Harry was released the next morning. The muscles in his ankles felt badly bruised but he took pride in his ability to force himself to walk normally out the door despite this. He wanted to get to the tower before his friends departed to come visit him.

“Harry!” Ginny greeted him warmly when he stepped through the portrait hole. She looked as though she was trying to finish up an assignment in a hurry before breakfast. Her eyes were a little puffy as though she had had a late night. “Sorry, Binns’ essay,” she explained as she bent back over her parchment and wrote furiously. “Glad you’re better, though,” she said sincerely as she scrawled.

Harry went up to his room where he received equally warm greetings from his dormitory mates. A little embarrassed by the attention, he changed his robes quickly and followed them down to breakfast.

As they entered the Hall, many students turned to look at him and whispered to each other. Harry shook his head and took a seat, hoping food would come soon so everyone would stop talking about him and start eating instead. His friends all gave him sympathetic expressions. Penelope looked downright sorry. Harry, anxious to talk to her alone, ducked his head and rearranged his napkin. He had not felt this embarrassed by excessive attention since the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

Parkinson stopped by their table on the arm of Malfoy, who looked positively gleeful. He gave Harry a kind of kissy-face. “Too bad it wasn’t the Dark Lord, Potter,” Parkinson said mockingly. “Didn’t seem to have any trouble with him.” She laughed gratingly as Harry turned away from them and rolled his eyes.

“Get lost,” Ron threatened them.

“Hah,” Parkinson laughed as they strolled to the front. “Carried to the hospital wing…by a Slytherin.”

“Aye?” Ron asked when they were gone. “That true?”

Harry rubbed his forehead as he felt himself flush. The whole Great Hall would have heard her. “Yep. Wereporridge.”

Ron burst out with a laugh before quickly clamping a hand over his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled in a sincerity belied by his inability to keep from laughing with his eyes.

“Bring it up in ten years when I can laugh too, all right?” Harry snipped at him, although he could not seem to dredge up any real anger.

“I wonder who it was?” Hermione said as she arranged her serviette in her lap. She picked up the copy of the Prophet beside her. To Harry she said, “You should read this.”

“What is it?” Ron asked, mouth full of toast.

Hermione said in an imparting big news voice, “Malfoy and the Lestranges tried to escape from Azkaban last night.”

“I knew that,” Harry said. When she asked how he could know, he replied simply, “McGonagall.”

“Came and woke you up to tell you that?” Hermione asked disbelievingly.

“Not exactly,” Harry replied, not feeling like getting into it right there. “I’ll explain later.”

Harry scanned the paper. The article heading Death Eaters’ Grim Gaolbreak was at the top. When Ron prompted him, he started reading aloud. “Convicted Voldemort Lieutenants Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange attempted last night to break out of Azkaban. Mr. Malfoy had apparently come into possession of an Ampliment. Their plans—”

“What’s that?” Ron interrupted to ask.

Harry looked up at Hermione for an explanation.

“A magic amplifier. Only works on some kinds of spells though. Rare and strictly regulated.”

“Figures he’d have one, then,” Harry said before continuing. “Their plans went awry when Mrs. Lestrange tried to release her husband Rodolphus who was caged with his brother Rabastan. A fight apparently ensued in which Mrs. Lestrange, using a wand fashioned from a pear tree from the prison yard and strands of Kneazle fur, killed Rabastan with an Unforgivable Curse.” Harry paused as the memory of the shadow shrinking to nothing played through his mind along with the quivery chilling feel of it.

Hermione took the paper back, summarizing informationally: “Rodolphus then attacked Bellatrix and she took him out as well. All right, there, Harry?”

“Yep,” he insisted, taking up his fork. He decided firmly that he didn’t care what the lot of them all did to each other.

Their first class that day was double Herbology. As they walked to the greenhouses, Harry hung back slightly, tugging on Penelope’s robe to slow her down as well. “I need to talk to you,” Harry said quietly.

“Later, perhaps,” she replied, glancing around shyly.

There was no more time as they had arrived at the foggy glass door to the classroom.

Late that afternoon, Ron and Hermione dropped Harry off at the Defense classroom. McGonagall insisted that Harry only move around the school accompanied by at least two students or a teacher. Since he rarely went about alone, he thought he could tolerate that. He waved his friends off and closed the door.

“How are you feeling?” Snape asked.

“Embarrassed,” Harry muttered. “Pathetic, maybe.”

Snape used the edge of another book to prop open the one in front of him before stepping around the front table. “Let’s take care of that, then, shall we?”

Harry put his book bag on a chair in the last row and pulled out his wand as he came to the front.

“Cloaked opponent,” Snape said as though announcing a class topic. “I assume you attempted to Accio it, as I have seen you do that previously.”

“Yep. Didn’t work.”

“It is possible to charm objects to stay put against an Accio, of course. I would not recommend attempting to counter it in the heat of battle as it is tricky, especially since you cannot aim well. Instead, I think it is easier to utilize spells that work on everything in the immediate vicinity, invisible or otherwise.”

Snape studied Harry as though to make sure he was paying full attention before he stepped briskly onto the platform. He spread out a series of wooden stands before backing up to the far end and aiming his wand.

“Do duck down,” Snape suggested.

Harry, a little alarmed, backed up and squatted between two desks.

Snape narrowed his eyes and said, “Bolarum!” while circling the wand over his head.

The air filled with hundreds of spinning grey things which encircled anything upright. Snape immediately held his wand before him and used a Grand Flecture, causing the spinning blobs heading his way to flow around him. Harry ducked down farther as they whistled close overhead.

The room fell silent. Semi-amorphous grey bindings were around all of the wooden stands and even the curtains.

“You must be fast though with another spell once you locate your opponent—the bindings are easily tossed off.” Snape canceled the spell on most of the bound objects, ignoring the curtains. “You try,” he said, gesturing at the spot were he had been standing.

Harry, ankles painful from crouching, limped over to the indicated spot and waited for Snape to stand aside. He fingering the gouge in the handle of his wand and focused his mind the way he knew best, in a mood where it could be life or death to fail to get it exactly right.

After that spell, they covered four more, repeating them until Snape was satisfied Harry had not just learned them but had them down by rote. Harry rubbed his eyes. Lack of sleep and his painful ankles were wearing him down.

“Feel better about your chances next time?” Snape asked.

“Yep. Thanks,” he replied gratefully.

A knock sounded on the door and McGonagall leaned in. “May I have a word with Harry?” she asked.

Snape gestured that she could. “I will be in my office if you need me,” he said as he departed.

When the door closed, McGonagall sighed. “Have you remembered anything else about what happened?”

“No,” Harry admitted. “I don’t know who it was. I don’t even have a good guess.”

“I am considering questioning the Durmstrang students individually,” she said thoughtfully.

“Don’t do that, Professor,” Harry said quickly.

She gave him a considering look. “Why not?” she asked with a bit of challenge.

Harry sighed. “They are all on edge after what Karkaroff pulled last year.”

“You are saying that he and I are comparable?”

“Your position is,” Harry insisted. “They don’t know you that well.” He could not bear to imagine Penelope getting questioned alone in the headmistress’ office. He sighed and walked along the platform, slowly because his ankles complained. “I don’t think it was one of them anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I don’t know any of them that well. Whoever it was, it was way more personal than that.”

“Professor Snape has spoken to the students in his house who immediately leapt to mind. All of them were accounted for at the time.”

“If you do question the visiting students, can you have Hermione or someone there?” Harry pleaded.

“That is an excellent idea, Mr. Potter, I shall do that. And please watch yourself since, as usual, we are unable to protect you,” she added sadly.

“I will, Professor,” he insisted.

That evening in the common room, Harry, deciding he was not going to get a better opportunity, jerked his head to the side when Penelope looked up at him. He stood up, stepped away and waited.

She hesitated with a pained expression, their friends all glancing up now in curiosity. Finally she put her books aside and stood to join him. Harry led her over to the empty corner by the bookshelf under the staircase to the girls dormitory. She glanced nervously back at her friends.

“Look,” Harry started. He was immediately cut off by her saying, “I’m sorry.”

When they both hesitated, she prompted, “You first, I think.”

The problem was, Harry was not sure what he wanted to say. “I apologize for thinking you were Ginny,” he said quietly. “I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”

“I assumed you expected or wished me to be,” she said, sounding as though she were treading carefully.

“No,” Harry insisted.

She relaxed with a silly grin. “I was zo worried about you getting attacked and hurt,” she muttered quickly, sounding grateful for a chance to express herself. “I thought you might want someone there, but you were asleep and…” She flushed then, eyes darting away. “I should not have woken you zo, I think.”

Harry could not hold back a grin. “It’s all right, really.”

They fell into an awkward silence. “Everyone is looking, are dey not?” she asked nervously.

“I expect so,” Harry replied, scanning the edge of his vision. They certainly were quiet over there. “Maybe we should go back over,” he suggested, hoping to be saved from trying to say anything more.

“Harry,” Hermione said in a businesslike tone as they stood in the Room of Requirement before D.A. “This book is a little better, I think. I just ordered it from the library in Edinburgh. Or, should I say, I had Remus Lupin order it and send it on, since I was afraid the publisher might send a note to McGonagall if I had it sent here directly.”

“You told Remus what we were working on?” Harry asked, feeling a little uneasy about that.

“I asked him for advice. He was pretty amused, really. Think about it—he isn’t going to tell. He watched his school chums struggle with exactly the same thing.”

She made Harry sit down and they read sections together that she had marked.

After they had discussed the section on Transmogrifying Formation, she stood up and said, “Come on let’s try it.”

Harry stood slowly. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Harry, it isn’t that hard once you get the hang of it. There’s just a lot of pieces to get working together.”

“Transfiguration has always been easy for you,” Harry pointed out sharply.

“That isn’t all there is to it, though,” she said, sounding a little sad. “You haven’t even wanted to repeat your form revelation to figure out what it is.”

Harry couldn’t deny that. The absurdly large, oddly bright, dog-like foot had rendered him reluctant about the whole thing.

“Hagrid would know what it is, why don’t you go ask him? He wouldn’t tell anyone else what we were up to, I’m sure.” At Harry’s doubtful look, she added, “He doesn’t have the same loyalty to Professor McGonagall.”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry said to put her off.

“Let’s work on this spell then. Come on.” She tugged on his arm to give him no way out.

Harry almost hated Potions again. It was getting very close.

Greer paced by their bench for the tenth time, nose high, which made it hard for her to look down and made her look a little silly. Harry ignored her. She had already taken fifteen points off Gryffindor for questions he, Dean, and Frina had been only partially correct on. Greer had finally, and unfortunately, discovered that she could assign house points however she wished without limit.

“What base would I get if I added four centipede segments after the boil?” Greer asked of Justin.

Justin who was busy with a critical part of his brewing, did not answer beyond a drawn out, “Um,” to stall.

Greer answered for him. “Dryer’s Caraway is the answer,” she said. “A common N.E.W.T. question, by the way,” she added in a helpful tone.

Justin drooped, relieved as he hurried to mix powdered bull’s horn into his cauldron. Greer gave Harry a dark grin as she circled around.

“We have to do something,” Dean leaned over and said. “She didn’t take anything off. She only takes points off of Gryffindor now.”

“I noticed,” Harry said quietly, ignoring the teacher. Penelope and Frina looked at them in concern.

“Shh,” Hermione said, although she looked pained.

Harry assumed she was thinking of Ron’s reaction two days ago when he saw the totals after last Potions class. She had had a hard time explaining to Ron what had happened to their lead. Harry felt the effort for the House Cup wasn’t going to be worth it, but he did not want to voice that to his friends. That and he really would not mind if the Great Hall were in Gryffindor colors for the Leaving Feast—his last Leaving Feast.

“How are you doing, by the way?” Snape asked as he handed over a cup of tea while they sat in his office Thursday morning when Snape had an open slot and Hagrid had escorted Harry up after Care of Magical Creatures.

Harry thought of his failure at fending off his invisible attacker, his uncertainty over Penelope, his ongoing failure at generating enough magical energy to transform into whatever creature his Animagus form took, and his annoyance with Greer. He shrugged in lieu of a reply, and sipped from his steaming hot cup.

After a long moment, Harry said in a sudden thought, “Do you think I could drop Potions and just take the N.E.W.T.?”

“What?” Snape asked in confusion.

“Our eighty point lead for the House Cup disappeared in three days,” Harry said, just barely holding his anger at bay. He held up his hands. “And honestly, I don’t actually think it’s worth the trouble, but…” He stopped at Snape’s very doubtful look. “Really, it’s too much of a battle,” he insisted, now sounding a bit angry. “My friends just won’t be happy with only the Quidditch Cup, which we can still win. But it just occurred to me that if I’m not in Potions, then Greer won’t take so many points off, or give so many away to the other Houses.”

“You truly think that your presence makes that much of a difference?” Snape asked. “And I did not realize you believed there was a problem.”

“She stares at me every time she does it,” Harry griped, eager to vent now that he had started. “That’s why I think so. And yes, there’s a problem.” He remembered Ron’s anguish at lunch yesterday when Hermione told him what had happened, yet again. He had come within inches of sniping at Harry.

“My friends are angry with me now, but I don’t know what to do. You used to do this too, but not so perniciously,” he added emphatically.

This garnered a closed look from Snape.

Harry sighed and started to put his books away. “Sorry, I told myself I wasn’t going to complain about other teachers to you, so I’ll stop now.”

“You need not depart,” Snape pointed out, sounding like he really wanted Harry to stay. “You truly believe there is a point problem?”

Harry pulled his History book back out and opened it again. “It seems petty to give you a precise accounting of the points assigned in the last two class periods, but I can. And if you don’t believe me, I’m sure Hermione remembers more exactly.”

“I would trust your accounting, Harry,” Snape insisted. “I will speak to Minerva.”

“Oh good, Greer won’t know where that came from.”

“You have another suggestion?” This came out snidely.

Harry forced himself to relax. “No,” he replied quietly. “I just think she’ll come up with some other way to take revenge.” Harry sighed and opened his textbook.

“Speaking of revenge, are you still having visions?” Snape asked before Harry could start reading.

“Occasionally,” Harry admitted. “Though they’ve got a little better lately.”

This was somewhat true. When he had them, his dreams were less threatening but still shadowy in a strange way he wasn’t used to, instead of shadows there was always something else, like a gray pool flowing across the floor trying to envelope Harry’s feet.

“I wish we knew whom you sensed on Knockturn Alley for certain,” Snape said. “Although, I cannot imagine either one managing to pierce the protections of this castle, or besting you, cloak or not.”

“I looked at the Map that night, but I didn’t see anyone on it who shouldn’t have been.”

Snape’s eyes considered him. “How good is the Map?”

“It knew Moody was really Crouch.” When Snape raised a brow in surprise, Harry went on. “I didn’t realize it was his son though. I thought it was Crouch Senior in your office that night. And of course I didn’t know it was someone who appeared to be Mad-Eye Moody.” Harry set his cup down on the edge of the desk before leaning back and staring upward. “Trusting him was such a mistake.”

“More?” Snape asked, reaching for the teapot. When Harry shook his head, Snape commented dryly, “We were all fooled, Harry, in case you are still holding yourself solely responsible for that as well.”

Harry studied the floor. “I suppose not,” he conceded.

Snape stood suddenly and went to the window. After a moment he muttered, “Hm,” and went back to his desk. “Hawks rarely can be convinced to deliver post,” he commented.

Harry froze. “What?” he asked. Too sharply.

With an intent look, Snape said, “I’ve noticed a hawk around the castle. It delivered a letter a few mornings ago.” As Harry growled and put his books away quickly, Snape asked suggestively, “Somewhere you need to be?”

Angry, Harry hefted his bag. “A red-tail, right?”

“Yes.” Snape’s eyes narrowed, but Harry did not feel any Legilimency. “Is that hawk something special?” Snape asked slowly.

Harry shrugged instead of replying, put his things together quickly, and departed.

Harry found Ron sitting alone in the common room since Hermione had Arithmancy at that hour.

“Wha?” his friend greeted him. “You about without an escort?”

“Never mind that,” Harry said harshly. “Come here—I need to talk to you.” He dragged him out and down to an empty classroom.

“Your sister has been flying?”

“No!”

“You’re certain not?”

Ron thought a moment, staring at the bright window with a deep expression. “I really don’t think so. She’d have told me—or bragged about it at least.”

Harry exhaled harshly. “She better not be.” He noticed the clock. “We have to get to class.”

“And you have to have an escort,” Ron said firmly, poking Harry painfully in the chest.

At breakfast the next morning, the room shifted as the post owls came in the upper windows. Harry watched the incoming birds closely, until Ginny sat across from Dean, two chairs down, complaining about some essay assignment Binns had given them. A little nonplussed, Harry returned to buttering his toast.

Footsteps walked briskly up the hall and stopped beside Harry. He glanced up to find Snape holding out something for him. It was a copy of the Prophet. Snape’s expression was a little different, unusually intent for just an instant. Harry took his eyes away from his guardian and unrolled the paper.

Jugson, Death Eater, Apprehended, the headline read. Harry blinked at it and quickly scanned the accompanying text. The man had been hiding out at Borgin & Burkes on Knockturn Alley, the shop Harry had accidentally Flooed into once. Ministry Aurors also arrested one of the shopkeepers, Illustrious Burke.

Even though the odds for his guess were good, Harry was surprised he had been right. He held the paper back out to Snape.

Ron asked, “What’s up?” Ron put his fork down and poured juice for himself. “Oh, hello, Professor,” he added awkwardly upon seeing Snape there.

“They have captured Jugson,” Snape explained.

Ron hit Harry on the shoulder. “And without your help this time,” he teased.

“Not precisely,” Snape said dryly. He rolled up the paper and stepped away with a swish of robe.

“They got him from your reporting the shadow?” Ron asked quietly as he took a thick slab of butter for his bread.

Ginny piped in, “What is this?”

Whispering, Harry explained, “Over holiday I sensed a shadow on Diagon Alley. Knockturn, actually. Snape’d needed ingredients from a shop down there. The Aurors just arrested him.”

“Good job, Harry,” Ginny congratulated him.

“How was it down there, by the way?” Ron asked around a thickly buttered piece of toast.

Harry grinned. “Pretty funny. I scared nearly everyone away, so it was really quiet.” He let his friends finish laughing before he said in a low voice, “But I lied to the Aurors—I didn’t tell them that I was seeing a Death Eater in my mind. I told them I’d actually seen one of them for real and I had to guess which it might have been.”

“Why did you lie?” Hermione asked, concerned and a little critical.

Harry frowned and tossed his toast onto his plate, half eaten. No one around them seemed to be listening in. “Because I was afraid if they knew I inherited that from Voldemort, they wouldn’t let me into the Auror’s program.”

“Oh, probably a good thought,” Ron said, frowning as he considered things further. He gestured with his butter-coated knife while saying, “Ministry can be funny about things like that.”

Ron glanced worriedly across at Hermione before returning to eating. She refrained from comment with a frown of her own.

A letter dropped before Harry. In a fit of coincidence, it had the Ministry seal on it.

“Look, they’re onto you already,” Ron said.

Harry opened the envelope and found a letter and a brochure about the Auror’s program. Heart racing now, he scanned the letter. “They accepted my application,” he said excitedly.

No one around him moved. Finally, Ron said in a Greer-like tone, albeit one full of half-chewed toast, “Of course they did, Harry.”

“Tonks insisted they were going to treat it fairly,” Harry said, suddenly miffed.

“I’m sure they did,” Hermione said reassuringly, giving Ron a warning look.

“Harry, be reasonable,” Ron said. “What did you write on your application anyway?”

Harry finished reading the letter which was clearly a form letter and flipped open the brochure. “Uh, Severus made me list all of the dark wizards I’d caught or battled.”

Hermione ducked her head. Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. Harry couldn’t tell if they were trying not to laugh or something else.

“Harry,” Ron began in a tone to fill him in. He waved off Hermione as he said, “Harry, how could you honestly think that you wouldn’t get accepted for the tests?”

“I suppose,” Harry conceded, folding up the brochure and putting both away.

“Aye,” Ron breathed and pounded his forehead with the heel of his hand.

Harry glanced around at his friends. They were not amused. They actually seemed a bit tired of him. He vowed not to bring it up again.

When they were settled into the common room after classes, Harry again pulled out the brochure entitled So you’ve been accepted to a Ministry Apprenticeship and read it carefully. Most of it he could have guessed, but on the back, a list of qualifications to be covered during testing for the Auror’s program had been penned into the box for this. Mentally he checked off that he was all right with: advanced spell mastery, potion identification and brewing, low tendency to panic, beneath these was one he hadn’t considered: good physical condition a must. From a Muggle perspective, he did not qualify at all as athletic. Getting around on a broom during Quidditch was sometimes a workout, but probably not sufficient.

“Good reading?” Dean asked.

“I have to get into shape,” Harry said a little worriedly.

Frina looked up from her parchment. “I am surprised Hogwarts has no weightlifting rooms. Durmstrang has three.”

Hermione chimed in, “I think English wizards are loath to appear to use their muscles for anything.” She reached over and shook Ron’s skinny arm to demonstrate.

“Wha?” Ron blurted, since he had not been paying attention.

“I’ve been running to lose weight if you want to come along,” Neville offered from the couch, where he was reading the Quibbler, sideways this time rather than the normal upside-down. “I don’t go very fast, but I try for an hour every three days.”

“That’d be great,” Harry said, instantly relieved to have some help.

“Tomorrow before breakfast, then,” Neville said before returning to his textbook.

“Aye,” Harry breathed. “All right,” he agreed, thinking he had no choice, really.

“Someone else has to go as well,” Ron pointed out. When everyone turned to him expectantly, he said, “Ugh, before breakfast?”