Harry Potter and the Watcher's Council

"I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's, there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And, and Xander's crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why." -Anya, "The Body"

The weekend passed in a flurry of homework, with Hermione harping on Harry and Ron to get their work out of the way so they could get a good head start on things this year. Harry tried to concentrate on his Transfiguration assignment ("Explain in two and half feet, the ways in which cross species switches are affected by Circe's Theory of Transmutation and the horrible results that can occur if done incorrectly, with detailed examples") but kept finding himself staring off into space, picturing his housemates playing Quidditch. He still had to decide on a Chaser and Beater each, and the prospects really disappointed him.

Sunday evening found the three of them holed up in a deserted corner of the common room, Defense books spread in front of them while they tried to master levitation techniques. They were using feathers, and the entire process reminded Harry of his first year at Hogwarts, trying to master the swish and flick. With a pang, he realized that he only had two years left at school. Only two years left of taking classes and having adventures and going to Feasts... he would miss it terribly. And, he thought with a shudder, only two years left of being protected from Voldemort within the safety of the school. With a frown Harry stared at his feather, trying to concentrate. Wandless magic seemed suddenly more important than Quidditch when he was faced with the prospect of once again facing Voldemort.

He stared at his feather for another ten minutes, a frown of concentration marring his forehead. He tried everything the book told him to do: he pictured his feather floating, he pictured hands cupping the feather and lifting it, he imagined a strong wind blowing the feather about. Nothing seemed to work. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. All the concentrating was giving him a bit of a headache, and his scar prickled with the effort.

"This is useless!" Ron exclaimed in frustration, making Hermione growl.

"Now you've broken my concentration!" she complained with a glare. "I think mine was starting to wiggle a bit. Let's keep trying, then."

But Ron slammed his book shut and shook his head in irritation. "No, that's enough for me tonight, thank you. Besides," he added with a significant glance at Harry, "we've got important decisions to make."

Harry grinned. Maybe a bit of thinking about Quidditch would help to clear his mind after all. And besides, he had an obligation to his housemates to choose the best team possible, didn't he? He couldn't let them down, not when they were the defending champions.

Harry pulled out the parchment containing a list of all the Gryffindors who had tried out for the team. He and Ron bent over it carefully, scratching out names of people who obviously wouldn't suit, pausing to discuss over those who might. "What about Emma Dobbs?" Ron asked hesitantly. Harry had been rejecting his choices for the past five minutes, and he made the distinct impression that no one would be able to replace Angelina.

Harry considered her thoughtfully. She was a third year, slight and fast with good maneuvers, but she had a hard time keeping hold of the Quaffel. He'd have to work with her, train her up, but she was a definite possibility. He nodded. "She might do," he told Ron, "if we can't think of anyone better."

"As for Beater," Hermione cut in bossily, ignoring the boys' looks of shock that she was deigning to participate in a conversation involving Quidditch, "I think you should give Seamus a chance. I know he's not fantastic or anything, but he's big and he can swing a bat fairly hard. How much skill does it take to make a Beater, really?" she added.

Ron sputtered with indignation. "Beating takes a lot of skill! You've got to be able to aim, and know when to knock someone out, and protect your teammates from Bludgers!"

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "Seems an awful lot like Rugby on brooms to me," she said with a small wink at Harry.

Harry stifled a laugh as Ron launched into a tirade on the importance of Beaters. He went over the names on his list again, and with a tired sigh circled the names "Emma Dobbs" and "Seamus Finnigan." Emma would suit all right with a bit of training up, and Seamus was at least better than those brutes Crabbe and Goyle, to whom Malfoy had no doubt offered the Beater positions on the Slytherin team. His decision made, he scribbled out a finalized list of the team, nodding in satisfaction. As he crossed the common room to hang up his list on the announcement board, he felt the whole room watching his every movement. Even those who had not tried out for the team wanted to know who had made it--everyone wanted another Gryffindor victory this year.

Harry pinned up the notice and stepped back to admire his handiwork, thinking that, scarily enough, he was becoming more and more like Oliver Wood every year. His announcement read:

Gryffindor Quidditch Team 1996 Season
Chasers: Ginny Weasley
Emma Dobbs
Katie Bell
Beaters: Colin Creevey
Seamus Finnigan
Keeper: Ron Weasley
Seeker: Harry Potter (C)

Our first practice will be Tuesday morning at 6 a.m. Be prepared for a full practice and give yourself plenty of time to warm up beforehand. The success or failure of our first practice will determine our schedule for the rest of the year. Remember, we have a championship to defend.

Harry walked away from the board, grinning as his housemates clamored over each other to read the posting first. He heard yells of triumph and sighs of disappointment as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory. If it weren't for his lessons with Professor Snape the next night, Harry thought, Hogwarts would be practically perfect.

Harry felt utterly exhausted as he descended the stairway into the dank dungeons where Snape had his office. Although he enjoyed this new style of Defense lessons, and felt as if they were finally learning something useful, combat fighting was quite tiring. It had felt good, though, practicing kicks and punches on the cloth dummies Buffy had set up around her classroom. Harry thought he'd never be able to move quite the way she could, all graceful as if she were dancing the ballet rather than beating the stuffing out of a defenseless dummy, but his Quidditch reflexes made him one of the best in his class, at least. He smiled to himself as he remembered Neville attempting kick his dummy, only to have it swing back and send him flying.

Harry's smile disintegrated when he reached the door to Snape's office. This would be the first time he'd been alone with Snape since he'd been caught in the man's Pensieve, and he wasn't looking forward to the experience. Still, he had promised Dumbledore, and after what had happened last June, Harry knew it was important to protect his mind against Voldemort. Straightening his shoulders resolutely, Harry knocked at the door.

"Enter!" Snape's voice snapped from behind the wooden barrier. Harry opened the door and stepped inside quietly, shutting it behind him with a soft click. He looked Snape directly in the eyes--he refused to feel guilty about what he had seen. The way his father and Sirius had treated Snape had been awful, true, but it was hardly his fault, after all, and Harry had nothing to be ashamed of. He told himself this over and over as Snape stared him down, his beady eyes willing Harry's green ones to look away first. Finally, Snape sneered and broke eye contact to pick up his wand from the desk.

"Let us begin," he said, his voice frosty and harsh. "I have as little desire to be here as you do, witnessing your pathetic childhood traumas. Draw your wand and face me. You know what to do."

Harry nodded once and raised his wand, trying to clear his mind of all emotion and feeling. As tired as he was physically, this was surprisingly easy to do. "Legilimens!" Snape shouted suddenly.

Harry was running through a torch lit hallway, through a circular room with many doors, into a stone amphitheater with a raised dais. Curses flew around him in red and purple streaks as he stumbled down the steps, toward his godfather, who stood laughing at the dark haired woman standing before him. "Is that the best you can do?"

No! Harry thought frantically. I can't!

A shooting pain spread up his right leg as Harry shook abruptly from the memory to find himself kneeling on the cold stone of the dungeon floor. "A Burning Hex, interesting choice," Snape gasped, clutching his right shoulder. "Get up," he said, his dark eyes angry. "You're not trying. You cannot allow me to delve so deeply."

Harry stood unsteadily, his mind a whorl of confusion and pain at having witnessed that awful memory once again. He saw it in his sleep several nights a week, but this... it was as if he was actually there again, watching Sirius fall through the tattered curtain. Before he really had time to consider what he'd experienced, Snape was pointing his wand at him and glaring. Harry raised his own wand, trying frantically to clear his mind. "Legilimens!" Snape yelled.

Pictures from his childhood sped through Harry's mind, almost as if he were watching a slide show of all the horrid things the Dursleys had ever done to him. A fleeting image of his five year old self, locked in his dark cupboard crying into his pillow. Another of him at age eight, being chased by Dudley and his friends at primary. Suddenly the images shifted, grew darker. Ginny lying lifeless on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry, Tom Riddle's voice mocked him.

No, Harry thought to himself. I won't let him see that! I won't! An incredibly feeling of determination flooded through him, and Harry concentrated all his energy on it. He could still hear Riddle's derisive laugh, telling him he was too late to save Ginny, but it seemed farther away, distant somehow. He did not want Snape to see these things, to know these things about him. He found if he focused all his mental powers on Snape, and only Snape, he could actually see his professor dimly, as if through a glass darkly. The picture gradually became clearer, until Snape snapped into sharp focus. "Intempero Inrideo!" Harry shouted.

Snape doubled over in uncontrollable laughter as the Tickling Jinx hit him square on. Harry stared--he didn't think he'd ever seen Snape smile properly, much less laugh himself silly. Snape struggled to point his wand at himself, still doubled over. "Fin...finite Incantatum!" he giggled, ending the spell.

Snape stared at him thoughtfully, assessing. "What was that first place, in the dark?" he asked.

Harry glared at the older man, trying to control his anger. Snape had no right to know these things about him! Of all his professors, Snape was the one he least wanted to know how truly terrible and humiliating his childhood had been. "It was my cupboard," he muttered angrily, "where I slept until I came to Hogwarts." He stared Snape in the eyes, as if daring him to laugh or mock.

"You're letting me get too far in," Snape said instead, "showing me things you can't possibly wish me to see. Occlumency takes force of will. Perhaps you're simply too weak to master it, after all." He gave Harry a shrewd look.

Harry glared back at him. "Just get on with it," he snarled.

They practiced for another half an hour before Snape finally let him go. "And Potter," Snape said as Harry opened the door to leave, "do practice. The better you become at Occlumency, the sooner we can end these cozy little private sessions of ours."

Harry nodded and left as quickly as he could. He was already getting better, he could tell. He would practice this time. He didn't want any of his friends getting hurt because of him, not again. And Snape was right, for once. The sooner he mastered Occlumency, the better.

September seemed to fly by in a haze of classes, Quidditch, D.A. meetings, and extra lessons. Harry felt as if he'd never get enough sleep. Each night he fell exhausted into bed, wishing he didn't have to wake up early the next morning for Quidditch practice, and yet each morning he was the first out to the pitch, already making loops across the sky by the time his team showed up.

Harry was determined to get his team in shape for the upcoming match against Slytherin. At first practices had been disastrous. Colin couldn't seem to get the hang of aiming Bludgers, and he kept forgetting that he wasn't allowed to attack the Keeper when he was still in the Keeping zone. Seamus could aim and defend fairly well, when he managed to hit the Bludger at all. For the first two weeks of practice he'd missed the Bludger as many times as he'd hit it, frustrating Harry to no end. His Chasers were doing quite well, though, with both Ginny and Katie able to help Emma get the hang of things. Harry wished wistfully for the Weasley twins, but tried not to dwell on his old teammates. Instead he scheduled more practices, until his team was training nearly everyday, to their utmost disgust.

But finally, Harry thought with a smile as he and Ron wrestled the Quidditch balls into their box after yet another early morning practice, his team was starting to really come together. Ginny, Katie, and Emma had worked out some excellent tactics with a bit of help from Ron, and their moves were looking really good. Harry wondered about the Slytherin Keeper. Who would Malfoy be using this year, and would he be decent? If he wasn't brilliant, Harry didn't think Slytherin would stand a chance against his Chasers. Colin and Seamus still needed a lot of practice, but they were coming along nicely too. Seamus had only missed the Bludger four times that practice, and he was really working hard to improve. Harry knew his team wanted to beat Slytherin as much as he did. Although they looked tired and irritable every morning, they still came and practiced with all they had. If they didn't beat Slytherin in the match in three weeks, it wouldn't be from lack of trying.

Harry and Ron headed up to the castle to change and shower before breakfast. It was still quite early, and the sun was only really beginning to shine. The air rushed around them in a chilly, gusting breeze and they quickened their pace, wanting to get out of the cold. While he had been practicing, Harry had hardly noticed the cold, but now his hands seemed to be turning to ice and his teeth chattered harder with every gust of wind.

With no other thought in his head aside from the long hot shower that awaited him, Harry rushed up the front stairs of the entryway, rubbing his arms and still shivering from the wind. If it weren't for Ron pulling him into an empty classroom, he would have ran straight into his Defense professors whispering urgently to each other in the corridor.

"Ow, Ron," Harry complained. "Have you gone mad? I want a shower!"

Ron glared at him, pressing a finger to his lips. He jerked his head toward the hallway, where their Defense professors were still talking.

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Buffy?" Willow was asking, concern written clearly on her face. "I thought you quit the Council for good. Why should we work with them now?"

"Will, you know what we came here to do," Buffy argued heatedly. "Faith is useless to us, rotting in jail."

"Plus, there's that whole, 'she's a homicidal maniac' factor," Willow said. "But I still don't feel right about this. What if they try something again? How can we trust them?"

"Now that we know which one we can use, we have to go through with it. We don't have a choice Will, you know that," Buffy replied, her voice hard and determined. She glanced around the corridor. "The students will be up soon, we shouldn't talk about this here. Until we have what we came here for, we have to be on super stealth mode."

"I guess you're right," Willow agreed. The two girls moved off down the hall and rounded the corner out of sight. Harry turned to Ron, seeing his own feelings of shock and confusion mirrored in his friend's face.

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Ron whispered.

Harry shook his head and moved toward the door. The headed up to the common room, whispering to each other as they went. "What's this 'Council' Willow was talking about?" Ron asked. "Could it be something to do with the Order, do you think?"

"No," Harry replied, "because Buffy must have been a part of it at one time, or worked for it. But she doesn't any longer--Willow said she'd quit. There are just so many things in that conversation I didn't understand. But Ron, it seemed... didn't it seem as if they were plotting something to do with a student? Something that might be dangerous?"

Ron nodded. "They said they'd found the one they could use. Use for what, I wonder? Use against Voldemort somehow?"

Harry frowned. "I don't think so." He knew, of course, that if they needed a student to help in the fight against Voldemort, they'd have come to him already. He was fated to confront Voldemort eventually, or die trying. But Buffy had said they'd found the one... No, it had to be something else. "It must be for their own purposes," Harry said.

"What are they here for then, if not to teach us? They have their own reasons. It didn't look good Harry. In fact, the whole conversation seemed quite dodgy to me."

Harry sighed as they came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Buffy is the Slayer, Ron," he said, trying to sound as if he believed his own reassurances. "She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize a student. She's on the good side."

"We don't know anything about them, Harry," Ron argued. "Willow is really powerful. If something went wrong and she lost control, can you imagine the damage she could do? I don't want to sound like Hermione or anything, but maybe we should do a spot of research, read up on Slayers and such. Just to be safe."

Harry hated the feelings of suspicion sneaking through his thoughts. He wanted to trust his professors, and trust Dumbledore, who had chosen them. But Dumbledore trusted where others wouldn't, Harry knew, and his choice in Defense professors was notoriously poor and occasionally deadly. If Buffy and Willow were planning something to do with a student, something that may be dangerous, it couldn't hurt to be prepared. "Just to be safe," Harry agreed after a long pause, echoing Ron's words. "We're just taking a few precautions. Its not as if we're accusing them of anything."

"Course not," Ron agreed. "Now budge up if you're not going in. I need a shower before breakfast." He sniffed the air delicately. "You could use one too, mate. You stink." Harry laughed and gave the password to the Fat Lady, resolutely putting aside thoughts of the conversation they'd overheard. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on words he'd barely understood. They'd tell Hermione about it, and start reading up on Slayers. There was nothing he could do about it until then.

Unfortunately they had a double Defense lesson that morning with Willow, so it wasn't long before Harry was once again wondering about the suspicious conversation he'd overheard. Who was this Faith person, he wondered, and why was she in prison? Could she possibly be in Azkaban? What had she done for them that they needed to replace her? His rambling thoughts were interrupted by Willow clearing her throat loudly in annoyance. He looked up from his doodling to find her staring at him expectantly.

"Did you even hear the question, Harry?" Willow asked, her green eyes flashing.

Harry shook his head guiltily. "Sorry, no. I was... er..." He tried desperately to think of an excuse, but gave up with a shrug.

Willow smiled. "Its okay, I was always total zone out girl in my high school chem class. I was just asking which goddess you'd call on if you wanted to turn yourself or someone else into a rat?"

Harry stiffened at the question, his mind instantly turning to Wormtail. Hermione's voice piped up before Harry could get over his momentary confusion. "Its Hecate, Willow," she said excitedly. "I've read all about animal transfiguration spells in the Grimmoire. For us, cross species switches on humans is very difficult, but the spell in the Grimmoire seemed quite simple." Harry glanced over at his friend and shook his head a little at her extreme enthusiasm. He'd truly never met anyone so excited about learning as Hermione always was.

Willow smiled mischievously. "Well, the turning someone into a rat part is pretty easy," she admitted, her eyes twinkling. "Its the changing them back part that's really hard." She giggled. "One of my friends turned herself into a rat during high school, well actually to get away from a bunch of parents who were possessed by this evil spirit thing, and I didn't figure out how to turn her back for almost four years," she admitted. "We had to keep her in a cage and everything." The class stared at her in horror. Harry shuddered. He couldn't imagine being trapped as a rat for so long, missing out on so many things. Living in a cage. "It had a wheel, and I gave her plenty of treats!" Willow exclaimed defensively. The class laughed at her joke.

Willow told them to pair up and they'd take turns turning their partners into rats. Then they could attempt to reverse the spell. "The reverse spell is really hard though," she warned them. "Don't worry if you can't do it. I have plenty of cages in the supply cabinet," she joked deadpan. "On second thought, just call me if you get your partners to transform, and I'll change them back."

Ron and Hermione immediately paired up, leaving Harry to pair with, to his horror, Neville. Harry swallowed. Although he'd been improving a lot over the past year, Neville still made a lot of mistakes and had a notoriously poor memory. What if he got the invocation wrong somehow, and Hecate possessed him or, worse, decided to kill him? Harry eyed Neville nervously. "Shall I try it, then?" he asked the other boy. Maybe he could avoid Neville performing the spell on him at all.

Neville seemed quite nervous as well. "Just, be careful Harry. I don't fancy ending up as someone's pet for the rest of my life," he tried to joke.

Harry gave Neville a small smile and cleared his throat. All around him the voices of his classmates rang out, chanting the invocation spell. Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, leaving it open to the goddess he was trying to invoke. After weeks of practicing Occlumency, Harry found that he could wipe his mind of thoughts quite easily, particularly when Professor Snape wasn't there, sneering at him. "Goddess Hecate work thy will!" he chanted in a clear, deep voice. "Before thee let the unclean thing crawl!"

What is it you wish of me, mortal? he heard a voice, terrible and yet somehow beautiful screaming in his head. Why do you disturb my slumbers?

Harry's eyes clenched shut even more and he bit his lip at the harshness of the voice inside his head. Concentrate, Harry! he told himself firmly. I need you to turn Neville into a rat, he thought at the goddess inside his mind.

A simple enough request, she replied. His head felt suddenly light and blissfully silent. Harry's eyes snapped open suddenly, against his will, and he felt a burning sensation crawling over the surface of them. Gold lights shot from his fingers at Neville to swirl around him, obscuring him almost completely from view. Harry's eyes fell shut once again, and when he opened them Neville was gone. Where Neville had stood, a small, quivering rat cringed in his place, attempting to scurry deeper into the folds of Neville's abandoned robes. Harry grinned and bent down to pick up Neville the rat. He'd done it, and on the first try! It had been hard for him, trying to do wandless magic. He always felt frustrated coming out of Willow's classes, as if he'd never master any of this enough for it to actually be of use. But this spell had come so easily, and Harry finally felt as if he were learning something. Maybe this Muggle magic stuff wasn't useless after all.

"Willow!" he called out, holding up Neville for her to see. "I've done it. Now how do I turn him back?"

Willow smiled and took Neville from him. "I'll do it," she said. Neville squeaked at her. "I'm going to put you down now," she warned him. "Don't move."

"Er, Willow?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Its just, Neville is a rat. And he's not wearing any clothes. When you turn him back, will he..."

Willow smacked her forehead with her palm. "Oh, darn it!" she exclaimed. "I totally forgot. No, you're right. He'll be naked," she admitted.

The rest of the class was staring at the three of them now. Some of them were giggling at Neville's predicament, while Hermione was busily taking notes. No one else had managed to transform their partners, and Harry had to wonder why it had come so easily to him when nothing else about this Muggle magic had. Still, he couldn't help but feel pleased that he'd done something not even a roomful of Ravenclaws had managed. .

Willow blushed. "Let's put Neville and his, um, robes into the supply closet. I can do the spell from out here. That'll work, right?"

Unfortunately the closet was full of weaponry that Buffy had stored there. Harry couldn't help but stare at the array of deadly weapons. She couldn't possibly expect to train them on everything from crossbows to double headed axes, could she? Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. What did Buffy need all these weapons for? Did it have anything to do with the conversation they'd heard that morning?

After the students had lugged all the weapons out of the closet, including an extremely heavy sledge hammer that took four of the strongest boys to move, Willow tossed Neville's robes into the enclosure. Neville followed his clothing, squeaking indignantly. She shut the door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Revele!" she yelled out suddenly. "'Cio che fu non e piu. Cio che fu fatto disfa. Passato e il pericolo, finita e la prova. Metti le cosa a posto!"

A breeze seemed to whip through the classroom, mussing Harry's hair and making it even more messy than it normally was. A loud crash came from inside the closet, followed by Neville cursing. After a few minutes Neville came out of the closet, robes rumpled and eyes wild. "Never again!" he told them in a shaky voice. The class laughed and Neville smiled shyly.

Willow cleared her throat. "Wasn't that fun?" The class stared at her blankly. "Kidding!" she exclaimed. "I'll let you go early. I think we've done enough damage for one day." Harry began gathering up his things, thinking that they could use the extra time to tell Hermione about the conversation he and Ron had heard, and maybe start researching Slayers. Before he could go, he felt a light touch on his arm and turned to face Willow. She smiled. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Harry motioned to Hermione and Ron to leave without him and turned back to Willow. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked nervously. "I mean, the spell... wasn't that the way it was supposed to work?"

"Oh! No, you did great with the rat thing. That's not what I want to talk to you about." She walked across the room and closed the door. "Professor Dumbledore, he wants me to give you some, um, private lessons," she explained quietly, obviously not wanting anyone to overhear her. She sat on top of her desk, fidgeting nervously. Harry thought she looked tired, far more worn than she had at the beginning of the lesson.

"Er, okay. My schedule is really busy with Quidditch and everything, but if Professor Dumbledore wants me to have it, than I suppose I should go ahead and do it," Harry said. He honestly didn't know how he would fit in yet another lesson into his already packed schedule. Maybe McGonagall could get him a Time Turner, like the one Hermione had used to get to all her extra lessons third year. But no, McGonagall had had to write to the Ministry and explain about how Hermione was such a model student and would never abuse the privilege. The Ministry had spent the past year going on about how deranged Harry was, and even if it hadn't, he was far from a model students. And that thing had made Hermione crazy. He'd find the time. He had to. Dumbeldore obviously thought it would help him, and Harry had decided long ago that anything thing he could do to prepare for his confrontation with Voldemort, any advantage he could take, he would.

Willow still sat on the desk, twisting her hands into her skirt and biting her bottom lip. She was terribly pretty, Harry couldn't help but think, with her hair that seemed to encompass all colors of red, and her sparkling green eyes.. He shook his head. She was a professor. Hermione would have kittens if she knew he had a crush on their Defense teacher. "Er, is there something else?" he asked, because she seemed to be trying to work up the courage to say more.

She nodded. "I just... I have to warn you before we get any deeper into the magics." She raised her head finally, her green eyes meeting his own with a searching, almost frightened look of concern. "These forces, they don't want to be controlled. They'll take advantage of you, if they can. They'll take you over. If you lose it, they'll serve you their way, and you could end up doing things... awful things." Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears, and all Harry could do was stare. He had no idea what to do when Hermione cried, much less when someone he barely knew cried, that person being his teacher, of all people. His experience with Cho had really made him wary of weepy girls. He found himself hoping desperately that she simply wouldn't cry.

Willow made a visible effort to pull herself together. She gave him a hard look, pressing her lips together in a thin, strained line. "Please don't tell your friends this, Harry, but last year I lost control. I... lost someone, and it drove me crazy. I became vengeance, and I did things. Things you can't even imagine." Her voice was low and harsh, almost angry. The sound of it made Harry start, and the intenseness of her eyes made him want to look away, but he forced himself to meet her searching look.

Harry swallowed. "I've done things I'm ashamed of, too," he told her. "Things that hurt people I cared about. I've lost someone as well."

Willow nodded in understanding. "Your godfather, right? Dumbledore told me. But that wasn't your fault, Harry. He was murdered. I... I killed someone." She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm telling you this so you know what can happen, if you let your emotions take over. I skinned a man alive, without even so much as a tiny twinge of conscience. He begged and pleaded with me, but I wouldn't listen." She opened her eyes and looked him in the eye steadily, although he could see the tears shining there. "He murdered the love of my life, and I didn't care about anything anymore, except vengeance. I wanted him to die, and die painfully. I enjoyed hearing him beg for his life."

Harry felt a surge of horror at her story, but also of understanding. He remembered the terrible feelings of overwhelming anger and hatred that had overcome him when he had seen his godfather hit by Bellatrix Lestrange's spell, seen him fall gracefully through the tattered veil and out of his life forever. He had wanted to kill her, he remembered. But more than that, he had wanted to hurt her. When he'd attacked her in the lobby of the Ministry, it hadn't been the Killing Curse he'd yelled. It had been Cruciatus, the Unforgivable curse used to torture people, sometimes into madness. He'd wanted her to suffer and feel excruciating pain, the way he was suffering and feeling pain. He found himself nodding, his throat tightening as tears threatened.

"I... I understand," he said finally. She began to protest, but he held up his hand. "No, really. When Sirius died, I wanted to kill the woman who'd done it. Not only that, I wanted her to suffer. I cast an Unforgivable curse on her. An illegal curse worth a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, just to see her writhing in pain the same way I already was." He laughed softly, bitterly. "I failed, didn't give her more than a brief twinge. She said I had to really want to inflict pain--to enjoy it--to cast the curse. There had to be real desire to hurt behind it."

Willow put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know what its like, to lose control. That's good. Because it can't happen, Harry. Not with these kinds of magics." She smiled wanly. "Not unless you want to end up turning your friends inside out, anyway."

"I understand," Harry said. "When do you want to meet?"

Harry had to run to catch up with Ron and Hermione for their next lesson, which was Defense again, but with Buffy this time. Double Defense was never so confusing as when he had to switch teachers and classrooms in the middle. He caught up with them just as they were rounding the bend in the corridor their next lesson was on.

"Oh good, Harry. You won't be late," Hermione said by way of greeting. "What did Willow want to talk to you about?"

"Later," Harry muttered as the three of them entered the classroom, which had been emptied of desks and chairs after their very first lesson. Instead the room was littered with stuffed cloth dummies hanging from the ceiling and several piles of the long wooden staffs they had only just started to train on. Harry suspected that Buffy kept all her sharp weapons in the other classroom in the cabinet mainly to keep them away from students. She had told the class only the week before that they'd have to master the staff before learning any other weapons, to a chorus of disappointed groans. The staff was boring and slow, but Buffy was insistent.

In preparation for the class, most of the students were already practicing their kicks and punches on the hanging dummies, or else pulling off their long robes and replacing them with the chest, arm, and shin pads that Buffy kept stored in a large trunk that had recently begun to stink of the combined old sweat of several class's worth of use. As Harry pulled on his own pads, he wondered if Buffy ever took the time to perform a simple Cleaning Charm on them. But then, he guessed she couldn't really do that, nor did she seem like the type of person who would think of something like that.

Hermione seemed to be wondering the same thing as she pulled a set of pads out of the trunk, wrinkling her nose against the smell. "Ugh, I hate these things," she complained as she began strapping them on.

"They're for your own safety," Ron told her primly, strapping his pads on with relish, obviously imaging what sorts of combat skills they'd learn that day. While Harry enjoyed these lessons with Buffy, Ron seemed to really love them. He even practiced in his free time, and often tried to get Harry and Hermione to spar with him.

Harry always knew when Buffy had entered the classroom, because the room fell immediately silent and all eyes turned toward the door. The class assembled in the center of the room as Buffy walked to the front before turning to face them. She cleared her throat. "Okay so, last time we just practiced with the stick things--the staffs, I mean--and did some group maneuvers. I thought today maybe we could pair up and try to do some sparring, what do you say?" The class remained silent, which she must have taken as a good sign, because she said, "I guess that's a good. Yay me. Choose a partner near your own height, and don't aim for the head! I don't relish trying to clean bits of Ravenclaw from the floor."

Buffy gestured that Ron, who was taller than anyone else in the class by at least a head, should pair up with her. Harry shrugged and turned to Hermione, but she had already paired up with a shorter girl from Ravenclaw. Harry ended up pairing off with Terry Boot. They both fetched staffs from the corner and faced off near the center of the room. Harry wasn't really sure how to begin. Then Terry said, "Er, right. On the count of three?"

Harry nodded and prepared himself as Terry counted off. On three they both lunged forward and their staffs clacked together loudly. Harry back off a bit and changed his grip so that he held the staff near one end with both hands. When Terry lunged again Harry was ready for him. He ducked under Terry's swinging staff and swung his own staff out in a wide arc, circling behind Terry's legs and smacking into the backs of his calves with a resounding thud. Terry stumbled backward, but didn't fall as Harry had intended him too. Harry jumped up and lunged forward, trying to take advantage of Terry while he was off-balance. The maneuver worked; unprepared for another attack so quickly, Terry failed to block Harry's attack and swung wildly instead, allowing Harry to knock his staff from his hands.

"Good one," Terry said as he bent to retrieve his staff. He froze as he gazed past Harry to a pair sparring across the room. "Oh, look at that," he muttered, pointing.

Harry turned to watch. Buffy and Ron were sparring. Although Ron was at least a foot taller than the Slayer, he was having a lot of trouble just holding her off. And from the slow, almost lazy way that Buffy was moving, Harry could tell that she was holding back. Ron tried a similar kind of move to the one Harry had attempted on Terry, but Buffy merely jumped easily over his staff and sent the end of her own weapon into Ron's chest pad with a swift, sure movement. With a look of comic disbelief on his face, Ron flew backward a few feet before landing in an undignified heap on the stone floor of the classroom.

Buffy had Ron pair up with Neville and Dean while she began circling the room, observing the class. Harry felt a surge of elation when she remarked, "Well, you don't completely suck," which from her, he knew, was a genuine compliment.

The class ended after a good half hour of sparring. They were all unstrapping their pads and piling their staffs in the corner when Buffy cleared her throat to signal that she had an announcement. "You guys did pretty well today, and hey, no one got seriously injured, which is always a plus. I know the staff is really boring, but its a basic weapon and I've used it lots of times. Well, I've used pool cues lots of times, and they're pretty much the same thing, right? So for, um, homework, everyone should practice for at least another hour before next week. And before you start groaning," she said, cutting off groans from Parvati and Lavender, who blushed furiously, "remember that we can't do anything fun until you master the staff."

"Like the crossbow?" someone called out from the back.

Buffy laughed. "You wouldn't know what to do with a crossbow if it bit you in the--um, well, that's not important and anyway crossbows don't usually have teeth so it wouldn't really... unless it was possessed by some kind of bitey demon..." she trailed off, flushing. "So um, practice. And then maybe we'll do swords before Christmas vacation."

The class left the room, sweaty and tired, but excited about the prospect of learning how to sword fight. Before Harry and Ron could launch into a discussion about it, Hermione turned to Harry with an expectant look in her eye. "So," she began excitedly, "what did Willow want with you?"

Harry looked around the Room of Requirement, smiling tiredly with satisfaction at his fellow D.A. members. Ron had made a lucky find of a Boggart living in one of the unused lockers of the Quidditch changing rooms, so they had finally been able to practice Patronuses against dementors. Well, not real dementors, but the next best thing, anyway. Most of them had succeeded, to Harry's great surprise and pleasure. They'd been practicing for over an hour now, and Harry had had enough of dementors. He was even starting to dislike the taste of chocolate, he'd eaten so much in the past hour.

The D.A. members started to leave as Harry, Ron, and Hermione locked the Boggart in an empty trunk to store it for future practice. Some milled around, talking about the meeting, while others chewed grimly on their chocolate. "Good meeting tonight, that," Ron commented as he and Harry each took a handle of the trunk and headed for the door, Hermione following close behind.

Harry only nodded. It had been a long day, but even so he always looked forward to the D.A. meetings. The other students were progressing really nicely. Most of them had been able to produce a Patronus against the Boggart Dementor, and they had all mastered the basics of Stunning and Disarming, as well as several very useful hexes and jinxes. Hermione had been working diligently in her free time on some of the potions they'd found that summer. She had nearly finished the Agility potion, and was also working on the very tricky Chronos Concoction. Harry was excited for their next meeting the following week. He'd been practicing some good jinxes in what little spare time he had, and he couldn't wait to teach them to everyone else.

Harry sighed contentedly as he climbed into bed a few minutes later. Although the D.A. took up a lot of his time, he was really proud of everything they had accomplished so far. His members were improving really quickly, especially Neville, who seemed to gain more confidence every time he successfully mastered some new hex or blocking spell. He felt proud of their accomplishments, but he was also amazed at the way they had all banded together and bonded so easily, despite being from three different houses. It was exciting to see them acting with such solidarity to defeat a threat so much bigger than petty house rivalries.

Harry's thoughts slipped quickly into dreams. He was floating high above the school, soaring on the strong gusts of wind that rushed across the forest. He loved the feeling of freedom he always got when he flew, as if he'd left all his worries on the ground and he could finally just be Harry, with nothing hanging over his head. No death threats, no responsibilities, just the incredibly exhilarating feeling of the wind rushing against his face.

He flew over a large city and several small towns before soaring lower and lower, until he flew straight through an open window and into a dim, cold room. "Here is the reply," a high, cold voice hissed. Was that his voice? Harry asked himself frantically. He seemed to be speaking, and yet had no control over his movements or speech.

"Yes, we must go ahead with the plan," he said. He recognized the voice now. It wasn't his, it was Voldemort's, and Harry was not dreaming. He was having another vision, seeing things through Voldemort, through the connection he had to the Dark Wizard through his scar. He desperately wanted to hear whatever plans Voldemort had, but he knew he couldn't allow that desire to get ahold of him. He had to wake up, to break the connection! He struggled mentally, trying to wake himself up. He couldn't expose himself like this to Voldemort again! He had to close his mind to it! Harry struggled frantically to separate himself from the consciousness that seemed to be pulling him in, deeper and deeper into the alien void that was Voldemort's mind. No! Harry repeated to himself over and over, but his own consciousness grew dim, fading until he could no longer retain specific thoughts of his own...

"We have to get the girl," he told the woman kneeling worshipfully in front of him. He reached out a skeletal white hand to caress her dark, shining hair. She gazed up at him with dark lidded eyes. She was beautiful, he thought with cool detachment, but more importantly she was a loyal and perfect servant, willing to die for him and his cause if necessary.

"Yes, master," she murmured. He dark eyes shown with excitement and a maniacal fire that delighted him. "She will be yours."

"Excellent. You please me tonight, Bella. Be sure not to fail me, as Wormtail here, has done." He gestured to a short, balding man whimpering pathetically from his prone position on the carpeted floor of the room. He felt his lip curl in a sneer at the sight of the twitching man. Useful as Wormtail had once been to him, he was now nothing but a weak, pathetic fool. Just the simple sight of him filled Voldemort with disgust. "He has... displeased me as of late. Perhaps a small reminder of the consequences of my displeasure will be enough to ensure his success, wouldn't you agree?" He pointed his wand at the quivering man.

Bella smiled, a ghost of a smile really, her teeth yellowed and stained, dark eyes haunted and crazed from her years at the mercies of the dementors. "Oh yes, master," she replied gleefully. Voldemort felt himself smiling. She delighted in the pain of others nearly as much as he did. "Just a small reminder would do."

"No, please!" Wormtail pleaded. "Not again!"

He laughed cruelly. "Crucio!" he hissed. A stabbing pain shot through his forehead and he screamed harshly. His head felt as if it had split in two, and he could hear voices shouting around him, arms grabbing him. He tried to pull away, but the pain in his head was excruciating. He could barely breath, let alone move. Something seemed to pull and snap inside him, and suddenly he found himself wide awake, sitting up in his curtained four poster at Hogwarts, screaming himself hoarse.

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "Snap out of it!" Harry couldn't seem to stop screaming, although his voice was beginning to give. He felt disoriented, as if he were in two places at once, and the horror of realizing that he had actually been Voldemort for a few minutes, had seen Bellatrix Lestrange, had touched her, was simply too much for him. He had felt something like affection for the vile creature, as much as Voldemort could really feel anything. He couldn't think or feel, except to scream his horror.

Crack! Harry felt a blossom of pain across his cheek as Ron smacked him hard across the face. His voice fell silent abruptly, and he sat stock still in silence for a few moments, confused. But the physical contact seemed to have snapped him out of the state of shock he'd been momentarily trapped in. Harry shook his head, and suddenly his mind was his own again, and he felt sick with what he had experienced and heard. A wave of sickness suddenly overwhelmed him. Harry turned and vomited onto the floor at Ron's feet. Ron patted his back in an attempt to comfort his friend, and Harry looked up at him, horror written clearly on his young face. It was the look in Ron's eyes that truly brought him back to himself: sadness, tenderness, fear and concern flitted in their chocolate brown depths. Harry took a deep breath, grimacing at the taste of having revisited his dinner in his mouth.

"He has some sort of plan," Harry whispered, his voice almost completely gone from screaming. Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all gathered around his bed, staring at him.

"Was it another nightmare?" Ron asked hesitantly, as if he didn't really want to hear the answer.

Harry shook his head. "Not a nightmare," he choked out. "He said, he needs to get the girl. Couldn't tell who or what he meant by that."

Neville stared at him in horror. "Him? Not... surely not... You-Know-Who?"

Harry lay back on his bed weakly. "Please, I need to sleep," he whispered. He turned over and buried his face in his pillow.

"Harry," Ron started, reaching out to touch Harry's shoulder. Harry jerked away quickly.

"Just, leave me be," he whispered. "Need to sleep..."

"Should I go fetch McGonagall?" Seamus asked nervously.

"No," Ron said thoughtfully. "He'll tell Dumbledore in the morning. He just needs to sleep now. We all do."

But Harry didn't sleep. He lay awake the rest of the night, listening to the other boys as they each fell into sleep at last, their soft snores filling the room. Harry stared at his bed hangings and tried desperately not to think about the scene he had just witnessed, and the immense pleasure he had derived from inflicting such terrible pain upon the man responsible for his parents' deaths.