As April slid into May, Harry and his friends were kept busy with schoolwork, advanced Transfiguration, and DA training. Working on the side in his special training sessions with Remus, Snape, and the Headmaster, usually left Harry physically exhausted, and he’d fall to sleep as soon as he cleared his mind. He was still plagued by nightmares, his scar continued to prickle and itch, but he had not suffered a debilitating vision since the day he had severed the black-red strand of magic in his mind.

With Professor Snape’s continued tolerance of the Gryffindors, and the absence of the primary Slytherin saboteurs, Harry found he was actually doing well in potions. The healing potions that the sixth years were brewing had overall turned out so well, that the Potions Master had sent them up to Madame Pomfrey for the hospital wing. While Snape was never one to openly praise in potions class, he had told Harry during their special training how pleased he was with his work in potions. Harry was surprised at the warm glow he felt at the simple words, and embarrassed, had mumbled his thanks, much to Remus’ amusement.

The ability to focus his magic in a controlled manner had improved since severing the strand. Professors’ Dumbledore and Snape seemed to think that the link with Voldemort had more of an effect than just the pain, and there was even the possibility it had been holding back a portion of Harry’s magical abilities. In the past few weeks of training, Harry had been able to control his magic amazingly well, and only needed to fine-tune his focus. Likewise, his ability to perform wandless magic seemed to be so natural, that he could do it almost without thought or effort, the power behind it immense.

“Potter! What did you just do?” Severus Snape bit out tersely as Harry looked up at him in puzzlement.

“What?” The Gryffindor looked around, and it wasn’t until he saw the pillow and blanket lying on a couch that had suddenly appeared near the door to the Room of Requirement, that it dawned on him that he’d just conjured that with a wave of his hand.

“I’m sorry, Professor, I was just thinking how tired Remus looked tonight, with the full moon just two nights ago, and, well, it just sort of happened,” Harry had the grace to look sheepish.

He could see his guardian trying to stifle his laughter, as the Potions Master snorted at Harry. Remus walked over, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders, his thumbs digging into the knots in the muscles of his shoulder, and Harry let his head drop forward, moaning as he felt the massaging fingers loosen the tightness. Taking a few minutes to work the worst of the knots out with steady pressure, Remus discussed with Snape which direction to go in order to help Harry with his focus. Listening with his eyes closed as his trainers tried to figure out which direction would be best for him to go with the wandless magic, Harry wondered again for the millionth time how he was going to defeat Voldemort. What was this power that the Prophecy had spoken of?

“Is any of this going to help me defeat the bas…Dark Lord?” Harry asked softly. “I am learning all kinds of shields and curses, including Dark ones and Unforgivables, how to use all this magic at my disposal, but I need to know what exactly to use against him that will make him really dead, instead of just temporarily dead.”

Remus’ hands ceased their movement at his words, and he moved to stand beside Harry, an arm over his shoulder. Harry looked up, meeting the dark fathomless depths of the Head of Slytherin.

“You know better than any of us, Professor, what he has done to ensure his immortality. That night in the graveyard after the third task, when he came back, he told all the Death Eaters that he had done things to himself to keep from dying. Did he use charms or spells or some ancient potion or ritual, and if he did, how do I conquer that? Does his return mean that he is immune to the killing curse, and if he is, what am I going to use? Professor Dumbledore said it was some kind of ancient dark magic that he used, what about that?”

The Potions Master looked at him, his dark eyes narrowing in concentration.

“Possibly some type of ancient magic might be the key, Harry, but we would have to do some research into what the Dark Lord may have utilized and what might reverse it. I believe the key will be killing his soul, in order to truly kill him. Perhaps Miss Granger could assist me with some of the research.”

Harry smiled, “I’m sure she would be delighted to help, Professor, if you asked her.”

“Yes, a spell or potion that specifically eradicates the soul so there is no possibility of regeneration after he is dead.”

Leaving Snape deep in thought, Harry banished the couch with wave of his hand. Closing his eyes, he drew inward, dropping into his magical core and pulling a golden strand from the ball of pulsing energy. Pushing outward slowly, his eyes opening as the magic left his fingertips, he enclosed the tall form of the older wizard in a shield of golden light, and changing the curve of his fingers, Harry likewise shielded himself and Remus. Concentrating, he watched curiously as the Slytherin, still muttering to himself, paced the length of the Room of Requirement, the golden shield shimmering around him like a second skin.

“Maybe if you could make it glow green, Harry, he’d notice,” Remus said with a chuckle, as he stood beside him.

The tall, dark haired man suddenly whirled around and Harry saw a purple spell flash toward them, striking the shield squarely over his guardian’s chest, sending red sparks flying.

“Much too Gryffindor, Potter,” the Potions Master sneered, but looked pleased at the strength of the shield.

“Nice, Harry, a good strong shield that doesn’t block your ability to cast a spell is an asset,” Remus complimented him, “good job. Now, have you finished your Charms essay?”

Harry groaned, but dropped the shields and allowed his attention to be diverted. Remus was determined that he keep up his studies, not expecting top marks, but Harry knew that he needed to stay on an even keel. Of all the benefits Harry had reaped from the care of his new guardian, the knowledge that he had someone to whom he was the most important thing in the world, had gone a long way to reassure him. Although Remus was not afraid to let him know when he had disappointed or upset the last of the Marauders, he was also quick to praise and embrace him, just like a real parent would. The guilt Harry felt at what he still perceived as his fault in Sirius’ death was still tucked into the back of his mind, but it was no longer the gaping wound that threatened to overwhelm him, and Harry was thankful for both his godfathers’ wisdom in helping him come to terms with his feelings.

In the several weeks since he had broken the strand, Harry had waited anxiously for something to happen, but other than his scar prickling and itching oddly at time and normal headaches, he had not experienced anything like the debilitating pain of before. He still suffered through nightmares, but there had been no painful visions. Sleeping better than he could ever remember, Harry felt good, and had finally been able to gain some much-needed weight. The Prophecy still weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he tried to keep is tucked into the dark reaches of his mind, except for the nightmares that came in the dark of night.

Ginny, Hermione, and Ron sat with him at the table in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, homework spread around them in a pile. Trying to review for her up-coming OWL exams, the youngest Weasley had tuned the other three out; her only connection was the hand that tightly gripped his. Harry smiled, and wigged his fingers every once in a while, both to restore the circulation and let Ginny know he was still there. Ron and Hermione where debating the possibility of them becoming Animagi over the summer if they worked at it hard, and Harry was finishing up his Charms essay.

Professor McGonagall had told the advanced Transfiguration class that the highest scoring students were going to get a chance to try a special potion which would show them their Animagus form, or if they had the capability of transforming. The class had already learned through their studies that an average of one in seven witches and wizards were able to become Animagi, with inherent magical power not being a deciding factor. Like other human traits, it seemed that there were those who could inherit a predisposition to be able to transform. Harry held high hopes for his ability, thinking of his dad, but wondered what animal he might become. Somehow, although he resembled his father, he did not think that he would be a stag, feeling that his mother’s influence and great love would have bearing on what form he took.

Friday night finally arrived the first week in May, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that he could sleep in the next morning. The four teens were planning a picnic in the courtyard of the castle, a celebration of the sunny skies and warm breezes that spring had brought. It was amazing to him, that the term had gone by so fast, and it was so close to the end of the school year. As he slid down in to the blankets and pulled the hangings closed on his four-poster, Harry could not help but feel a twinge of apprehension. As the end of the term loomed closer, he could not help but wonder if Voldemort had the usual ‘get Potter’ plans for June. As he succumbed to sleep, he wondered idly at what new terror the snake-faced monster would come up with this time.

The night surrounded him as he strolled toward the flames of a burning cottage, the sounds of reverie exploding around him as his Death Eaters tortured the muggle family. The mother tried to protect a young boy, a wizard born to the couple in their older years, and the pride of their humble existence. The father convulsed under the Cruciatus, as his widowed sister was raped by a circle of his minions, and he watched with glee. A black robed figure, small in stature, approached him hesitantly, and he turned his blood red eyes on him, the firelight glinting off the man’s silver hand.

“Master,” Pettigrew bowed deeply, “I bring news from Hogwarts.”

“Speak, Wormtail, and hope that I am pleased with your news.”

The short paunchy man trembled; “The underground passage from the Shrieking Shack to the Whomping Willow has been warded and sealed, Master, but there is another passage, long thought to be impassible, that is open to us. It passes under the protective shields, and leads directly into the dungeons.”

“Well done, Wormtail, you may return to the school and keep watching the Potter brat. I want to know everything that he is doing.”

“Yes, my Lord, immediately.”

The scarlet eyes took in the simpering vermin, and Harry sneered down at the bowed head. He brought his long black wand up, and laughed maniacally.

“Oh, and Wormtail? Crucio!”

Someone was screaming, and Harry could feel the tension in his body, as if all his muscles were trying to contract at once. His head throbbed at the temples, and he could feel a hand rest on his head, fingers gently carding through the wild hair in a comforting gesture. There was an ache in his chest, as he became aware of his surroundings, and Harry struggled to sit up, the lights suddenly brightening. Cool fingers rested on his forehead, as a goblet of water was pressed into his hand, and he sipped at it cautiously. The vision still affected him, but had not incapacitated him as in the past.

“Harry?” Albus Dumbledore’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, handing him his glasses.

“I’m okay, sir, just a little shaky,” Harry told him, meeting the bright blue eyes, before handing the goblet back to Ron sitting beside him, his red hair sticking up in all directions.

Remus materialized at his elbow, a dressing gown thrown over his pajamas. Harry made an attempt to smile reassuringly, but the memory of the vision burned in his mind. Taking a deep breath, he quietly thanked Ron for being there for him, once again, and slid off the bed. Reading the set look on his face, his guardian handed Harry his threadbare dressing gown and stood back, as the young wizard led the way out of the dorm after grabbing his wand.

The three of them made their way to the Headmaster’s office, meeting the Potions Master, fully dressed in his usual black robes, at the gargoyle and stepping on to the revolving stairs together. Harry grumbled, wondering if it had been wise to have established some kind of link with these three wizards, as they always seemed know when something happened with him. They seated themselves in the chairs facing the large desk, as Professor Dumbledore retrieved his Pensieve from the black cabinet behind the desk. Fawkes thrilled softly, and Harry had to smile, the usually magnificent phoenix looked terrible, and he knew it must be close to a burning day for the magical bird.

Using his wand, Harry stood and retrieved the memory, dropping the shimmering strand into the silvery surface of the rune decorated basin. He prodded the liquid with the tip of his wand, and watched as the scene unfolded, his hand absently rubbing at his scar. The three adults watched as the vision unfolded in front of them, their interest peaking at the Animagus’ words about the passage into the castle. As the memory came to an end, Harry retrieved the strand, carefully replacing it back at his temple.

“Severus, do you know of the passage Pettigrew spoke of?” The Headmaster stroked his beard thoughtfully, his forehead creased in thought.

The dark haired man sat with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the now silent Pensieve.

“Yes, I believe it is the same one indicated on the Marauders map as being impassable, with the entrance near the statue of the snake, at the opposite end of the passageway from the Slytherin dorms.”

“Is there a way to put up a shield or ward that would keep out Animagi forms, Professor?” Harry asked, the thought of Wormtail roaming free in the castle bothersome to him.

Dumbledore glanced at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes shrewd; “I think we should see about putting up something that would warn us when Mister Pettigrew entered the passageway, so that we could greet him as he exits. It is possible that Professor Flitwick might have a charm that would assist us.”

“Like a burglar alarm,” Harry exclaimed, and the Headmaster nodded as the other two men appeared puzzled, “sorry, it’s a muggle device that warns if someone is attempting to break into your house.”

“I just don’t understand what Voldemort is up to, Professor,” Remus said, “is he hoping to send Death Eaters into the castle for an attack?”

“I am not sure, Remus, but it is not like him to think on a small scale, and he should be aware that we would be warned as soon as they entered the dungeon hallways.”

Snape sat silently, one pale finger tracing the line of his bottom lip, obviously deep in thought as Harry watched him. Of anyone, the Slytherin knew the dungeon best, and should know if there was a hidden advantage to using that way of getting into the school. The thought suddenly struck him, as it dawned on Harry that he was not the only target of the evil wizard.

“Professor Snape, if Wormtail or anyone was able to get into the dungeons, how easy would it be for them to find your chambers?”

The Headmaster threw a knowing look at the Potions Master, who shook his head back and forth.

“If the Dark Lord were after me, Pettigrew could have just slipped into my rooms and shoved a portkey into my hand as I slept. I so not believe that I am his target or at least, not his primary target. He may still be attempting to discover an alternate source to information about the Prophecy.”

“Well, I for one am a bit perturbed that the rat seems to be able to slip into Hogwarts whenever he chooses, and want to make sure Harry remembers to be cautious,” his guardian said, throwing Harry a stern look, “constant vigilance, as Mad-Eye would say.”

“I am sure that Mister Potter is thoroughly aware of the gravity of the situation,” Severus Snape almost smiled as Harry looked up at him. “How does your head feel, Harry?”

“I have a bit of a dull headache, Professor, and could feel it when Voldemort used the Cruciatus, but there was no pain and no nausea when it was over,” Harry told him, smiling back.

“Well done, Harry.”

The Headmaster nodded in agreement; “I believe your experiment was an immense success, my boy, but now, I think you need to get back to bed, Harry. I do believe you have important plans for tomorrow, and I would not like to be on the receiving end of Miss Weasley’s displeasure if you are too tired to picnic. She is much like her formidable mother when angered.”

The emerald eyes met the twinkling blue and Harry grinned, nodding his head in complete agreement. Remus escorted him back to the Gryffindor common room, and he had no trouble falling asleep immediately as he crawled back into bed.

The day dawned bright and warm, and with Dobby’s help, the picnic was a complete success, and for an afternoon, Harry was able to forget that he was anything other than a normal sixteen year old teenager.A small patch of lawn appeared in the corner of the courtyard, as did a large tree. Ginny sat with her back to it, and Harry laid with his head in her lap, talking about nothing of importance, and just enjoying the company. Ron and Hermione sat at the opposite end of the blanket, sneaking kisses between bites of fruit. Harry teased them until Ginny leaned down and showed him a better way to occupy his lips.

The weekend past quickly, and before he knew it, Monday morning arrived, bringing them back to the grind of lessons, practices, and homework. Professor Snape meet with Hermione Monday afternoon, outlining what they had discussed in training, and asked for her help in researching ancient tombs for anything that might help Harry. She had readily agreed, and had even recruited Ron and Harry to assist in going through dusty old books during any spare moment they could find. So trips to the library became a new routine, between all of the rest of his activities

The next Friday afternoon, after double potions, Harry and Hermione were headed towards the library to return the books they had finished, when the witch remembered the book Snape had been looking through. Turning them around, much to Harry’s dismay, they headed back down to the dungeons. Grumbling under his breath, the young wizard was thinking more about what the menu for dinner would be than watching where they were going. Snape’s private offices were down the hallway, past the main potions classroom, and adjacent to the man’s private lab. Harry had a vague idea that the Potions Master’s private rooms were further down the dark, chilly hallway, but saw nothing inviting as he peered in that direction.

As Hermione raised her hand to knock on the office door, a noise from a dark niche of the hallway caught his attention, and Harry turned toward it. In the periphery of his vision, he caught sight of a flash of spell light enveloping Hermione, and as his head swung around, something very hard connected with his right temple. The blow knocked him to the side, and as darkness overcame him, his last thought was that it was too early for this to be Voldemort’s idea.