Harry Potter and the Watcher's Council

"I mean, they promised me they'd take me to St. Croix, and then they just decide to go to Tuscany. Art and buildings? I was totally beachless for a month and a half. No one has suffered like I have. Of course I think that that kind of adversity builds character. Well, then I thought, I already have a lot of character. Is it possible to have too much character?" -Cordelia, "When She Was Bad"

Spring holiday seemed to slip by in complete contradiction to how slowly it had arrived, and still Harry had not discovered the identity of his unknown potion. He barely thought about the upcoming deadline, in fact, much less spent any time working on the project itself. The whole thing seemed trivial now in the face of the attack on the Ministry and Susan’s leaving.

Susan wasn’t the only one. Several students had been pulled from school by their parents and throughout the break it became a common event to see a head of house take a student from the hall during a meal only to discover they’d left for good.

Meanwhile Hermione, who was staunchly trying to make things as normal as possible for Ron, announced one afternoon that end-of-the-year exams were only twelve weeks off and they would need to start studying straight away.

“Here,” she said, handing each of them each suspiciously colorful rolls of parchment with an air of expectancy. “If you follow the schedules I’ve outlined here, you’ll have just enough time to prepare before exams.”

Harry examined the schedule Hermione had laid out in color-coded squared on his parchment with a frown. “This is great Hermione, really nice of you and all, but well… isn’t this a bit pointless? Who cares about end of year tests with everything else going on?”

“Don’t be thick, Harry,” Hermione replied, her voice holding a tinge of impatience. “Exams will happen whether or not we would like them to, and you’ve got to pass if you want to stay at Hogwarts. You do want to stay?”

“I… yeah,” Harry mumbled, flushing and folding his parchment back and forth, eyes fixed firmly on the common room rug. He didn’t say what he was really thinking—that he might have to face Voldemort again before exams, and this time he might not be so lucky. Hermione’s eyes would get big and she’d hug him and tell him to stop being ridiculous. Ron would stumble for words and try to distract him with a game of wizard’s chess or exploding snap, and the feeling of impending doom he’d had since those ravens appeared in the great hall would continue to grow.

So instead he changed the subject. The less he thought about Voldemort—the less he brooded about the prophecy and what it all might mean for his future or lack thereof—the better off he would be. “Have you heard anything about Percy?” It had been almost three days since the attack.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, Mum sent an owl this morning. He’s still pretty bad off, but the Healers at St. Mungos say he’ll recover soon enough. He got off lucky,” Ron continued, his face twisting in a grimace. “Most of the people involved in the attack were killed outright. We still don’t know why they left Percy alive.”

“You don’t think…” Harry lowered his voice, his eyes darting around the common room to make sure no one was listening in. “It’s not because of Ginny, is it?”

“Don’t you mean Malfoy?” Hermione asked, shaking her head. “It’s doubtful. He talks big, but we all know he hasn’t got any influence over anyone. He’s just a student. To them he’s a child, same as we are to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. They don’t trust us with anything, do they? Why would Voldemort or anyone else trust Draco Malfoy?”

“Ginny does,” Harry muttered, but Ron looked so distraught at that comment that Harry didn’t say anything more.

“You’re probably right,” Ron said. “Still, it is a bit odd, isn’t it? Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but now that I think about it, it’s suspicious, yeah.”

“Then let’s not,” Hermione said firmly. “Let’s… let’s go down to the Potions workroom and figure out your unknowns. We’ve only got a few days left and you know the last thing you want is to see the ecstatic expression on Snape’s face when he kicks you out of class.”

Ron groaned but began gathering up his things so Harry followed suit, content to fill his time with just about anything that kept his mind off Ginny, Malfoy, Susan, and the upcoming battle, not that his impossible unknown or his impending failing mark in Potions was much better.

But once in the potions lab, Harry found he couldn’t concentrate. He had no sooner gotten out his things than he was putting them away again, noticing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his phial of unknown solution was dangerously low. He had enough for three, maybe four, more tests, and then he’d be done for. Snape had been very clear about not giving out more samples. With a sigh Harry carefully stoppered his sample and resigned himself to coming back later—it was best he not try now, when he could barely concentrate as it was without all the additional pressure of possibly failing potions on top of everything else.

He left Ron and Hermione to bicker over Ron’s unknown (“You need to add more asphodel, Ron, and you’re not stirring it properly!”) thinking that he might stop by Hagrid’s for tea. He hadn’t talked to Hagrid properly in weeks, not since he’d started seeing Susan. But just as he reached the stair leading out of the dungeon, a crashing sound echoing down the dim corridor to his right had him changing directions, rushing down the corridor blindly, past decrepit suits of armor and torches gutted in their sconces until he found the source of the noise--an unused classroom and inside Ginny, Buffy, and Malfoy, all standing over a lumpy, headless body.

“What the bloody hell is that?” Harry gasped, staring at the still-twitching thing with a look of confused revulsion. He noticed that it seemed to be bleeding a strange, neon green-colored substance that greatly resembled snot.

“It’s none of your concern,” Ginny snapped, whirling to face him with a glare. Malfoy smiled grimly at him from behind her back, a strangely triumphant look in his eyes that made Harry want to scratch them out. Buffy, rolling her eyes at the tension in the room, stepped over the body and took Harry by the arm.

“It’s just a demon Will conjured to give us a bit of combat practice,” she explained, leading Harry out of the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

“But it’s holiday,” Harry said dumbly, confused by this turn of events. So now Buffy and Willow were giving private lessons to Ginny and Malfoy, of all people? Whose side were they on, exactly?

“Some people are just over-achievers,” Buffy assured him. “I never really got that, you know? Back in high school Willow was always doing extra stuff, tutoring and taking hard classes and studying. I preferred the old, getting by on my looks and charms method of passing classes. Plus, you know. I had the whole Chosen One night job thing going on. Didn’t have much time for studying. Not that I really minded that aspect of it so much. Wasn’t really the brainy type and—“

“But if Willow created that demon,” Harry interrupted, “why didn’t it just disappear when you’d killed it?”

“I said she conjured it. As in pulled it from a… an untold hell dimension or something. The whole demon conjurey magic thing, not really my MO. I see it, I kill it, and if it doesn’t disappear or, you know, sometimes they melt? Yeah, like right into the floor. I’ve had many a good pair of boots get ruined by demony sludge. Well anyway sometimes they require burial. Or the ritual sacrifice and burning.”

“Er… what?” Harry said, feeling more confused by the second. Somehow Buffy had managed to lead them into the entrance hall without Harry even being aware of where they were heading.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” Buffy asked, looking far too innocent to be trusted. “It’s nice outside. Well, for England. Back home it’s like seventy degrees, sunshine all the time.”

“We’re not in England,” Harry mumbled. “I was… I was going to visit Hagrid.”

“Well I won’t keep you then. See you on Monday, Harry!”

“Er, right,” Harry said, watching her quickly retreating back for a moment before turning to the front doors. He had no idea what had just happened, and a part of him didn’t care to find out. Every time he got involved with something to do with Ginny, things ended badly.

Harry didn’t go to Hagrid’s. Instead he took a long walk around the lake, trying to get his thoughts sorted once and for all. He could almost feel it, scratching at the edges of his mind—the key to the mystery that Ginny had become. The clues were there, teasing him, but it was like a puzzle in which none of the pieces quite matched up. Harry didn’t believe Buffy’s story for a second, but whatever her reasons for lying, she had certainly given him a lot to think about.

The last day of Easter break dawned clear and warm, the sky above so perfectly blue that Harry couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness just seeing it. He, Ron, and Hermione ended up beneath their favorite tree by the lake, enjoying the first really fine day of spring and in Harry’s case, trying to ignore the fact that his potions unknown remained unfinished and he would most likely be failing out of Snape’s class. A very large part of him really couldn’t care less.

Harry lay on his back, watching the clouds drift across the sky and wishing that he could freeze this moment in time. Time itself was running out. He could feel it sliding through his fingers swiftly and inexorably, each moment bringing them all closer to the inevitable endgame. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, sitting very close together against the trunk of the large tree. Hermione had Ron’s Charms essay spread in front of her, and she was reading it with her lips pursed in concentration, occasionally scratching out a sentence of writing a comment in the margins. Ron sighed heavily, plucking at the grass idly, looking both wistful and bored. Then, with a shocked, happy look on his face, Ron sat up straight, staring at something over Harry’s head, across the lawns toward the gates. Harry sat up and turned to look. There, coming down the road from Hogsmeade was a familiar, tall figure with bright red hair. Harry knew no one else who wore dragon-hide boots and a fang-bedecked vest except…

“Bill!” Harry heard a voice yell from the front doors of the castle. Ginny streaked across the lawn in a blur of red and black, reaching Bill in record time. The three of them clamored up from the ground and went down to meet them.

Bill had his arm slung around Ginny’s shoulders and Ginny was smiling in a way Harry hadn’t seen in, well, not since Halloween, really. She looked as if a light had been switched on inside her, and for a moment, the drastic change confused Harry.

But then he was being engulfed in a tight, one-armed hug and Ron was chattering in his ear while Hermione stood back a little, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Harry didn’t have time to wonder at that because Bill’s words caught him off guard.

“No, Ron, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not here for a visit, actually. You’ll find out with the rest of the students tonight, but seeing as you’re my brother I might as well tell you now—Dumbledore’s asked me to stay on and teach.”

“Teach?” said Ginny with a laugh. “Teach what, exactly? Maths and pencil pushing?”

Ginny squeaked as Bill tugged on one of her braids in retaliation for her teasing. “I only took that desk job at Gringott’s to be closer to my family,” he said with a mock frown, “but if that’s the way you’re going to be…”

Ginny grinned. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop. So if not maths, what then? We’ve already got two Defense professors.”

Bill shook his head. “I can’t tell you quite yet, but you’ll all find out tonight. Dumbledore plans to explain everything at dinner, but somehow I don’t think you’ll be terribly disappointed.”

They spent the rest of the day with Bill, showing him around the castle and helping him unpack his belongings into the Spartan set of rooms he’d been assigned near the Ravenclaw tower. A lot had changed in the castle since Bill had lived there as a student—trick steps were no longer where they once were, hidden passages behind tapestries ended in completely different places and in some cases, classrooms had shifted to entirely different floors. Watching Bill, Harry thought how strange it must be for the man to be back at Hogwarts after leaving it years ago. Bill seemed delighted with the place in a nostalgic sort of way, but he had a shuttered look to him that made Harry think there was a lot more to his sudden appearance than Bill was letting on.

That night at dinner they found out what Bill had been talking about, but not before Harry and Ron were forced to listen to Lavender and Parvati’s whispered giggles about “the really fit bloke” who’d suddenly appeared at the head table. Harry had a hard time not laughing at the expression on Ron’s face at this pronouncement—a mixture between embarrassment and frustration that turned his ears bright red. Hermione wasn’t helping matters much, either. She didn’t join in the girls’ whispers, but instead of telling them off as she usually did, or rolling her eyes at their inanity, she kept sneaking glances at Bill, who was seated next to Buffy up at the head table and looking distinctly confused by her chatter, which hadn’t stopped since dinner began. She was also blushing rather furiously throughout the meal, and Harry wondered with a sinking feeling as he watched Ron notice Hermione noticing Bill whether the Gryffindor common room would be treated to another yelling match in the long series of rows between his two best friends.

Finally, just before the desserts were usually set to appear, Dumbledore stood up from the head table and tapped his goblet with his salad fork to get the hall’s attention. He smiled benignly at all of them and Harry waited impatiently, wishing that sometimes Dumbledore didn’t make such a production of things.

“It is my unfortunate duty,” Dumbledore began, “to make a few start of term announcements. As you all must be aware of by now, Voldemort’s Death Eaters attacked the Ministry of Magic last week. We lost many brave witches and wizards in the attack, and all of us have in some ways been affected. To those of you who have lost family members in this war, I am truly sorry that such things have come to pass yet again in our lifetimes.

Your parents will no doubt be unhappy with the changes I am about to make, but I sincerely believe I speak for what is right and smart in this, a time of war. And yes, I do not hesitate to call it war regardless of what the Ministry is claiming. As most of you have discerned, these attacks by Voldemort and his Death Eaters are not random uprising. This is no easily defeated insurgency. This is war, he is making war on the world as we know it, and our first duty as wizards, as protectors of our way of life is to recognize the threat at hand and to do something about it.”

Dumbledore paused here, his gaze sweeping across the hall over his half-moon glasses. He didn’t look benign to Harry at that moment. He had an air about him of utter determination and strength, and for a moment Harry forgot how old and frail Dumbledore had seemed in the past year. A glimmer of his former admiration for the man came back, making his chest feel tight at he watched Dumbledore’s old face tighten with the slightest hint of anger. The man’s faded blue gaze settled on the Slytherin table for the briefest of moments, and Harry was delighted to see Malfoy squirming in his chair, his own gaze locked firmly on his empty plate.

“It is for this reason,” Dumbledore continued, “that the staff and I have decided to make some changes to the current curriculum of Hogwarts. What we do here at Hogwarts is by and large academic, theoretical, and I know some of you,” here, his gaze settled on Harry for the briefest of moments, “have bemoaned that fact. This is why we have decided to create a more… practical set of lessons. The theory is still important, as you all know, and exams will continue as usual, but we at Hogwarts feel that learning how to creatively use the theory you learn will be far more useful to you in the months and years—and yes, in the battles—to come, than any amount of book learning could possibly hope to achieve.

“You may have noticed a new face at the head table today. I am pleased to introduce Professor Billius Weasley, who will be taking on students from fourth year and up who’ve shown a predilection for flying. Lists will be posted in your common rooms with the names of these students, provided by our flying mistress, Madam Hooch, who will continue to teach the lower years. Group flying, tactics, aerial formation… Professor Weasley has much to teach those willing to learn, and it is my hope that although these lessons will require extra time and effort on your parts and cannot be taken for O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. credit, improving yourselves will be motivation enough.

“There will changes in many of your other classes as well, but I will let your professors explain those to you at the appropriate time. I’ve kept dessert long enough.” With this Dumbledore gave the shocked, silent hall a sunny smile and sat down, glancing at his plate and waiting eagerly for the puddings to appear.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all opened their mouths to talk at the same time, but none of them could find the words. “Well,” Hermione said after a long moment of dumb-founded silence. “I suppose it’s a good thing I made those study tables, seeing as the two of you are going to have an extra lesson this term.”

Breakfast the following morning seemed to last for ages, and Harry couldn't help but feel bitter toward everything, including the bright beams of sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the great hall and the clear blue of the sky overhead, mimicked to such perfection by the ceiling of the hall. In less than an hour's time, Snape was going to discover that Harry had not completed the unknown assignment; what was more, Harry was sure to be kicked out of the class to the delight of the professor and half the students, his dreams of becoming an Auror after graduation utterly dashed.

"Look mate," Ron said, shoveling into his mouth with the blissful relief of one who has only just finished his unknown and can relax without worrying about potions or prophecies or anything else, "it's not like you need the class anyway, yeah? You can take the N.E.W.T. without Snape's class. Hermione will help you, won't you, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up briefly from a large and, from the looks of it, incredibly old book with a distracted smile. "Hm? Yes of course."

Harry groaned and shoved his fingers into his hair, mussing it beyond repair. "It doesn't matter anyway," Harry said with a sigh, shoving his plate away and gathering up his things. "C'mon, let's go to class. Might as well get this over with."

By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione got the dungeons, some of the other students were already queued up outside Snape's door, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and that weedy-looking Theodore Nott whispering among themselves. But when Malfoy noticed Harry making his way down the corridor, his casual stance as he leaned against the dungeon wall shifted suddenly until he was standing in the center of the corridor with his friends behind him, effectively blocking the way.

"Why Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk, “didn’t expect to see you here. But I don't suppose you'll be staying though, will you?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron growled, but Harry just shook his head and shoved past the group of Slytherins, giving Malfoy his best glare. For a moment Malfoy looked put out, as if he'd been hoping for a better reaction, but Harry wasn't about to give him anything he wanted. He'd already taken Ginny away and gotten Harry more detentions than he cared to count. Harry just didn't have the energy for these petty fights anymore and besides, Malfoy was right. This was his last Potions class. His stomach clenched with dread as he stared at the door, waiting for Snape to open it and wondering how badly he'd humiliate Harry once the time came to reveal their unknowns.

For the first time that Harry could remember, Snape was late getting to the dungeon classroom. He didn't offer any explanations, just unlocked the door and swept inside, standing at the front of the room and glaring at them all as if they were the ones who'd kept him waiting. His black eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something flicker in them, something deeper than Snape's usual disgust for his students. The man looked... tired. No, that wasn't quite right—he looked exhausted, his normally pale face white with strain, the skin beneath his eyes so dark it looked almost bruised.

"Now that we're all here, let's begin," Snape said, turning to the blackboard and tapping his wand with a loud clack on its surface. Directions for a new potion began writing themselves in Snape's spiky scrawl across the board, while Snape just crossed his hands over his chest and glared. No one moved. Harry turned to look at Hermione, seated next to him with several rolls of parchment on the table in front of her, raising one eyebrow in question, but she just shrugged and bit her lip. "Well?" Snape snapped impatiently. "Get out your cauldrons, what are you waiting for? This potion isn't going to make itself. Or are you even more idiotic than I'd originally assumed? Directions are on the board."

The entire class looked stunned, including the Slytherins and Malfoy, who seemed particularly put out that Snape wasn't checking their progress on the unknowns. Harry hurried to get his cauldron and ingredients out, feeling only slightly relieved at the momentary reprieve. Hermione wasn't moving, though. She had her hand in the air, staring at the front of the room patiently waiting for Snape to notice her. Snape seemed reluctant to acknowledge her, but after a moment of glaring, Snape seemed to realize that Hermione wasn't going to back down.

"Miss Granger. Someone had better be on the verge of death for you to be interrupting my class with what is I'm sure an imbecilic question easily answered by anyone capable of actually using his brain."

Hermione's hand came down, but her chin went up a notch. "Sir. I was just wondering about the unknown project."

If anything, Snape's glare turned even darker. "Weren't you paying attention last night, Miss Granger? Or were you too busy with your vastly more important socializing to listen to the Headmaster's speech which clearly stated that lessons at Hogwarts were to be changed from now on?"

Hermione flushed, but met Snape's glare head on. "I was listening, sir. But I still don't understand why the new curriculum would change what we've done over the past few months. Sir."

For once Harry wished Hermione would keep her mouth shut. If Snape didn't want to collect the results of their unknown projects, maybe Harry would get another chance to stay in his class.

"It's not my fault if you can't be bothered to listen or understand the new policies set in place by the school's administration, Miss Granger. Now. Get to work, or I'll see you all in detention tonight."

The class burst into a flurry of movement as the students got out their cauldrons and ingredients out. Harry looked at the board for instructions and noticed for the first time what potion they were making—an advanced healing potion Harry had never even read about before.

Next to him, Hermione slammed her cauldron on the table, muttering under her breath all the while. Snape watched her with narrowed eyes but didn't say anything, and by the time the class ended, for the first time that Harry could remember, Hermione had not finished her potion. In fact, she'd barely started on it, having spent most of the lesson chopping random ingredients and wielding her knife in a way that made Harry slowly inch away from her as the lesson went on.

"I can't believe this," Hermione fumed as they left the dungeons and headed to lunch. "Two and a half months' work on that project, all for nothing! He can't do this! He just can't!"

"Well there's not actually anything you can do about it, Hermione," Ron pointed out reasonably as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. "It's Snape's class. If he doesn't want to mark our projects, we can't exactly force him to do it. And anyway I'm a bit relieved, considering mine is absolute shit and I'd probably have failed it anyway."

"I didn't even finish mine," Harry said miserably. "Although I was sort of looking forward to having Potions free."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione snapped. "He wouldn't have kicked you out. Anyway, there is something I can do about it. I'm going to McGonagall. He can't do this."

Harry and Ron exchanged harried looks but neither of them said anything else on the subject.

The next day the Gryffindors had Charms. Professor Flitwick was far more forthcoming about his new lesson plans.

"Today we're going to practice charming objects to contain spells," Flitwick explained in his high, squeaky voice. He held up a round silver object about the size and shape of a snitch. "Everyone choose a partner, then. This spell will require two people." As Flitwick explained what they would be doing, Harry took careful notes, wondering all the time how this fell into Dumbledore's plans for making lessons more practical. He couldn't really see the point of learning how to force a spell into an object unless...

"Professor?" Harry asked, raising his hand as the class moved around trying to find partners. "What's the purpose of all this, sir? What would one do with one of these ball things, I mean?"

Professor Flitwick nodded. "A very good question, Mr. Potter. Would it help if I told you that the spell we'll be containing in these uncharmed snitches is a Stunning Spell?"

Harry shook his head. "I still don't understand, sir. What's the point of containing a spell that can't be released?"

Professor Flitwick smiled widely and clapped his hands. "Ah, but it can be released! With the proper counter-charm, it can even be set to release at a specific time. Do you see what the purpose is now?"

"It's a bomb," Hermione blurted out. "Sorry, sir. It's a bomb. A Stunning spell you can throw at someone from a distance, and set to go off thirty or so seconds after you've thrown it. Sir," Hermione continued, her eyes bright and her quill flying across her parchment of notes even as she spoke, "would it be possible to widen the range of a bomb like this? So that it would affect more than one person, sir?"

Professor Flitwick smiled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves Miss Granger. Now, if you'll all partner up—"

"But sir," Hermione interrupted again, looking suddenly extremely distraught, "if we can make these Stun Bombs, what's the stop someone from creating a... a Killing Curse bomb? Something with a wide range that would--"

Professor Flitwick halted her musings with a dark look as the class being whispering among themselves, some of them looking extremely unhappy. "The Killing Curse is Dark Magic, Miss Granger. It cannot be contained, not like this. It's a sentient magic that requires strong feeling behind it and that, thank Merlin, cannot be replicated by any amount of Charms."

If Harry thought Professor Flitwick's lesson had given him something to think about, it was nothing in comparison to his first class with Bill. After dinner he, Ron, and Seamus headed out to the Quidditch pitch for their first formation flying lesson. They arrived a few minutes early only to find most of the students taking the class already gathered, most of them carrying their own brooms as Harry and his friends were. To Harry's disgust but not his surprise, both Ginny and Malfoy were there, standing close together near the Slytherin bleachers. He also noticed most of the students from other house Quidditch teams and many more he didn't even recognize.

Bill came out of the broom shed carrying several school brooms, which he handed over to students from lower years who didn't own their own. "Glad to see that you've all made it," Bill said with a wide smile. His smile slipped a little as his eyes it on Ginny and Malfoy, standing so close together and whispering to each other every so often, but he didn't say anything about it. After introducing himself again, Bill explained a little bit of what they would be doing.

"You're all good fliers, or you wouldn't have been recommended for this class," he told them. "But most of you have never learned to fly with anyone else. As Chasers you might have learned specific plays in which you worked together with other teammates, or as Beaters you might have learned how to play in tandem strategically. But I'd wager none of you have ever attempted group formation flying."

Draco Malfoy raised his hand, looking extremely bored and just a bit put out that he was there at all. "What the point of this? Sir? If I'm going to have to take an extra class, it had better be useful. School's going to the dogs," he added in a mutter to Ginny, who grinned and shoved him teasingly.

"If you don't want to be here Mr. Malfoy," Bill said, his eyes narrowed, "then you're free to leave. That goes for the rest of you, too. This class is completely voluntary and I'd rather not have anyone in it that’s not willing and ready to learn. So this is your chance—no one will blame you for not wanting to spend your time learning something beyond the realm of exams and theory."

Bill crossed his arms over his chest and waited, but no one moved, not even Draco Malfoy, although Harry thought that was more because of the glare Ginny was giving him than anything else.

"Right then," Bill said, holding up his broom. "Let's begin. Everyone mount your brooms and follow me."

Bill drilled them in flying for the next hour, having them spread out behind him on the pitch and follow his movements as closely as possible. It was hard work having to watch Bill and copy his movements as quickly as possible, all the while watching Bill for his next move. As much as Harry hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point—Harry couldn't see how any of this could possibly be useful. But being in the air again, flying for the first time in months, felt so completely wonderful, so free, that Harry couldn't care less how useful the class would be.

By the end of the lesson Harry was sweating and completely exhausted, but he felt better than he had in ages.

The following week Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast only to discover her staring at the notice board, her forehead wrinkled with confusion. "What's going on, then?" Ron asked. "Has Dumbledore come up with more extra lessons for us to take? Thank god we haven't got N.E.W.T.s this year or we'd never make it through."

"It's... nothing really," Hermione said, but she was still frowning. Harry examined the board, but the only new post he could see was one in Professor Flitwick's neat, tiny writing that said, All fifth and sixth years are to report for an extra Double Charms today in addition to your regularly scheduled lesson. Please gather on the lawns outside the front doors after breakfast. Missed lessons in other subject areas will be made up at a later date. ~Prof. F. Flitwick.

"So we've got extra Charms today, what's the big deal?" Harry said as the headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"It's just odd, that's all," Hermione said. "What could we possibly need three hours of Charms for?"

They found out that morning when they stepped outside to find most of the fifth and sixth year Charms students gathered there, standing in small groups talking amongst themselves. The sky above was a perfect clear blue and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight. Neville was standing with Dean and Seamus near the edge of the crowd, all three looking very confused by this whole turn of events. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined them, wondering out loud what was going on.

"No idea, mate," Seamus said, kicking at a rock on the ground. "Somethin' big though, considering they've got all of us down here, yeah?"

"Attention!" Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice announced from the front doors. The students turned to face Professor Flitwick, who was standing on the front steps, putting him just a few inches over the crowd. His voice had been magically amplified to be heard over the students’ murmurings. "Attention everyone!" Flitwick paused to smile at all of them, waving his wand excitedly in the air. "Today we've got a very special lesson planned, which Professors Weasley and Rosenberg will be helping out with." Harry noticed then that Bill was standing slightly behind Flitwick and gave him a small wave. Bill grinned back.

"As Professor Dumbledore has said, we've decided to change the curriculum to be more practical. Today we'll be setting out boundary Charms around the castle grounds in preparation for setting a new set of wards for Hogwarts. Hogwarts already has many layers of wards in place, but this one will be based on the Shielding Ward Professor Rosenberg used at the Halloween Feast. Professor Rosenberg, if you will?"

Willow, who had been standing in the crowd unnoticed by Harry and his friends, climbed up the steps to stand next to Professor Flitwick. She cleared her throat nervously, looking around. "Okay guys, here's the deal. We're going to try to calibrate the shield spell to a wider, more specific area. And the goal will be to set like, focal points that can pull magic from the ground, the plants and all that, instead of the caster." Willow went on, explaining that they'd be working in pairs. One person would set the coordinates for the Shield Spell, while the other person would perform the power switching spell to set the source of magic for that coordinate.

Harry found himself paired off with Neville and they set to work, following the map they had been given of the area they weren't meant to set. Each coordinate was marked with a small flag and Harry and Neville worked their way through them systematically, with Harry performing the complicated charm that set the coordinate and Neville simultaneously working the power switching spell. It was hard work and each coordinate took several minutes to set. Harry had to perform a charm to calculate north, south, east and west for every coordinate, and then another, longer charm to focus all the directions to the particular patch of ground he wanted set as the coordinate. It took a lot of concentration but he and Neville worked well together, and they had nearly completed their area with almost an hour left of the lesson.

As they neared the edge of their area, Neville looked up with a look of pure dislike on his rounded face, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "What's up?" Harry asked quietly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Their robes had long been discarded as the day became warmer, but even so Harry's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. He'd never thought of Charms work as exhausting, but that morning had given him a whole new outlook on magic. It was work, plain and simple, and he wondered if this was how Bill felt out in Egypt, breaking curses on old tombs. The idea didn't seem quite so exciting now that Harry had had a taste of practical magic.

"It's Malfoy," Neville muttered, ducking his head. "He and Zabini are working in the next area over. Oh no," he continued, looking slightly panicked, "they're coming over."

Harry turned around just in time to see Malfoy and Zabini, a dark, sneaky-looking Slytherin Harry had never really spoken to before, standing behind him, both smirking and, to Harry's surprise, looking completely cool and fresh, as if they hadn't spent the past two hours doing difficult Charms work. Malfoy in particular hadn't a hair out of place, his cold grey eyes sweeping over Harry assessingly and his lip curing in a manner that clearly indicated he didn't approve of Harry's and Neville's mussed appearances.

"I just wanted to congratulate you, Potter," Malfoy said, crossing his arms across his chest casually. "That was a bit of luck you got there in Potions, with Snape deciding not to mark our projects. I was a bit put out by that, I'll have you know. I worked hard on mine."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry mumbled, pushing his fringe back from his eyes.

"I'm just being polite," Malfoy said with a grin at Zabini, "but if you're not going to bother... I was wondering why Snape would suddenly change his mind like that. Perhaps all those cozy little detentions the two of you have after hours made him, ah, see the light?"

Harry flushed duly and glared at Malfoy, at a total loss for words. Was he honestly implying that he and Snape... just the thought was enough to make Harry feel sick. "You're a sick, twisted pervert if that's what you really think, Malfoy," he said heatedly.

"Don't talk about Harry like that!" Harry turned, surprised, to find that Neville was not only flush with anger, but had his wand trained on Malfoy. He looked like he would very much like to use it, too.

Malfoy snorted. "As if I'd take direction from a pathetic Squib like you. You're a disgrace of a wizard, Longbottom. I can't believe you're a Pureblood. No, now that I think on it, I heard a rumor once about your mother and a half-troll. And that would certainly explain your looks."

Neville's face turned even redder at that, but Harry was one step ahead of him. Not bothering with his wand, Harry leapt at Malfoy, knocking the other boy to the ground and landing a solid bow to Malfoy's jaw with a satisfying crack. His hand went immediately numb but he didn't care, too intent on hurting Malfoy as much as possible. How dare he say those things about Neville's mum? How dare he speak to Harry at all, after everything? After Colin and Percy and--

Harry was too busy trying to strangle Malfoy to notice the other boy's wand jabbing him in the stomach. A bright white light flashed between them as Malfoy choked out a spell, his throat working furiously under Harry's fingers. For a moment time seemed to stop, the world washed in white as if the sun were a light bulb switched to its brightest voltage. Malfoy's face, the grass, even the trees flared brightly in that instant, and Harry was blinded by the intensity. In the next moment he was flying backwards, his body wracked with sharp, stabbing pains. He landed with a sickening crunch in a tangled heap on the ground a few feet away, his leg twisted under him painfully as his body shuddered with painful spasms.

Neville's round face appeared above him, fraught with concern as he mouthed words that Harry couldn't hear. In fact, the whole world seemed to have gone suddenly silent, but Harry barely had time to wonder about that before another spasm of pain shot through him and the world went black as he fainted dead away.