"You're going where with who!" Ron gasped.

Harry nodded grimly. "I woke up this morning hoping it had been a bad dream. But no, it appears I'll be spending an entire weekend being paraded around the American Wizarding Congress like a bloody prize fighter—with Snape as my traveling companion. Do you suppose it occurred to any of them that I don't know how to stop Voldemort?"

They were lingering in the boys' dormitory after everyone else had gone down to breakfast. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and even the thought of harvesting Oyster Pods and playing Quidditch in beautiful autumn weather wasn't enough to distract Harry from dreading the weekend.

Hermione, perched on Harry's bed absently picking lint off Ron's robes, shook her head. "Honestly, it's a shame Professor Lupin couldn't have gone instead. If anyone else were going to be with you, I'd be jealous." At their baffled expressions, she explained patiently, "The chance to travel to another country, to see their magical society and speak with their leaders? It's an amazing opportunity!" Then she wrinkled her nose, "Or it could have been."

With a sigh, Harry grabbed his book bag. "At least the thought of being stuck with me all weekend distracted Snape from ripping my brain apart like he usually does. I actually managed to hex him a few times."

His friends perked up. "That's good news, Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "Ginny said you seemed a little less miserable than usual when you got back last night. We'd wondered if it went better."

As they made their way down the stairwell, Harry shrugged. "Like I said, Snape was distracted. I don't know if I'm improving any."

"Any dreams last night?" asked Ron.

Harry paused on the stairs. "Come to think of it…no!"

He thought hard back through the past twenty-four hours, and realized in a rush that made his heart race that yesterday and last night, his mind had seemed his own. There had been no odd surges of alien emotion, and moreover, there should have been, yesterday of all days.

Ron and Hermione looked back at him as he sat down right there on the steps, smiling helplessly. "I just realized…they penetrated Voldemort's headquarters yesterday. He may have gotten away, but he should have been furious—and I didn't feel anything!"

"That's fantastic, mate!" Ron yelled, leaning over to slap Harry on the head. "You're making real progress, then, and we can stop worrying about you getting possessed!"

But Hermione was frowning. "Unless this is another trap of some kind, and he meant for the headquarters to be found."

Harry looked down at her in dismay. "Hermione," said Ron, "you are such a killjoy!"

Harry sighed. "No, she's right. No sense getting overconfident."

"Still," said Hermione as they resumed their walk. "At the moment, one is just as possible as the other. If he's set up all this and managed to keep you from even feeling his moods, well, he's becoming stronger in his mind. On the other hand, if he didn't, and you're still not feeling anything, then you're getting stronger in yours."

Ron crossed his fingers. "Here's hoping it's the latter."

"Amen to that," agreed Harry.

"Don't forget, we've got Quidditch tryouts this afternoon. Feel all right, do you?"

"Better than usual. And I'm actually hungry!"

Harry would long remember that day as the most restful he'd had in a long time. He and his friends had a pleasant—and large—breakfast while listening to the Hogwarts Music Society rehearsing for their Halloween concert. Hermione got into a lively conversation with a group of Ravenclaws from their International Magical Cooperation class about International Confederation of Wizards, and they decided to talk to Professor Churchill about having some in-class debates. Harry, Ron, and Katie Bell brainstormed about the best way to go about Quidditch tryouts that afternoon, and an owl arrived from Fred and George saying they would be there. Snape brightened the whole Great Hall with his absence, and Harry—feeling especially punchy—hexed Malfoy's sausages to roll away every time he tried to pick them up. No one caught him.

Herbology was a gorgeous affair. Since the start of term, they'd been raising the valuable but frustratingly-delicate Oyster Pod Plants, always with Professor Sprout's assurances that the work would be well worth it at harvest time. That morning, under bright sunlight, sparkling blue skies, and a crisp breeze in the gardens, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs collected the swollen pods into heaping baskets, then sat in cheerful groups on the grass shelling the shimmering, colorful Pearl Peas into bowls, then sorting them by color.

"I'm half-tempted to keep some and put them on a string," Hermione laughed, emptying a pod into their biggest bowl, which looked like a something out of a pirate's cache. "They're so pretty!"

"They are popular for imitation pearls," Neville told her. "But they're right useful in Potions, amulets, and talismans too."

Hermione nodded. "Pass me another Pod, Seamus. They are lovely, one of the few really helpful Potion ingredients that isn't disgusting to handle, unlike leeches and lacewings. I'd much rather wear a string of Pearl Peas around my neck than have to make a talisman out of slug eggs and newt intestines."

The rest of their group made disgusted sounds in agreement. "Of course, you'd have to get the color scheme right to make the protection work, otherwise you'd just have a pretty necklace," said Neville. He held up one of them in the light. "Does this look gold or bronze?"

"Give it here, Neville." Ron took the pearl and compared it with the gold bowl, then the bronze. "Bronze."

"I think the peach is my favorite color," said Hermione.

"I like the gray," said Lavender Brown.

Harry contemplated the bowls. "Gold."

"Wear a gold string during games, Harry," laughed Ron. "Then maybe the Bludgers won't get you!" Harry threw an empty shell at him, and the group laughed. "I think I like the blue ones."

"Sleep with a blue one under your pillow, and it improves your intellect," said Susan Bones.

"Do…not…say…anything, Hermione!"

By the time class ended, the sixth years had harvested, shelled, and sorted almost a hundred pounds of Pearl Peas, and a delighted Professor Sprout gave both the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs thirty points. "You've done beautifully, dears!" she told them proudly. "Oyster Pods can only be raised during these few weeks at the very end of summer, and this is one of the finest crops I can recall!"

In Curse Defense after lunch, Professor Lupin took them outside to practice Shielding Charms. He too seemed in better spirits today, and sportingly allowed a few no-holds-barred (within reason, anyway) duels toward the end of class. As they returned to the building, he remarked to Harry, "You're looking well today."

"I'm feeling well," Harry said happily. "It must be the fresh air."

Lupin smiled at him. "Then keep this day in mind when you need to clear your head. You know what I mean." Harry nodded. To his surprise, the surreptitious reminder of Occlumency didn't dampen his mood like normal. "Class dismissed, everyone!" Ron gave a tug at Lupin's robes, and he laughed, adding, "Oh, yes, your announcement: those of you who are interested in trying out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, be at the pitch in three hours, thus sayeth your Keeper!" Everyone laughed, and Harry waved heartily at Lupin as they headed off.

"Fred and George are judging," Ginny told Harry as they headed for the pitch. "Madame Hooch said they could still help the team even if they can't play—and once we pick a Captain, then we'll decide how to work out the positions. Ready?"

"Very ready," said Harry. "Let's go." He kicked off and followed them eagerly into the air.

Fred and George were milking their foray into the "real world" for all it was worth, watching from the stands in Gryffindor scarves, scribbling on a clipboard and screwing up their mouths as though pondering very carefully every move the team made. Five Gryffindors had come out for the Quidditch team, including an ambitious second year, a seventh year who'd failed in tryouts every year but always tried again, one other fifth year along with Dennis Creevy, and Seamus Finnegan. "Gives us a fair pool to choose from," Ron had observed.

The current and prospective members of the Gryffindor team voted unanimously to let Fred and George oversee the tryouts. First the twins formed them up into two lopsided mini-teams: Red and Gold. Harry was Seeker on the Red team, Ginny on the Gold, Ron Keeper of Red, Seamus of Gold. The Red Beaters were Fred and Lavinia Watson (the seventh year), and the Gold Beaters were Giles Fitzgerald (the second year) and Andrew Kirk. The chasers of the Red team were Dennis Creevy and Katie Bell, and the Gold Team had George filling in with Jonathan Long (another fifth year).

Once they were all gathered up with red and gold armbands tied on to distinguish the teams, Fred and George spoke up in such knowing and composed voices that Ron chortled and Ginny had to cover her mouth to hide her laughter. Even Harry couldn't help snickering.

"Now then," said Fred in a pompous tone that reminded Harry of Percy, "I know none of you have played on these teams before. Don't worry if you aren't as smooth as you'd like. Each of you knows what position you want. Just take care of doing your job for your team; we'll be judging by how you know what to do, rather than just how you execute it. We'll rotate positions a few times so we can see where everyone fits in best. Then we'll make our decisions. Madam Hooch, if you would?"

"Certainly, Mr. Weasley. As our esteemed eighth years said," Madam Hooch added, causing snickers from the current team members. "Just relax and play. Don't think about who's watching; concentrate on your game. Ready?" She threw open the ball box, releasing the Snitch and the Bludgers, and then tossed the Quaffle up to George and Katie, who were leading off for the newcomers.

Harry, hovering overhead watching for the Snitch opposite Ginny, kept one eye on the controlled chaos on the field. All things considered, the candidates were doing rather well. On "his" team, the Reds, second year Giles Fitzgerald showed some definite Chaser style that reminded Harry of Angelina Johnson. A little tentative about actually grabbing the Quaffle, but he kept up…hmm, a definite possibility. Seamus was doing surprisingly well as the Gold Team's Keeper; he'd held off Katie's shots nearly half of the time (which, considering Katie's experience, was quite good.) Lavinia Watson had given up on trying out for Chaser, but she was doing very well as a Beater, keeping up with the Bludgers and whacking them to the opposite side of the pitch—though she nearly took out Harry once while he was circling overhead.

They'd split up the teams well, he decided, because the score was nearly tied, with the Reds ahead only ten points. Suddenly, across from him, Ginny dove. Harry hesitated for only a second as Andrew Kirk chased a Bludger across his field of vision. Surely Ginny wouldn't attempt a Wronski feint against him on a Cleansweep! She'd smash herself into the ground! He made up his mind, leaned forward and blasted after her.

Swerving around the Chasers, with Dennis in the lead carrying the Quaffle, Harry caught a glimpse of gold. So Ginny had seen the Snitch. He leaned harder on his Firebolt, pushing for more speed to catch up. It didn't take long; Ginny's Cleansweep was no match for his broomstick in speed. As he pulled up beside her, she suddenly swung in front of him and dove low at the sandiest part of the pitch. Following, Harry pulled back up just in time to avoid a spray of sand into his face. Not bad, Ginny!

He swung out and around her, keeping an eye on the Snitch as it zipped toward the Slytherin stands. Ginny glanced up at him and aimed her broomstick nearly straight up, trying to get above him as she sensed where the Snitch was now heading. Sure enough, it rose higher, and the two Seekers kept after it, sending the Chasers zipping frantically out of their way. As the wind whistled in his ears, Harry heard a loud whack! behind him and instinctively ducked. A Bludger whistled over his head as he surged after the Snitch, and he heard the loud thud and yell of surprise from an unlucky flier behind him as he gained ground. Ginny had fallen back, and the Bludger had been thrown off course by the last collision, so he stretched out on his Firebolt as far as he could, pushing faster and faster…closer and closer…and finally, grabbed.

Snitch in hand, Harry looked down, and immediately raced toward the ground. The Red and Gold teams were crowded around one of the other Gryffindors upon the ground—apparently, that Bludger hit had been bad. One glimpse at the red head cradled against Ron's chest had Harry off his broom and scrambling through the group. "Ginny! Ron, how bad is it?"

Madam Hooch got there a few seconds ahead of him, and Harry was forced to peer over her shoulder. Ginny was awake at least, but blinking dazedly at nothing. "Miss Weasley? Can you tell me what day it is?"

Ginny shook her head hard, then raised a hand to her temple where blood was trickling down. "It's Thursday," she said, wincing in pain. Everyone let out a collective breath. "Ooh, that hurt."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ron asked urgently.

Ginny nodded slowly, closing her eyes. "I feel like the Beaters mistook my head for the Bludger, but I think I'll be fine."

Madam Hooch nodded, extending her hands. "Let's just get you on your feet and back to Gryffindor Tower, Miss Weasley. Have a lie down and if you don't feel better by tomorrow morning, go and see Madam Pomfrey."

"Okay."

At that point, Fred and George reached them from the stands. "Ginny! You all right?"

"Calm down, you two, it was nothing. Just a bloody big bump."

Hermione appeared at Madam Hooch's elbow. "D'you want me to take you back to the Tower?"

"Thanks, Hermione."

"But what about the team? We have to choose…" said Andrew Kirk hesitantly.

Ginny sat back down on the sand with all three of her brothers now hovering protectively around her, and sighed. "Allow me to make this simpler. We all know Harry's the better Seeker."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny, you did a fine job last year and today!" Harry protested.

"So I was fine," she said, crossing her arms impatiently. "You've always been brilliant. Face it, you're the one for the job. No need to beat about it; my feelings won't get hurt." She sighed again. "I did want to try for Chaser."

"Madam Hooch," said Hermione thoughtfully. "Don't the rules allow for replacement players to be trained in case someone gets hurt for more than one game?"

Madam Hooch nodded. "You may train as many players as you like, but there's no switching during a single game. If Potter starts as Seeker in a game, he must finish, or if Miss Weasley begins as Chaser in one game, she's Chaser until the end."

Everyone perked up. "But if, say, Ginny were Seeker for one whole game, Harry could still be Seeker for the next?" mused Ron. "Or if we were planning to field Harry, but say, before the game he got struck by lightning—"

"—Or hexed by a Death Eater—"

"Shh! Seamus!"

"—Anyway," growled Ron, making the others giggle. "If something happened to a player at the last minute before the game started, we could still send in an alternate player for that game?"

Madam Hooch nodded again. "That's correct, Mr. Weasley."

"Now we're getting somewhere," murmured Fred, staring at his clipboard.

"That's perfect!" exclaimed Katie. "What say you, Ginny? Care to be our alternate Seeker in case something happens to Harry?"

"Like always," Harry muttered.

Ron stared at him for several moments. Then he calmly got up, walked quietly over to the ball box, picked up a Beater's bat, walked calmly back over to the team, and solidly whacked Harry on the head.

"Eow!"

"Now, now, enough of that, Mr. Weasley," said Madam Hooch sternly, despite the quirk of her lips, and the rest of the team hid their smiles.

"Sorry, Madam Hooch. I don't know what came over me!"

"A word of advice, Mr. Weasley. If you desire to win this year's Quidditch Cup, corporal punishment of your teammates should be confined to the non-brain-damaging variety."

"Make a note of that, Watson!" said Fred, handing the clipboard to Lavinia, who duly wrote it down with a straight face. Harry debated silently who to hex first after Madam Hooch left.

"Now that that little matter's settled, what about it, Ginny?" asked Ron pointedly.

"Of course, I'd like to be alternate Seeker! But could I still try out for Chaser?"

"Are you feeling up to it?"

"Yeah, I think so. Come on, let's have one more mini-game!"

"Right-o, then!" Ron jumped up. "Fred, George, set us a new lineup with Ginny as a Chaser candidate. Anyone else want to try out for another position? Now's your chance!"

The aspiring players pressed forward eagerly. Fred scribbled on his clipboard for a moment, then began, "All right, here's the new lineup. Red team: Ginny, Dean, and…"

And that was that. Harry found that he rather enjoyed his stints as Beater and Chaser, and thought perhaps it was a good strategy to be training all the players for more than one position.

In the end, Harry managed to get out of being elected captain by pointing out that the team hardly wanted a potentially-brain-damaged leader, and Ron was elected, to the delight of the twins and Ginny.

Harry thought Ron was better-suited anyway; he was the strategist of the two, as their chess matches frequently showed. Ron remained Keeper, with Seamus as his alternate. Dennis, Ginny, and Katie got the chaser positions, with Giles Fitzgerald and Jonathan Long as their alternates. Ginny, of course, was also Harry's alternate, and most of the team quietly agreed that given Harry's tendency to wind up hospital wing-bound for at least one game per year, she'd get some Seeker playing time. Andrew Kirk and Lavinia Watson made Beater, and the Gryffindor team was complete.

"You have how many people on the team?" demanded Neville when Ron told him about the new lineup.

"Well, seven, same as always," said Ron cheerfully.

"But I thought—"

"We're allowed to train up substitutes. It's just that most House teams don't have enough potential players to do that. How else could the professional teams last through such long games when both Seekers are even matches? They have to have substitutes, but then again, they've got the whole Quidditch-playing world to choose from. We just got lucky this year I guess," said Ginny, coming to sit down nearby.

"This is terrific! The other houses won't stand a chance! If someone gets hurt, we can just rotate!" said Colin Creevy.

Harry shook his head, "It doesn't work that way, Colin. We can't substitute players in the middle of a game unless it runs…what was it, Hermione?"

"A game has to run six hours before a team can start in-match substitutions," Hermione recited, without looking up from her Arithmancy book.

"So for most games, we have to decide ahead of time who to field," finished Ron.

"Still," said Vinny Watson, "it'll help us avoid those disasters when Harry wound up in the hospital wing and—" she broke off and turned bright red.

Harry hastily nodded, pushing down a surge of annoyance at the way they all seemed to mince around him. It was, after all, better than when they hadn't believed anything he said. "Yeah, I do have a knack for getting myself injured halfway through the season. Now we've got Ginny, who's plenty experienced enough to hold down the team if we need her."

"What's this, Potter? You're such an unreliable Seeker that now Gryffindor's got to train someone else just to take up your slack?" said a familiar and much-hated voice. Several of the Gryffindors groaned loudly, and for some reason, that made Harry feel less aggravated.

"Malfoy!" Harry said sarcastically. "I'm surprised at you! We've been here for nearly five whole minutes, and you haven't said a single nasty thing!"

"Righ' about' that, old boy," said Ron with his mouth full of bread. "We wuh beginnin' tithing you didn' wanna be friends 'ny moh."

Hermione's eyes sparkled as she leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand, "Yeah, Malfoy. Harry was afraid you didn't love him any more! You usually spend so much time with him!"

Malfoy's face turned a lovely shade of maroon, and he muttered something through thin lips about, "Filthy mudbloods," and wandered away. Neville looked at the three of them in awed delight as Hermione clapped her hands together and Ron slapped the tabletop with glee. The twins, who had stayed for dinner at Professor Dumbledore's own invitation, applauded.

"I don't think we've ever shut him up so well!" Hermione whispered happily.

"He's nod so thuff widdout Big Ba' Da' aroun' to freaten peoble," said Ron, around another mouthful.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, swallow!"

"Sowwy." (Gulp!) "Hey, Harry, I saw Snape arguing with Madam Hooch earlier. I don't think he's very happy to see how strong our team's going to be this year either!"

Harry raised his eyebrows and frowned at Ron over his juice glass. "That's not a nice thing to say. You know I won't be able to sleep at night knowing that I haven't made Snape happy."

Then their entire section of table erupted into howls of laughter, as Fred and George gravely got up and came over to feel Harry's forehead for signs of fever, and the Slytherin professor in question scowled down at them from the head table as if he knew exactly what they were laughing at. Of course, he was too far away to have heard what Harry said, but Ron was also of the opinion that it gave Snape indigestion to see Gryffindors smile.

By the time Harry was headed down to the dungeons, Occlumency did not even seem the giant wall of misery that it had been before. Maybe it was simply because the day had gone far too well for Harry to allow anything to spoil it.

Not even Snape.

He remembered the advice Remus had given him after Curse Defense, and told himself, Just don't let him get a rise out of you. Don't react. Think about today, about the Quidditch team, and the wind and the blue sky—and how satisfying it felt to whack those Bludgers. Reaching Snape's office, he took a deep breath and knocked.

"Enter."

Snape was standing behind his desk. Harry met his cold gaze and walked across the room without dropping it. You can do this. You can do this. Without waiting for Snape to give his usual greeting of combined insults and criticism, he pulled out his wand. "I'm ready."

Something flashed through Snape's eyes that might have been surprise, but he gave a curt nod and said snidely, "If you say so, Potter. Legilimens!"

Breathe…Sirius's body curved in a graceful arc as he sank bankward toward the ragged veil hanging from the arch…Harry could see Snape muttering…

"Protego!"

It was the fastest he'd ever reacted, and Snape was obviously not prepared. His wand was knocked right from his hand, and Harry saw the teenaged Snape hanging upside down, suspended by his father's spell…a handsome blonde boy in a Slytherin robe was strolling with a group of friends, beckoning to a solitary dark-haired boy leaning against a wall…a red-haired, green-eyed girl and a black-haired boy with glasses were sitting very close together at a table while a greasy-haired boy watched them…

Something collided with Harry's shoulder, and he stumbled. The book hit the floor with a loud thud. Snape was glaring at him, white-faced again. "Is it possible for you to keep your nose out of my business, Potter?"

Think about flying, think about hitting Bludgers… Harry took a deep breath and fought—hard—against a surge of irritation. "I don't know how to keep that from happening. Sir. I wasn't trying to do it."

"Then, don't." Harry mentally rolled his eyes. Snape just wanted an excuse to be angry at him. "On the count of three. One—two—three—Legilimens!"

Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil…he concentrated hard, dragging Snape's face to the forefront of his mind, there he was…the veil fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind…Harry closed his eyes…the veil fell back into place…Harry lowered his wand and brought into his mind the bowls of Pearl Peas in all their colors, white, gray, peach, gold, bronze, silver, blue, reflecting the sunlight…the Department of Mysteries had disappeared, but he heard Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant scream and his heart lurched, but then he gritted his teeth and thought of the wind in his hair as he streaked skyward after the Bludgers…concentrate, concentrate…soaring high above the pitch and taking aim with both arms behind the bat—whack!

Harry's eyes flew open, and he staggered backward, panting, his heart pounding, but every part of him practically bellowing triumph. Snape's face was utterly blank as he lowered his wand, and that was all the confirmation Harry needed: he'd done it. He'd done it!

He couldn't keep the smile from his face, not even when Snape sneered, "Don't get cocky, Potter, this is the first time you've managed to shield yourself in all the months we've been attempting these lessons."

Harry let himself grin. He knew Snape would probably go searching for a new wound to tear open, but it didn't matter. It was finally working. Wonder if I should tell him I was acting on some advice REMUS gave me! Ha! Instead, he said mildly, "Again, then?"

"Lower your wand, Potter," said Snape. "In all probability if your mind is attacked by the Dark Lord face-to-face, you will not have your wand at your disposal. You've shielded yourself once, let us see now if you can do it consistently."

Taking a deep breath, Harry did so, and closed his eyes.

"Legilimens!"

The front door of Privet Drive was exploding inward…Harry gasped, seeking the memories of flying under the clear blue sky…he heard Aunt Petunia screaming for him to get Vernon…his throat tightened…he was losing it…he held onto the colors of the Pearl Peas for a few seconds, but the silver-gray gave way suddenly to the gray ash covering Uncle Vernon's body as Harry rushed up to him…No, no...he heard Voldemort's cackling laugh as knelt on the floor in despair…Harry's eyes flew open so he could see Snape concentrating…in desperation, he raised his wand and shouted with all his strength.

"Protego!"

The force of his shield sent Snape crashing backward against his desk, and Harry was too rattled by his own failure to stop his mind from crashing into Snape's memories: a greasy-haired young man was kneeling before a hooded, red-eyed wizard with his left forearm held out beneath the wizard's wand…a wizard in black robes and a white mask hung back and watched silently as others like him gleefully hexed a family of Muggles…the same young man was hovering in the shadows of the entrance to Hogwarts as though trying to find the courage to go in…a greasy-haired man watched with clenched fists as two other wizards dragged a semiconscious, black-haired teenager into a stone tomb…

"Expelliarmus!" Harry's wand flew from his hand, and he jerked instinctively backward at the sight of Snape directly in front of him. "What did I tell you about staying out of my memories?" Snape roared.

"I don't know how!" Harry yelled back before he could stop himself.

"Do not take me for a fool, Potter," Snape growled at him. "After your little stunt with the Pensieve, do you expect me to believe your nosiness does not drive you now?"

"Do you think I want to see what you and your Death Eater friends got up to!"

Harry froze when he realized what he'd said. Snape was dead silent, still white-faced, his eyes on Harry burning with hate. Before Harry knew what he was doing, he blurted out, "I'm sorry!"

It was hard to say then which of them was most surprised—Harry hadn't meant to say that either.

Snape let out a cold laugh. "Nonsense, Potter. You are no such thing."

Harry sighed miserably, thinking of what Lupin had said the other night. Avoiding Snape's eyes, he muttered, "Yes, I am."

When they got up the next morning, Ron said he had something to take care of and went downstairs early. Harry came down to find Ron and Hermione whispering urgently to each other in the common room. "It's ridiculous to go on this way as if we're ashamed!"

"I just don't know if I'm ready—"

"You're not being fair to keep it from him!"

"Why can't you tell him then?"

"Tell who what?" Harry asked.

Ron and Hermione both jumped. "Er…nothing, mate. Just something about…never mind," said Ron, his ears glowing red. "Let's go have breakfast!" And they both scrambled for the portrait hole before Harry could press further, to his annoyance.

He tried to ask about it twice during breakfast, but his friends stubbornly insisted it was nothing to do with him. Ginny rolled her eyes at him, but offered no explanations. Hermione was reading over her Specialized Defense essay yet again. "I saw Professor Smythe-Wellington having wand targets brought into school last night. Today's lesson should be interesting!"

That was enough to distract him. "At last, we're getting off the bloody word puzzles!"

Hermione looked annoyed at him, but Ron nodded in agreement. "We know being in Law Enforcement means learning to think, but we've got to learn to fight too."

"You may be surprised to find how often closely those two skills are connected, Ronald."

A few hours later, Ron would mutter to Harry that perhaps from then on they should just do whatever Hermione told them to do whenever she told them to do it and let her lead them both around on leashes. At least they wouldn't get embarrassed so often. The only good thing to come out of that class was that Harry and Ron were definitely not alone in their embarrassment.

There were indeed over a dozen target practice dummies leaning against the classroom wall when the Specialized Defense students arrived. They were all dressed up like people. Professor Smythe-Wellington watched the class's excited whisperings as they filed in.

"Today," she said when they settled down. "You will be learning how to read a situation and react defensively or offensively under pressure. We will begin with each of you taking part in a simple drill—a very common one, in fact, which we use in Auror training." Harry and Ron grinned at each other in delight. For once Smythe-Wellington didn't snap at them, but went on explaining, "Each of you will stand alone with these target dummies for precisely thirty seconds. The rules are simple: you may use Reducto, but no other curse—if you hit the target, it will be more than effective."

She raised an eyebrow as the class tittered and continued, "The dummies' wands will shoot you with a Stinging Hex—but if you are hit, assume you are dead." There was another wave of giggles. "You must judge for yourself how best to respond; each dummy is enchanted to a certain level of aggression—some can duck," she added. "If you have not been stung by the end of thirty seconds, then you have survived. Now," she waved her wand, and four walls suddenly sprang up in the middle of the room, hiding the dummies from view. "It would be a disadvantage for those who enter last to see how the dummies respond, so you will each enter alone. Who would care to go first?"

Nearly every hand in the room shot up. "Miss Patil, come up then." Smythe-Wellington stopped Padma just before she entered the little space. "I will give you all this final suggestion: treat this situation as if the dummies are real human beings, and you are encountering them in the street. Understood? Very well. When you have all walked the gauntlet, we will discuss each of your performances. Proceed, Miss Patil."

Padma drew her wand with a nervous grin and marched into the little newly-built practice course. All the students leaned forward. And then, "Reducto! Red—ooh! Reducto!" There were wild crashes from inside as dummies were blown apart, but in less than ten heart-pounding seconds, Padma shrieked. "OW!"

"She's bought it!" laughed Draco.

"Another word from you, Mr. Malfoy, and you will spend this class writing lines rather than taking part in this exercise in addition to the fifty points I take from your House," growled Smythe-Wellington from the course doorway. Peering inside, she said, "Reparo! Return to your seat, Miss Patil. Next: Mr. Zabini."

Zabini fared little better; he only lasted five seconds or so longer than Padma had, though from the sound of it, he "killed" more dummies. Harry hadn't the faintest idea what the dummies must be doing in there. Between the shouting of curses and the explosions, it was impossible to tell—which was probably what Smythe-Wellington had in mind. From what he could gather, he was proud to note that all in all, the D.A. members in the class seemed to last longer than non-D.A. members.

Neville lasted nearly the entire thirty seconds, and from the sound of it, blasted nearly all of the dummies. Harry was very impressed and winked at him as soon as Smythe-Wellington's back was turned. Malfoy, to Harry's disgust, was the first to come out "alive."

Ron sounded like he was doing well, but came out after twenty seconds with a sting on the back of his neck, looking thoroughly disgusted. Hermione survived for almost the full length but seemed to hit fewer dummies, and came out giving Harry a very urgent look, until Smythe-Wellington snapped, "Eyes up front, Granger!"

Susan Bones lasted for quite awhile as well, but hardly hit anything, and they could hear her scrambling frantically to avoid the dummies' shots. Then it was Harry's turn. Determined to do as well as Malfoy, he drew his wand before even walking in, but then thought better of it: that might make the dummies go after him before he even got into a good position. Instead, he went carefully to the entrance and tried to peer inside before charging through. Smythe-Wellington did nothing to hurry him along, so he looked to see that the makeshift room had indeed been enchanted to look like a dark alley. Taking a deep breath (ignoring the stifled sniggers from the Slytherins) he slipped inside and ducked behind a rubbish bin.

The nearest dummy immediately turned and pointed its fake wand at him. "Reducto!" Harry shouted, and blasted it to smithereens. Then they all started to glide around the course, and he got to work, keeping his eyes on them all and blasting them as soon as they turned in his direction. One dummy in a hideous green suit made to hide behind a building, and Harry abandoned his own hiding place, blasting two more as he went so he could run it down. He had a close scrape where one hit the wall next to him, but he was able to duck in time, then blast it.

It was intense. It was exciting—not to mention satisfying. Harry imagined the one in gray as Draco Malfoy, the ones in red as Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange—and one of the ones in black as Snape. And the one in green as Wormtail. Before he knew it, he was standing in the middle of the "street" with destroyed dummies all around him. He'd made it.

Professor Smythe-Wellington's lips twitched ever so slightly as she looked in at him and repaired the dummies. "Move along, Potter. MacMillian, you're next." Harry was very glad she couldn't see the broad grin on his face as he returned to his desk, and she seemed to ignore the whispered praise of his classmates—he'd finished much faster than Malfoy.

When they'd all done, their Professor removed the training room (despite pleas from a few students to do it over again) and sat down at her desk. "Now, you will find this second half of the lesson rather discomfiting, but I assure you, if you wish to pursue careers in Magical Law Enforcement, you shall have to become accustomed to oral evaluations…in public." Several students moaned softly. "These remarks are not intended to insult any of you personally, but to give honest and critical professional opinions of your performance. Now…in all, I noticed particularly swift reactions in most of you, far quicker and more assertive than is normal for your age group." Many D.A. members turned to grin at Harry, and he bit the inside of his mouth to keep his face politely attentive.

Smythe-Wellington went on, "Now, like all aspects of Magical Law Enforcement, this has its positives and negatives. You defended yourselves well, very well in many cases, yet I noticed a disturbingly strong tendency toward over-aggression. In particular," her eyes fixed upon Draco, then upon Harry before either boy had a chance to react. "Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter. Oh, and Mr. Longbottom also has this dubious honor." Harry and Neville gaped at each other. Smythe-Wellington smirked at their confusion. "I did say, did I not, that you should respond as though you were encountering these people upon the street?"

She waved her wand at the dummies, which stepped forward. "You did notice, did you not, their manner of dress? This should have been a clue to you of how you ought to treat them." Soft gasps rang out, and many students buried their faces in their hands. Harry's heart was sinking slowly to his feet. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you in the habit of hunting down and cursing helpless Muggles in the street?"

Harry stared at the dummy in the green suit and stifled a groan. Before Draco could so much as sneer, Smythe-Wellington whirled on him and gestured to the three dummies in red robes. "And you, Mr. Malfoy, you do realize that you killed all three of your fellow Aurors even as they attempted to back you?" Harry couldn't laugh at that either—he'd done the same thing. "And you as well, Mr. Longbottom, you were so busy cursing friendly wizards that you left yourself open to be hit by a hostile one."

Smythe-Wellington stared down each of the shamefaced boys in turn, then continued, "You three received the lowest marks on this exercise." Neville buried his face in his hands. "Mr. Potter, you managed to scrape a two instead of one out of ten, because you at least paused to assess the situation before charging in—although I am sorely tempted to take back that point for your astonishing inability to process what you had taken the time to see. Now," her face softened, and she turned to the rest of the class.

"Miss Bones, you received the highest marks, as you were not over-aggressive and did appear to grasp the significance of the Muggle dummies—although your targeting needs work. You also failed to notice that the three Auror dummies were not aiming their wands at you. Miss Granger, you spent far too long deciding whether each dummy was aggressive, and opened yourself up to attack. You must react more swiftly in such a situation—wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. MacMillian, for you seemed determined to take out lampposts rather than targets!"

And so it went. It was a sorry group of sixth years who crept out of Specialized Defense dragging the tattered remnants of their egos before lunch time. Harry was so anxious to get as far from that classroom as possible that he bolted the minute he got out the door, and Ron and Hermione had to chase him down.

"Harry, wait!" Hermione pleaded. "Don't feel badly, nobody was really supposed to do well! This was just to teach us a lesson!"

"Bones did well," Ron groaned. "I'm with Harry; let's go bury ourselves in one of the greenhouses for a few weeks until our faces stop being red!"

"You did better than me," Harry muttered, leaning against the wall without looking at them. "I was a bloody disaster."

Hermione jumped in front of both of them. "Don't take it to heart! This was our first practical exercise! She said—"

"You didn't see her face when I finished, Hermione, I think she was laughing at me," said Harry. "She knows I want to be an Auror, and she doesn't think I have a prayer!"

"Well, if you go and give up after one little snag, then no, you won't have a prayer," Hermione said fiercely. Harry glared at her, but she folded her arms. "Do you really want to do it or not?"

"You know I do!" he snapped, exasperated.

"And you've had bad practices in your precious Quidditch, haven't you? Did you give up after them?"

Harry threw up his hands. "Nobody got killed in a bad Quidditch practice!"

"And nobody got killed today." Hermione sat down on the stairs so Ron and Harry couldn't get past her. "That's what exercises like these are all about—teaching us our strengths and our weaknesses so we can learn to deal with them in training."

"Are you done lecturing yet?" Harry growled.

"Fine!" she snapped, jumping up. "I was just trying to make you feel better, but if you want to sit around and feel sorry for yourself, who am I to stop you!" And she flew up the stairs, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

Hermione and Harry barely spoke to each other for the rest of the day, and to make matters worse, Ron seemed to have sided with Hermione. Harry saw them whispering and shooting each other significant looks in the common room that night, so he furiously went to bed early, even though he would be leaving in the morning with Snape.

Between those two thoughts, he didn't manage to clear his mind at all before bed, and his dreams were plagued by visions of the underground tunnels Remus said were in the Wizarding Congress's building. He also saw a room that seemed very deep underground, dimly lit, and containing a a single, very old and worn stone pillar that reminded Harry painfully of the archway in the Department of Mysteries.

That comparison alone woke him with a jolt at three in the morning. He supposed he'd better mention it, though it guaranteed him another reaming out from Snape.

And so Saturday dawned like a yet another bad dream, and Dobby came to wake him at seven. "Mistress McGonagall says you is to be getting up now, Harry Potter," he whispered loudly, and held up a small suitcase. "She says Harry Potter is already packed for the trip, so to come and wear your school uniform."

"Thanks, Dobby. Tell her I'll be right down," Harry groaned.

As he dragged himself out of bed, Ron stirred and mumbled at him, "Going?"

"Yeah," he said, getting dressed.

Rubbing his eyes, Ron pulled a face. "They would drag you off at this ungodly hour, wouldn't they?"

"Perfect start to an ungodly trip," Harry said.

Ron nodded sympathetically and watched Harry for a few moments before saying, "Listen, before you go…" Harry paused from pulling on his school robe and looked back. Ron was blushing. "Hermione wanted me to tell you to be careful. You know…she didn't mean anything by it yesterday."

Harry sighed. "I know. Tell her I'm sorry, would you?" Seeing Ron's frown, he added, "I'd tell her myself, but it's early, and I've no way to get to the girls' dormitory without waking up everybody else. No need to ruin the whole House's Saturday morning."

"True, I guess."

Harry put his Specialized Defense textbook into his bookbag along with his notebook. He had a feeling he would need something to occupy himself. He thought of bringing his Potions text, but spitefully decided against it. He paused before closing the bag and grinned up at Ron, who was watching him over the side of his bed. "Tell Hermione I took this with me," he said, holding up the Specialized Defense book.

Ron grinned back. "I think I'll let her drag me to the library to study for that class. We won't let old Smythe-Wellington discourage us!"

"Right!" Harry slapped his hand.

Two beds away, a lump of blankets stirred and grumbled, "Shuddup, will ya?"

"Sorry!" Ron whispered, and they both sniggered. He leaned toward Harry and whispered, "Good luck! And watch yourself!"

Harry picked up his book bag and waved. "See you tomorrow night!"