape announced. "Ignore the new addition to our class. He is simply passing time until I see fit to toss him out." There were a few titters at that, and Neville shrunk even lower in his seat. He still wore a smile, however, and it still looked, for the most part, genuine. Snape spun on his heels, his cloak billowing out behind him, and started in on their lesson for the day. In the end, Neville produced a potion that, while not up to snuff for Snape's N.E.W.T. level classes, was certainly better than anything he'd produced last year. Even Snape's continual berating and the Slytherin jeers couldn't remove the smile from his face, although he did look completely worn out by the time they stepped into the hallway. They'd hardly made it around the corner to the stairs leading up from the dungeons when a voice called out behind them.

"Longbottom's somehow found his way into the wrong classroom. I can't imagine how that happened. Hey, Longbottom! You couldn't possibly have anything worth putting up with you for another year."

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said, glaring. Hermione was glowering too, and she didn't look as if she wanted to put up with Malfoy's mouth today.

"Just because your father buys your way into everything," she said, "it doesn't mean that's how everyone else operates. Some people actually have talent." The blonde Slytherin turned on her, reaching for his wand, and Crabbe and Goyle, who must have been waiting for Draco in the hallway, stepped forward hesitantly.

"Ah ah ah..." Connor said, softly, wagging his finger. They both halted in mid step, and Malfoy paused, his wand half-drawn. "Oh," Connor said, still speaking softly, "I know what you're thinking...I might be fast enough to pull off a curse or two...and maybe you are." He grinned widely, exposing enough teeth to make Harry nervous, and Crabbe and Goyle took an involuntary step back. "...Or not."

"Feel free to try," Harry said, smirking. The other Slytherins from potions were standing well back, in case Malfoy and Harry or Connor wound up in a duel. Malfoy puffed himself up as much as he could, considering what had happened the last time they'd argued in the potions hallway.

"What's the matter, Potter? Afraid to fight your own battles? You need a filthy American to do it for you? I always thought you couldn't stoop any lower than the riffraff and mudbloods you've been surrounding yourself with, but you've gone and found someone even worse...an American mudblood who's one step up from a squib. I daresay; you have a talent for digging up the real garbage."

"Take that back," Neville said evenly.

"Are you talking to me?" Malfoy asked, astounded. "You must be mad. Then again, it does run in your family, doesn't it?" There was a whishing noise as Neville whipped his wand out of his pocket. It happened so fast that even Neville looked surprised. Malfoy's eyes actually crossed as he stared down the gleaming bit of wood which rested on the tip of his pointy nose.

"What is it that runs in your family again?" Neville spoke through clenched teeth and the muscles in his forearm shifted as he clenched his wand so tightly that Harry was afraid it might shatter in his grip. "Oh, that's right, being a filthy Death Eater and licking Voldemort's boots." Malfoy started to move his wand arm but a jab from Neville calmed him down.

"That's enough," Ernie said from the crowd. "I'll take points from Slytherin and Gryffindor. Move along, now."

"That's a good idea," Padma Patil added. "He's not worth it, Neville." Neville held Malfoy at wand-point for another few moments before he slowly lowered it.

"Consider yourself lucky, Malfoy." At that, some of the Slytherins laughed. Harry was pleased to notice that no one from D.A. was laughing. Neville may not have been the best dueler, but he was far from the worst, and somehow Harry knew that none of the members of D.A. would stand idly by, either.

"This isn't over!" Malfoy said magnanimously, with as much dignity as he could muster, considering a moment ago he had a wand between the eyes.

"On the contrary," came a voice from behind them, "it is. You all have places to be. Go there, now." Perhaps some of the people in the hallway would have considered arguing with certain professors, but none of them, even the Slytherins, had any desire to start anything with Kingsley Shacklebolt. He fell into step beside Harry and spoke quietly.

"You should look out for Malfoy."

"I'm not afraid of that little weasel!" Harry stopped momentarily, and then continued when Professor Shacklebolt kept walking.

"Not everyone is dangerous in the same way, Harry. Draco Malfoy may seem like a mere nuisance, but he has the ability to cause some real problems. I've heard you're interested in becoming an auror...is that true?"

"Yeah, I've considered it." Harry didn't want to admit the truth; he really hadn't considered doing anything else.

"When you are an auror, you have to judge a threat wherever you see it, from belligerent dust bins to Dark Lords. No cause is without its effect." Harry contemplated that in silence.

A few hours later, Harry was sitting in Defense and diligently taking notes. Multi-colored ink filled the margins of his texts and the sheets of parchment that he would later add to Hermione's magical books. Around him, the scratching of quills marked the students' dedication as a whole.

"Now," Professor Shacklebolt said, in his soft, deep voice, "the Stupefy curse does what? Who can tell me? Yes, Miss Jones?"

"It puts the victim to sleep, sir."

"Five points to Hufflepuff. That is both correct, and incorrect. It is more properly called the stunning spell, or stunning curse, and there are some fundamental differences between being stunned and being put to sleep. Take notes." Harry couldn't imagine that there was anyone not taking notes, but he didn't waste the time to look up. Some of this information he'd already gotten the previous week, but some of it was new.

"Causing something to sleep uses very little energy, and it does very little damage. To the contrary, the force required to stun a person, either physically or magically, is nearly the force required to knock them dead. Obviously, care must be used with stunning spells, and their ilk." Professor Shacklebolt then went on to describe the proper ways to counter stunning spells, which Harry already knew. He dutifully took notes anyway, just in case there was something he missed when he and Kingsley had gone over it last week. Next to him, Ron was muttering under his breath and paging through his notes, marking the spots where he had already made similar annotations. Even though Hermione had convinced him to take school more seriously this year, he still patently refused to take any note twice.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mister Macmillan?"

"Does that mean that the stunning curse is like a killing curse?"

"In many ways, yes. There are several aspects of a spell that can define it as a curse. Mister Potter, I believe you know something of this." At first, Harry didn't have any idea what Kingsley was looking for. Then he remembered what the auror had said about The Light Side of Dark Magic during one of their conversations.

"It's a good book," he remarked at the time. "The man who wrote it knew what he was talking about." Remembering this, Harry mentally searched for what "Mr. J" had to say on the subject. He hadn't read too far into the book yet, but at least he'd gotten far enough to come up with something.

"Well, some people think that what makes a curse a curse is when it's used against the will of the target. So in that case, I guess, a sleeping spell could be a spell when you want to sleep and a curse when you don't. I don't suppose anyone would want to be stunned."

"And magical reciprocity?" Professor Shacklebolt asked, gazing at Harry expectantly. Harry had just reached that part in the book, and he was honest about it. He wasn't going to try to fool anyone if Professor Shacklebolt had read the book.

"I'm not sure I understand that part completely, Professor. The argument seems to be that curses attempt to defeat the reciprocal nature of spells."

"Thank you Harry. That is essentially correct," said Kingsley, pacing in front of the class. "We've long speculated that magic, by its nature, consumes energy - that only makes sense. For years we have questioned the source of that energy and all of its implications - why some are more magical than others, whether Muggles possess magic - the like. Some have theorized that that the so-called 'un-blockable curses' are un-blockable because they consume the magical energy of the victim of the curse. Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Wouldn't that mean that Muggles are at least somewhat magical?"

"If this theory is valid, it might." Seeing the puzzled looks on some of the faces in the classroom, the professor continued. "Can you explain why?"

"Well, if the killing curse consumes magic from the victim, and Muggles can be victims, then Muggles must have some kind of magic. It only stands to reason!"

"Correct, five points to Gryffindor. That argument only stands if magical reciprocity is a valid theory. It may or may not be, since it is difficult to measure magical ability other than observing spells. It is, however, only a theory, and our knowledge of such things is limited." He paused and gazed out upon the sea of blank looks before him. "Really, it's something to keep in mind - Every spell has its price. With some of your more powerful magic, the price can be hefty."

Later that day, as Harry was preparing for D.A., he glanced at the book they had been talking about in class. It really wasn't that thick, but he just hadn't gotten a chance to read it. He considered returning to it on the weekend, since in his opinion, if Kingsley thought it was a good book, it probably was.

Later that night, Harry and Ron stood in front of the beginners D.A., addressing students that ranged from first through sixth years. There were about twenty-five in all, from every house; even Slytherin. Harry was diffident when it came to allowing the Slytherins to attend, but in the end, Hermione had convinced him that if they wanted to be there, risking Malfoy's wrath, they ought to be allowed. Harry was pretty sure that they were spies anyway, but what they were doing in D.A. was no real secret. The advanced D.A. was where they worked on actual dueling, and there were no Slytherins in that group.

"Alright," Ron said, "watch what happens when Harry tries to...Oi! Are you paying attention?" It was obvious that the students were not, and were instead looking behind him. Both Ron and Harry turned at the same time to an unexpected sight.

Draco Malfoy was leaning against the door frame, glaring at the group.

"Malfoy," Ron spat. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

"Temper, temper, Weasley. There are children present. Anyway, I've been bored lately and I'm looking for some entertainment. I figure watching you lot pretend to know what's going on ought to be good for a laugh."

"No," Harry said, without a pause.

"What?" Malfoy looked stunned.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" quipped a third-year girl whose name Harry could never remember. "Do you not understand proper English? Well allow me to enlighten you: Sod off, git!"

"You little..." Malfoy stopped, reconsidering where he was. He glared at the few Slytherins in the room, and then at Harry. He's been doing quite a bit of glaring lately, Harry thought.

"You can't keep me out, Potter. When my fa-" Malfoy stopped, and a light tinge of red spread over his cheeks. "When the Minister of Magic hears about this, you'll be sorry." Ron couldn't resist a jab at Malfoy's expense.

"As sorry as your old man was, perhaps, when he failed his master and got caught by real wizards? Would you say that's how sorry we'll be?"

"You wretched..." Malfoy started, his wand hand twitching. He probably wasn't going to go try to pull it, but at least ten cries of "Expelliarmis!" rang out, and Draco's wand shot from his fingertips. The blond Slytherin was thrown backward through the door, and Harry left him there.

"Please Mister Potter sir," one of the smaller Slytherins begged a bit later, "could we take his wand to him? It may go better for us if we do." Harry would have rather snapped it, but the girl sounded so utterly worried that he couldn't resist.

"If Malfoy does try anything, you need to let us know," he said to her, and then to the class in general. "He needs to learn that his kind of nonsense isn't acceptable."

"That's right," Ron added, nodding. "We'll look after you. The important thing to remember is what the sorting hat said- 'We are all together'." Harry considered calling it a night, but figured that it might give them the wrong impression. He didn't want any of the students to think that Draco had accomplished anything with his behavior. Instead, they practiced another half hour with renewed vigor. Fortunately, none of the other D.A. students seemed interested in taking revenge on the younger Slytherins, some even seeming to take pity on them. As they left, Harry noticed that Malfoy was gone.

"That was a good touch," Harry said to Ron on their way back to Gryffindor tower, "that bit about the sorting hat, that is."

"Well, it just came to me on the spur of the moment. Anyway, I'm sure that's what the hat meant...that we all needed to get along. All people like Malfoy do is cause us to not get along, just because everyone in his house thinks he's so great, and then he acts like a hooligan."

"Not everyone thinks he's great," Harry replied. "You should have heard Nott. I got the impression that he hated Malfoy almost as much as we do."

"Nott, eh..." Ron mused, curling his lip. "Well, I've never cared much for him either, or any Slytherin, really, but any enemy of Malfoy's is a friend of mine. Maybe the Slytherins in D.A. aren't all spies."

Harry laughed. "I'd thought that myself, but tonight made me wonder. A few of them actually looked worried."

"Well," said Ron, "I suppose we'll find out, if any of them turn up as frogs, or lizards, or something."

Later that night, Harry dug his mirror from his school chest. He sat cross-legged on his bed, and pulled the curtains shut around him, and after casting a silencing charm on the bed so he wouldn't be overheard, tapped the wand and whispered "friend". Nearly immediately, it flashed blue and Dumbledore's face appeared in the glass.

"Ah, Harry. Looking for Remus, again?" Before Harry could answer, another voice spoke.

"If he is, he's found him. Is there anything wrong, Harry?" Harry marveled for a second over how he could see both Dumbledore and Lupin at the same time, and then spoke.

"Well, I just had a question about a fight my father had at school." Dumbledore politely excused himself, and a flash of blue later, only Remus was visible. He still looked a bit rough from the last full moon, but other than that appeared to be in good health and good spirits.

"Ah, well. There did seem to be quite a large number, you know."

"Yeah," Harry replied, "but I have a specific night in mind. I know that my father was injured, but I don't know much else."

"Well," Remus said, "why don't you tell me a little and I'll see what I can remember." Harry could tell by the way that the picture was jostling that Remus was sitting down. Harry could even see that he was in the library of their house. He went on to describe the event in as much detail as he could, and then waited for Remus to speak.

"I think I remember that, Harry. Pete turned up missing one night, and some third-years told James they'd seen him with a bunch of Slytherins. This was at the end of our sixth year, so James and Sirius had spent almost six whole years tormenting certain students, and most of the time, Peter was unfortunate enough to tag along with us when it happened. We figured they'd caught him alone and were going to work him over. He was never much good at anything, and James knew that if he was on his own, he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Sirius was gone somewhere; I don't exactly recall where. I was...ill...and so that left only James, who naturally went charging in, flinging curses like an old pro. Lilly and James were somewhat involved by then, but they weren't really a couple yet. She found out what he did, and went looking for him in the middle of the night, and dragged him back to the Common Room. I didn't know they'd gone to the prefects' bathroom before, but that makes sense, when you think about it. I knew she'd found him in the owlry, and the boys' prefects' lavatory is on the way. Peter was with there too, in the owlry I mean, unconscious, so he could at least help your mother out. You say he wasn't in your mother's memory?"

Harry shook his head. There must have been something in the way he did it, because Lupin clarified. "That was before he'd gone over to...to the other side. He was still 'our' Wormtail then. Thanks to James, he got off without much more than a scratch. James wasn't so lucky though; they beat him quite badly, actually.

"When Sirius came back, he was enraged. He wanted to walk right into the Slytherin Common Room tossing spells and taking names." Remus chuckled to himself. "It took Lily, Peter, and me together to keep him from doing anything rash, and honestly I wasn't much help. I think she jinxed him more in three days than he'd been hit all year, and if it was anyone else, they wouldn't have survived the week. Sirius always did have a soft spot for Lily, though." He was smiling as he relived his school days in his head. Harry considered all that his friend had told him.

"It keeps nagging at me," Harry admitted, "any idea why she'd have that one memory saved?"

"Plenty," Lupin said. "On the night before your parents' wedding, Lily and I talked until early the next morning. She mentioned that night, although I never got to use her amulet. She told me that talking to your father after the attack was when she realized her true feelings for him. It doesn't surprise me now to know that's the memory she saved. Perhaps you can feel a little of what she felt...memory magic is a funny thing."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. He was happy to know how significant the memory was to his mother, but there was still a feeling that he couldn't shake. It meant more; he knew it, but he'd need time to get it figured out.

"Well, thanks, then. I'm glad I could talk about it to someone besides Snape, at least."

"How are things going with him, Harry? I know he's..."

"They're fine Professor."

"Harry, I'm not a professor anymore. Call me Remus."

"They're fine, I promise. He's a git, just like always, and I put up with it, just like always. Really, it's like we were meant for each other!"

Remus laughed at that, and after some small talk, Harry read from The Light Side of Dark Magic and then tucked in for the night.