Friday, Harry and Kerry Ann again waited in the corridor outside the Auror’s office. They were both a little more confident today, their eagerness tempered. Tonks and Shacklebolt came and collected each of them.

“You want this one?” Shacklebolt said to Tonks as he held out a parchment.

“Either one,” Tonks waved the sheet she had. “Harry’s familiar with Mungo’s, right Harry?”

“I’ve been there,” Harry replied dryly.

“The hexing report then,” Shacklebolt said. “Come along now you, Ms. Kerry Ann, we have a real assignment this afternoon.” They stepped down to a lift.

“Do we have a real assignment?” Harry asked hopefully.

Tonks nodded. “We do, but an easy one of just interviewing people. Can you Apparate to St. Mungo’s?”

Harry nodded and a moment later they were in the incoming area in the cellar. Harry trailed Tonks into the hospital proper, careful to stay just off her shoulder all the way, even up the lift to the fourth floor. He began to recognize where he was when they reached Ward 49.

“I’m looking for Healer Strout,” Tonks said to the first official-looking person they encountered. The small old witch wearing a volunteer’s badge in the shape of a candy cane gestured that they follow her and at the end of the long corridor she knocked on an office door.

When the door opened, a witch working at a desk immediately looked up and said, “Ah, they did send someone. Come in. Come in. Have a seat.”

Tonks led the way in and closed the door. Harry took one of the old straight-backed chairs before the desk, looking around at the colorfully painted office. The shelves beside him held a collection of strangely and even impossibly shaped glass vials and bottles, some that turned in on themselves so that one could never pour anything into them. When Harry looked back to Healer Strout, she was gazing at him, befuddled.

“The situation doesn’t warrant such, uh, attention does it?” she asked, looking between him and Tonks.

Tonks, who had toned herself down to grey-blue hair and blue robes, said dismissively, “Mr. Potter is just following me around, pay him no mind.”

Strout thought that a very odd suggestion, based on her glazed look. “All right,” she agreed anyway, sounding confused.

Tonks had a little notebook out. “So, tell us what happened.”

Strout clasped her hands before her and said, “Well, at around five this morning Mr. Lockhart simply walked out.”

“What?” Harry blurted, suddenly very alert. “Sorry,” he immediately apologized to Tonks.

“Familiar with Mr. Lockhart, are you?” Tonks asked him.

“Just a bit,” Harry returned darkly.

Strout spoke into the gap after that. “Note that we normally don’t allow our patients to just walk out. There are spells to keep them in and a night nurse. The night guard downstairs, as well as the greetingwitch on duty at the time, said he seemed to be a perfectly normal late visitor who just needed directions out.”

Harry thought of agreeing with how odd that was, but kept quiet.

Tonks scratched out some notes. “Can I see his records?”

The Healer handed over a file that was lying out on her desk.

“Did he have any visitors in the last week, last month?” Tonks asked as she flipped through the thick folder.

“The staff said he hasn’t had any visitors for months. Witch Weekly sent a reporter for some sort of Where are they now? article in June. That is the last anyone remembers.”

Tonks handed the file back. “You deem his voluntary departure to be suspicious?”

“This kind of sudden recovery after this much time is extremely unusual, and the hospital director remembered him as having an unsavory past. Although I’ve always considered him charmingly harmless.”

Tonks stood. “Let’s take a look at where he’s been staying.”

They followed the Healer down to the ward. Inside, the faint scent of deteriorating lethargy made Harry breathe shallowly. Tonks looked around and under the one empty bed. Posters of Lockhart, yellowed at the edges, waved from the wall behind it. Harry watched Tonks look around, crouching to look under the bed when she did. Tonks then attempted to interview the occupant of the next bed who apparently believed he was a broomstick because he would suddenly stiffen, put his arm up, go completely deaf and would make a noise like rushing air, which Harry assumed meant he was flying somewhere.

While Tonks worked at this, Harry looked down to the end of the ward where the Longbottoms had been last time. Mrs. Longbottom, looking far older than Harry remembered, was sitting on her same bed, holding something tan and fuzzy, stroking it methodically. The bed beside hers held a curled-up figure that didn’t stir. Harry wanted to go down there and say hello but he remained where he was, diligent for the moment, just off Tonk’s left shoulder.

Tonks finally gave up and seeing the blank gaze of the other nearby bed’s occupant, sighed. She jotted down a few notes and then stared at the notebook in thought.

Harry asked, “Do you mind if I go down to the end?”

Tonks’ gaze turned to the last bed’s occupant, who appeared to be gazing at them, or perhaps just through them. “Think she can answer questions?”

“No,” Harry admitted. When Tonks shrugged, he went and stood at the foot of the last bed. Mrs. Longbottom didn’t look up at him. “Hello,” Harry tried, feeling pained by the scene. He could see now that she held a small stuffed lion and, without looking at it, was brushing its fuzzy mane back.

Tonks came quietly up beside him and they shared a sad look. When Harry turned back, Mrs. Longbottom was holding the lion out to him. “No, you keep it. Thank you, though.” She held it out another moment before tucking it close, gaze still very distant.

On the way out, Harry tried to shake his glum mood. Tonks was quiet as well.

Back in the offices Tonks pulled out a fresh parchment and asked Harry to go check for an existing file. Harry went down the quiet corridor to the file room. The lights were down so he took up a lamp from beside the door and pulled out the drawer Liechtenstein-Lovery. Sure enough, there was a Lockhart, Gilderoy there, a relatively thin one. Harry perused it on the way back. It held an identity sheet, a letter from Dumbledore, and a mental health assessment that ran five pages. The letter from Dumbledore was written in pretty couched language.

Mr. Lockhart, it seems, has been deceiving the public about his skills as a dark arts defender. He is reported by two of our students to have made threats of the most heinous kind in an attempt to perpetuate this deception. I expect that his current state renders his previous actions null and void.

Tonks read over the pages. “You must have been at Hogwarts at that time. Who were the two students, do you know?” she asked, sounding strangely like she didn’t expect him to know.

“Ron and I,” Harry replied.

She sat back and perkily asked, “Oh, well, do tell.”

“You don’t know what happened when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?” Harry asked, surprised.

She glanced at the report. “Ninety three is before my time as an Auror, although this is sounding familiar from stories people in the Order used to tell about Malfoy. Something about a cursed diary, right?”

Harry proceeded to explain what had happened and how Lockhart was going to let Ginny die and wipe his and Ron’s memories. The memory made Harry more angry now than he remembered being at the time.

“Well, no wonder you don’t like the guy,” she said, making more notes. She flipped her battered quill back and forth over her chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know what to think of his disappearance. It doesn’t seem dastardly, just odd.” She proceeded to write up a report for their visit to St. Mungo’s and when she finished that, started another one on the events at Hogwarts. Harry felt very odd being formally interviewed after all this time. The memories of it came back clearly, though, after he started in on them.

When she ran out of questions she finished filling out the forms, dating, spelling, and organizing them into their folders, which she handed to Harry to file.

When Harry returned he said, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“What is that thing you have in your pocket? You write on it when we arrive somewhere it seems.”

“Oh. Just this.” She pulled out a small battered slate tablet framed with wood. After more fishing around in her pocket, she pulled out a white stick. “I use it to check in. I’m pretty bad about that but if I say when I arrive in a new city, they lay off me about it. I can also use it to sound an alarm by drawing a star on it followed by a message.” Quieter, she leaned closer and said, “Usually when I have an emergency, I don’t have two hands free to write out a message about it.” She stashed it back away. “You’ll be assigned one if you need it for a more dangerous call.”

It was six at night. Too late, Tonks said, to head out again on patrol. Harry was a little reluctant to go home, but he said goodnight—rather than ask what she was doing that night, as he was sorely tempted to—and collected his things.

At home it was raining hard. Harry stared at the streetlight-highlighted droplets on the window and wondered exactly when Candide planned to visit. Snape hadn’t returned yet, his owl indicated it would be long after dinner, but not exactly when. Harry now thought he should have stayed in London, it would be better than sitting here in his room feeling doom settling around the house. This dark mood was topped off by Snape’s note that morning saying that he hoped Harry was free to visit his mum’s coven on Sunday.

The rushing sound of the Floo emanated from downstairs. Harry methodically put his things away and went to join him. Snape was in the drawing room, exchanging some files from a small trunk. His cloak was tossed over the chair and Harry caught a whiff of Hogwarts castle from it.

“Good evening, Harry,” Snape greeted him.

The door knocker sounded. “I’ll get that,” Harry said.

Candide was at the door, very wet. “Come in.” He didn’t repeat that she could use the hearth. He led her into the dining room where the fire was already burning high. “Wait here, let me break him into this.”

This startled her. “Thanks. But don’t ruin it for me, if you can help it,” she pleaded lightly.

Harry rubbed his hair as he walked back to the drawing room. “Uh, Severus…” he started, but then stalled.

Snape’s brow furrowed as he turned, gazing at his charge through his hair. “Who is at the door?”

“Candide.” Snape stepped toward the hall, but Harry restrained him. “She stopped by last weekend,” Harry explained quietly before closing the door and Silencing it. “She had a lot of questions that Roberta brought up. Ones I told her she should ask you.” Harry regretted now not having owled Snape with at least a warning. Snape moved slowly as he took that in. His hand dropped to the chair back beside him, felt along it as though blind, then eventually gripped it. Harry went on, “She thinks you may be considering marriage‚”

“What?”

Harry flinched at the tone and realized he had blundered in where he had been specifically warned not to go. “She just wanted to know if that might be true,” he attempted to recover. Snape looked essentially appalled. “Or, actually, that’s what brought up the other questions,” Harry went on quickly, mentally chiding himself. “It’s a little confused that part.” Harry sighed. “The rest is not. I didn’t think any of this should come from me. Sorry, maybe I should have warned you.”

Snape’s eyes dropped to the floor before he straightened and said with strange formality, “Well, let’s see what those questions are, shall we.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Harry asked before Snape reached the door.

“No. I will do it.” He sounded fatalistic.

Harry trailed a distance behind Snape. He felt he should follow and besides, he couldn’t simply go up to his room and hope for the best. In the dining room Candide sat holding a hot cocoa, which she set down when they appeared. “Severus,” she greeted him.

Snape stepped in and leaned on the back of the chair across from her. “Harry informs me that you have questions you wish to have answered.” Harry frowned at the tone that sounded exactly like the one used with his House students.

She looked as though she regretted being there and Harry wondered if he should have just tried to explain, but he hadn’t wanted to have a hand in convincing her to break up with Snape. Candide said, “You remember me mentioning Roberta before?”

“Yes,” Snape replied. Harry marveled that he could put that much derision into a single, small word.

Candide rubbed her hands together, glanced at Harry, who managed a look of sympathy, and finally said, “I need to hear you say a few things aren’t true.”

“Such as?” queried Snape after a delay. The two of them appeared to be opponents suddenly, rather than lovers. A painful transition to observe, making Harry drop his gaze to his toes and just listen.

With feeling Candide said, “I’m trying to preserve something here. At least help a little, Severus.”

Coldly, Snape returned, “You have already made up your mind.”

“I don’t want to believe these things, but why would the Prophet print…” She winced. With more certainty, she asked, “Were you friends with someone named Nott when you were in school?”

“Yes.”

“You were friends with wizards who ended up serving Voldemort? Including one who killed himself rather than be captured during the final battle?”

“Yes.”

“Is there ANYTHING that isn’t true?” she demanded, distraught. More quietly, she said, “I’ve spent months defending you.” Gesturing, she said, “You have Harry Potter…” She seemed to choke. “Of… all people. Living with you…how can…?” She frowned and challenged, “How?”

This last was directed at Harry, who did not feel he needed to justify choices that were made entirely for himself, so he remained quiet.

Snape held completely still for a long time, staring her down. Finally, he said, “Potter, you’ve been taught a Protean Charm correct, and the Indiceffector?”

Harry froze, skin chilling. They had covered that spell but had only practiced it very briefly on pre-charmed ink blotters with hidden messages. He didn’t respond.

Snape turned his dark, hooded gaze back over his shoulder at him. “Potter?”

“I won’t use it.”

“Are you an Auror or not?” Snape snarled at him, as nasty as Harry had ever heard him.

With a hard swallow Harry shook his head. “Not if you ask that of me.” When Snape huffed in disgust, Harry insisted, “It isn’t who you are.”

“What do you know about who I am?” Snape demanded, although he sounded like he really didn’t want to be arguing, was just lashing out because he couldn’t hold it in.

Harry stepped over beside him, desperately searching for the right thing to say. Across the table, Candide stood transfixed with growing horror. Snape rubbed his left arm inside his sleeve where his mark would be if it were revealed with the spell he was demanding of Harry.

“I don’t understand this,” Candide muttered, pained.

“Don’t understand what?” Snape taunted her. “You’ve been in denial,” he pointed accusingly. “You wanted to be.”

Her mouth worked before she said, “You weren’t… aren’t really…?”

“Really what?” Snape demanded. Candide appeared devastated then. Her eyes took in Harry without reaction. In a low voice Snape mocked, “You can’t even say it.”

Her jaw ground then before she angrily asked, “All right, then. Were you really a Death Eater?”

“Yes,” Snape returned, sounding cruel.

Her fiery anger vanished. “How could you?” she whispered in pain. “How could you?” she demanded of Harry.

Snape appeared to take more of an affront at the second accusation than the first.

“Let me talk to her alone, Severus.” Harry urged, taking him by the arm and tugging in the direction of the door. “Please,” Harry pleaded. “She’s made it about me. I’ll take it from here.”

Snape tugged his arm out of Harry’s grip and stalked off. In the distance a door slammed.

“I trusted you,” Candide whispered accusingly.

“So keep trusting me or make up your own mind in the first place,” Harry countered softly, finding calm a better outlet than expected for his anger. “I don’t appreciate you hurting him.”

“Hurting him?” she mocked with a disturbed laugh. “What could hurt a Death Eater?” she asked, mouth twisting at the words. “Merlin, to think I was hoping he’d want to marry…” She cut herself off and appeared rather sickened.

Harry leaned over the table and stared her down where she sat. “You don’t understand anything,” he spat at her, then pulled himself back and said more levelly. “About him or me.”

“Clearly,” she returned, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Bloody Merlin,” she whispered. She stood and grabbed up her wet cloak in a bundle, and brushed past him.

Harry couldn’t let it go at that. He followed her out to the garden and into the rain, which pounded straight down in grey-brown sheets. Outside the gate on the side of the road he grabbed her sleeve and pulled her around.

Following her, he had prepped his story about Snape healing him because he understood, but in the wet road, reflecting the headlights of the passing cars, what he said was, “I thought you cared about him. What were you just pretending?” He was furious, he realized, dangerously so, because the reflected headlights glared green, rather than blue-white.

“I can’t care for someone like that,” she said retorted. “I don’t know what kind of spell he has you under.”

“None!” Harry snapped angrily. “If you only knew,” he muttered, forced to silence by what might have been a chittering sound, although over the torrential rain it was hard to tell. The swirling water in the road appeared to hold eel-like shadows that moved against the reflections on the surface.

“Harry!” she shouted in alarm.

Harry had stepped backward into the road as a car approached and had to leap back to the relative safety of the gravel at the same time the headlights swerved.

“Go!” he ordered in fear, not sure what was real around him and what was rain, not sure what might find passage through his anger from the Dark Plane as the purple book seemed to imply could happen. “Go!” He said again when she hesitated in surprise.

She hurried off with a rain-streaked, worried glance back. In it, Harry saw great concern and it made him feel rather badly about how messed up things had got.

Back inside, Harry’s soaked clothes were sticking to him, weighing him down. Snape stood silhouetted at the end of the entryway, face in shadow.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered as he peeled off his dripping jumper and hung it up without bothering to ring it out or try an insufficient spell. Control was returned to him only by putting the last few minutes aside and he did that, in difficult stages and with what might have been an effort at delusion. Calmer, and with nothing else to say, Harry stalked by Snape, leaving shimmering rainwater on the stone floor in his wake.

Breakfast was the quietest Harry could remember. Snape ate sparingly. Candles lit the table because of the heavy grey sky outside. Harry’s circling thoughts kept generating arguments he should have used with Candide. Perhaps he would owl her after Snape departed. On the other hand she seemed to have ruined his weekend with Snape and that made him think it not worth the bother.

Around noon Harry carried the wizard chess set into the drawing room where Snape sat working his way through a pile of post. “Would you like a game?”

Snape looked only at the board in Harry’s hands, already set for play. “Perhaps. When I have finished with this.”

“All right.” Harry hesitated as he searched for words that were out of reach. Earlier in the week he had had all kinds: about his first field experience, about the purple book, but they didn’t fit now. He had hovered too long and forced himself to turn.

Snape’s voice caught him just outside the doorway, “It is all right, Harry.”

Hurt anger flowed into Harry as he turned. “No, it’s not. It’s not fair to you.”

Snape sat silently before sighing and saying, “As you yourself have pointed out, it is impossible to make someone understand difficult events for which they were not present, no matter how familiar one is with that person otherwise.” He shuffled the parchments before him with a dismissive air although it didn’t look entirely convincing.

“Don’t you like her?” Harry pressed, thinking of all the times, although infrequent, she had been over or Snape had gone out to meet her. “Seems like you must.”

“It is no matter,” Snape replied. Then after another pause, “Give me half of an hour and we can play a game.”

It was with a kind of dread that Harry came downstairs early the next morning. Facing the duel drag of the memory of Friday night and the prospect of a visit to Snape’s mum left him dreadfully unenthusiastic about the day. Snape sat at the table, however, looking pretty much himself. Harry wondered at his taking something like this in stride, or perhaps he was just too used to being treated this way.

“Still want to take the motorbike?” Harry asked, since a light drizzle was falling.

Snape stood and snidely asked, “Don’t know any repelling charms, Potter?”

“I know several now, thank you very much,” Harry said, although he still wasn’t really good at them. “And I think you are reverting to speaking to me like I’m one of your students.”

Snape straightened and patted Harry’s arm. In a concessionary tone he said, “You can provide the charm then, and we’ll take the bike.”

Harry took a deep breath and thought he better do his best repelling charm yet.

The flight took less than an hour, even at a speed slow enough to let the charm work effectively against the oncoming mist. Harry, feeling ungenerous, put the Roar knob at halfway, which, in the quiet of the countryside, was rather loud. An entire contingent of the curious waited around the rose gate when they landed in a burst of muddy dust and a loud thunk and clatter. Pretending that there was nothing out of the ordinary, Harry put down the stand and dismounted after Snape.

Ratta and Princess, a little taller but still rail-thin, gaped at the bike from either side of their mother. Beside them, Anita, Snape’s mum, appeared more appalled than the rest, who wore wide varieties of expression.

The Covenelder’s voice cut through the silence. “Welcome back,” she said graciously, giving Harry a wink as she towed him inside by the hand.

The furniture in the community building had been rearranged to support a group luncheon because of the rain. Fruits far out of season were set out in bowls. Harry tried to say hello to the young girls but they were stiff and formal with him, and he suspected it wasn’t his entrance. He tried crouching to talk to them, to be closer to their size, but he couldn’t get more than one word answers out of them and lots of fidgety shyness, no matter the question. Their large eyes appeared disappointed as they took him in.

Introductions went around as everyone took a seat. Harry sat beside his guardian and across from Anita. After general small talk, Anita said, “So, Harry, rumor has it you were kidnapped.”

Nearby heads snapped up at that. “You’ve been following the news a bit,” Snape offered. “Just for our visit?”

In an unfathomable tone, Anita replied, “I was thinking it would be nice to have something to talk about with visitors for once.”

“Not a rumor,” Harry replied easily. “Girlfriend’s former boyfriend.”

Caroline quipped, “One reason not to have any men around.”

“Women can be just as bad,” Anita countered, making Harry wonder whether she always took opposing sides, and as well, just whom she was referring to.

Harry took a deep breath and served himself more mashed potatoes, working to avoid being baited. He fervently hoped Snape did the same.

Anita sighed. “Four days though. No one could find you?”

Harry tried to decide if he were just reading things in where they weren’t. After further reflection he decided her tone was just a little wrong. He met her dark brown gaze levelly. In a voice that came out with far more depth than he expected to hear from himself, Harry said, “There is so much to what happened that you cannot know, especially not from reading the Daily Prophet, that I have to warn you that treading suggestively into it isn’t going to gain you anything but the reverse of what you are hoping for.”

Beside Harry, Snape calmly put his utensils down and wiped his hands. “You need not defend me, Harry,” he stated softly.

“I sat in that cold cellar hoping you would not attempt to find me, because I knew what it would take for you to do so.” Harry caught Anita’s shifting gaze, and clarified, “The blood spell it would take to do so.”

Her gaze flickered and she started paying more attention to her plate. Beside her, the covenelder asked, “So the business of hunting dark wizards is still profitable…that’s good,” she stated cheerily as she topped up his tea with her shaky hand. “Gives you something to keep busy with,” she added as though discussing stamp collecting.

Harry’s lips curled into a reluctant smile.

After the meal Harry tried again to draw out the two girls. He sat on the floor with them in the corner of the room while they worked at drawing with chalk on the tan tile floor. “What’s that?” Harry asked Ratta.

“It’s a witch on broom stick, silly,” she replied. Harry cocked his head and finally saw that, glad he hadn’t guessed that it was a tree and a lake.

“Do you talk to snakes much?” Princess asked, drawing one in white chalk.

“Not much call for that, most days,” Harry admitted. Explaining that he had last talked to Snape that way didn’t seem wise since Anita would shortly hear about it.

Princess kept up the questions. “Do you do lots of magic?”

“All the time. We practice at the Ministry nearly every day…hours at a time.”

“Show us something,” Ratta cajoled.

In another part of the room, someone had taken out some sort of homemade stringed box instrument and was apparently tuning it. The first few sounds didn’t bode well. “What would you like to see?”

“Well, obliterate this, so I can try again.”

“Not my snake,” Princess snapped, leaning over to guard her drawing with her arms.

Harry took out his wand and carefully cleared away the purported witch. Ratta blew a few times to clear the remaining dust before starting again on a remarkably similar drawing. “Teach us a spell. A Hover spell,” Ratta suggested.

“Sure,” Harry said, happy to comply, happy also that they were losing their stiffness around him and being their cheerful, demanding selves. A crude wooden ruler sat on the floor. Harry moved it and demonstrated the spell a few times, showing them the flick at the end in particular that made it work. “Want to try?” He offered his wand.

“Harry!” the sharp voice of Snape came from over by the bookshelves where he stood chatting with Caroline, Anita and a few others. Snape shook his head once, very sharply. Harry, confused, withdrew his wand from Ratta’s approaching grasp and with his eyes, asked for clarification from his guardian. Snape didn’t respond.

“Just a second,” Harry said to the girls. He stood and went over to the group. The various expressions didn’t make much sense. “What’s wrong?”

Softly, if not a touch stridently, Snape explained. “They do not want either of children touching that wand… or, more specifically, one which has been used to cast an Unforgivable Curse.”

Harry stared at Snape as he took that in, then looked down at the dull finish of his wand, at the gouge still marring the handle. He shrugged and stashed it in his pocket, although something inside him rebelled. “All right,” he muttered, feeling strangely betrayed as well as confused.

He returned to the two girls who were adding wings to the snake to make it into a dragon. “No spells,” he explained when Ratta looked at him questioningly.

“We learn them all the time,” she countered, sounding confused as well.

Harry exhaled, “Not from crazed Aurors,” he said, very quietly.

Ratta had good ears though. She looked up at her mother in a way that indicated she knew boundaries were being laid down and that she might chose to push them. Changing to grey chalk, she went back to adding puffball clouds around her witch and the dragon and didn’t say anything for a while.

Harry was still feeling rather ambivalent when they departed. The mist had lightened, so he ran the bike flat out after making altitude, until Snape tapped him on the arm. Harry throttled back to the pace they had used outbound, but Snape tapped him again. Harry slowed farther yet, until the wind was low enough to hear over.

“What’s wrong?” his guardian asked, his hand gripping Harry’s shoulder harder when a gust of wind struck.

Harry stared off across the rich green quilted landscape. Cars snaked along on a major road below them. In the far distance a slice of sunlight hit a lush hillside that was free of the usual stone walls that cut up most of the landscape.

Anger rose as Harry found words. “They think I’m stained,” he said over his shoulder.

“They think your wand is,” Snape countered.

“There isn’t any difference. You believe it too,” Harry accused, pinning down the feeling of betrayal.

Snape leaned closer and spoke normally since he was just beside Harry’s ear. “By no means do I think that. I simply understand their concern and did not consider it something worth debating, unlike many other of their narrow-minded assumptions.”

“It bothers me,” Harry turned his head to say.

He felt rather than heard Snape sigh. Snape’s free arm tightened around him reassuringly. “I don’t want you to think I am not on your side, because I am. We should discuss this when it is easier to do so.”

Harry throttled the bike up, forcing Snape to tighten his hold severely. His voice rang in his ear against the wind, “Do not nurse this anger all the way home, if you would.”

By the time they landed and parked in the back garden, Harry felt numbly angry and still vaguely betrayed, although not by Snape, which was just as well, because his guardian was blocking the path to the back entry. “Look at me,” Snape ordered. Harry grudgingly raised his gaze. “I was sharp with you—don’t look away—because I know a bit about covens of that sort and the purification rites they might have considered using had they deemed the girls in need of it.”

Harry backed off on his anger and let it flow out of him as though it were water. “Oh.”

“You are not soiled. Your wand, however, does have a shaded history—”

“Yeah, I just shared minds with Voldemort and see the Dark Plane on occasion,” he snapped sarcastically.

“That…has nothing to do with it,” Snape retorted.

Harry laughed darkly. “No?”

“It doesn’t and you know it,” Snape snapped. He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Potter, you have me wishing I knew what Albus would say about now. That…is a first.”

Harry laughed despite himself.

“Harry, you are so far from evil you wouldn’t even cheat at a game of chess.” Snape grasped Harry’s upper arm and urged him inside since it had started raining again.

Frowning, Harry asked in true curiosity, “Why would anyone bother playing chess if they were just going to cheat at it?”

“Precisely,” Snape returned. Inside the hall, he turned back to his charge and said with unusual feeling. “Please do not let it wear at you. You are the very epitome of good wizardry.”

“Why would it matter then?” Harry asked, still finding annoyance at the whole episode. “And besides, what did they want? Someone had to destroy Voldemort. What, they want that bad wizards should stick around until some other bad wizard and they happen to kill each other at the same time?”

Snape took Harry’s shoulders firmly in hand. “Stop it.”

Harry looked away, still discovering twisted emotions rising up in himself.

“You are so far from being dark, you don’t even qualify as off-white. Let it go. There is a reason they live in a coven…it is to escape the real world and the real choices and sacrifices it presents. You, of all people, have sacrificed too much to let them get to you.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed in Snape’s grip and he let go. “Much better,” Snape uttered before stalking away.

Harry took out his wand, the twin to Voldemort’s, and studied its worn and marred surface as he rotated it around before stashing it back away in his pocket.

That evening in his room, Harry took out the last Muggle letter he had received from Polly Evans, the widow of his mother’s cousin. It occurred to him now that he could have dropped in for a visit on his way to Torquay had he thought of it. Since the trip had not been pointless otherwise, he now regretted the oversight. He sat down and penned a letter back to her, warning that he may take her up on her offer that he call anytime. After the day’s visit to the coven Harry felt in need of reassuring relatives, and the memory of his last visit to Godric’s Hollow still made him feel warm inside.

He stashed the letter in his bag to post from London the next day, but then wondered if that was the best idea. Pamela and Patricia might wonder why the letter came from nowhere near where Harry lived. He would have to step out in the morning and post it from the box outside the train station.

Snape departed that evening, still in a vaguely dark mood. He gave Harry a pat on the shoulder before taking down the tin of Floo powder. Harry watched him flare away, not sure who to be angry with but wanting to pin it on someone, otherwise he would feel helpless. Candide seemed a good candidate, but by the end of a long evening of readings, Harry found Anita to be a better reason for his dismay. When he finally did crawl into bed, he fell immediately into a hazy, dream-filled sleep.

During morning drills the door opened and the senior apprentice, a small man with blue-blond hair by the name of Augustus Munz, slipped inside the workout room followed by Logan and Shacklebolt. Rodgers turned curiously their way. “We’re just watching,” Shacklebolt insisted.

This morning they were practicing the nine standard physical counter-curses for heating, freezing, overwhelming olfaction, disorientation, static charge, muscle weakening, blinding, deafening, and short term memory loss. Given the number of spells to choose from, one had to pay careful attention to one’s partner. Initial wand motion gave most of them away, but Kerry Ann was getting clever and changing spells part way through her cast. Harry had already suffered quivers and the gagging stench of sulfur so he was concentrating pretty hard.

Rodgers eventually called a halt after they had been at it long enough to get bored with the drill. “Something up, Gussie?” he asked the older apprentice.

“They wanted to, uh, see how things were going,” Munz replied with a shrug and a crooked smile that dominated his small face.

“They’re looking for a duel,” Harry supplied. When Rodgers gave Harry a disapproving look, Harry added, “Ask them.”

Logan was smirking and Shacklebolt had crossed his arms as he leaned back against the wall with easy confidence.

“Are they, then?” Rodgers said. “Trouble is, I don’t want to have to explain later to Madam Bones what happened to our fine, young apprentices.”

“Just apprentice. Just Harry,” Logan explained.

Kerry Ann crossed her arms, wand angled out. “Yup, we’re chopped liver.”

Logan went on, “It is tormenting to hear the sizzle and crack of spells at one’s desk all day long without getting a chance to play a little as well.”

Rodgers rubbed his eyes before saying, “Tristan, really, I can’t risk a real duel. You want to come help with drills a few minutes…that’s fine.”

Shacklebolt used his broad shoulders to push away from the wall. “Drills then. Well, Miss Kerry Ann of the chopped liver, let’s see what you have.”

The two of them moved into opposing positions and the rest stood aside to watch. Kerry Ann gave a snort of confidence as she raised her wand. After Shacklebolt counted down from three, Kerry Ann ran her usual trick, starting with an ice curse and changing to a stench one at the end of the motion. Shacklebolt turned his head as though he could escape the odor and had to regroup to finish a fire curse which Kerry Ann had plenty of time to counter.

“Hm,” Shacklebolt muttered but another curse was flying his way already and all he could do was block, but he was fast on the rebound, faster than his opponent expected and ice crystals crackled into existence on Kerry Ann’s sleeves and the tips of her hair as she barely used a heating charm on herself in time.

“Drills, Kingsley,” Rodgers criticized. “A little less power if you would.”

Kerry Ann was snapping the ice out of her hair and looking dangerous. After another countdown she simply fired a Blasting Curse, which was easily blocked although the floorboards rumbled with the aftershock.

In a teasing voice Shacklebolt said, “Remind me to stay on your good side.” He let her use him for target practice for three more rounds before holding up his hand to call a halt. Kerry Ann looked annoyed that she hadn’t got through.

“Potter next?” Shacklebolt asked hopefully.

“Potter last,” Rodgers said, and gestured for Vineet next.

Harry tried not to bite his lip as the Indian, stepping with his usual light muscular power, changed places with Kerry Ann. He and Shacklebolt exchanged a few sensory curses which even if they had hit Vineet, he would not have let on.

When Shacklebolt said, “Something with a higher hazard quotient then?”

Harry stiffened. A flashing barrage flew between them, until Vineet’s wand, struck by a Snaking Wind charm, flew out of his hand and skidded across the floor. Harry picked it up, noticing the worn, onion-shaped gold filigree that decorated it. He pretended to look it over to give his fellow apprentice a chance to catch his breath. From the look of the faded red and green and perhaps yellow paint, he realized that it must have been completely painted originally, as opposed to just highlighted as he had assumed.

“This is really old,” Harry observed as he handed it back.

Vineet accepted it and said diffidently, “It was my the wand of my village aunt’s great grandmother who got it from her grandmother who told her it was from the most famous Bengali wand maker in memory. I was not intended to have it and had to argue extensively to be granted it.” His face had the usual sheen of sweat from exerting himself and he seemed willing to take advantage of the break.

“It must have been really beautiful when it was new. British wands don’t look anything like that.”

Exhaling as though he had finally caught his breath, Vineet said, sounding a little difficult, “They aren’t anything like this one.”

After a few more rounds, Rodgers called a halt this time. Vineet stepped to the wall beside Aaron, who gave him a light punch on the arm as a gesture of solidarity.

“My turn,” Logan insisted. Aaron stepped up and faced him, looking determined. Logan began to count down from three but Aaron cast at him somewhere around one and a half. Logan just managed a block with a few backward steps to catch himself.

“You want to play it that way?” Logan taunted.

Harry had always thought jumping the count a Slytherin dirty trick, but when it was his cohort pulling it, it seemed less so and he grinned as Logan shook his head disgustedly before counting again. This time he matched Aaron at the two with a shiver curse that made Aaron drop his wand.

“Happens to everyone,” Aaron said as he picked it up.

Harry’s turn finally arrived, along with a brief argument between Logan and Shacklebolt.

“You drilled with two already,” Logan complained.

“I have seniority,” Shacklebolt countered.

“I’ll duel both of you,” Harry offered.

“No, you won’t,” Rodgers snapped.

Harry shrugged. He stood in position and waited, holding his wand lightly at his side with just his fingertips—ready to aim and gesture a number of spells that tugged at him like leashed animals eager to be released. Logan finally won out and Shacklebolt scuffled over to the others and leaned back against the wall beside Vineet.

Logan counted down and Harry let his instincts battle for him. It was easier that way, his hand and mind working together to throw a blinding curse strong enough to make his opponent blink, even though his counter was on time, followed by a modulated block for a shiver curse. With real danger not a concern he let himself fall into an almost meditative rhythm of block, cast, block, cast. He jolted himself out of it when he saw something different flicker across the Auror’s brown eyes.

Rather than wait for the beginning of the oncoming spell, Harry put up a modulated Chrysanthemum Block and immediately reinforced it. Something resembling sideways driving rain streaked like comets of light through the air and hammered at his block, which began to dissolve and clearly wasn’t going to hold through the end of the barrage. Desperate, Harry cancelled that block with the kind of wave that left it in place to expand outward, then immediately cast a Titan behind it, all forward, with as much power as he could put behind it. In the gap, balls of energy sizzled through and struck him, stinging his arm, shoulder, and a dozen other places, although the pain faded quickly. The Titan rushed forward as a wall and exploded, taking the rest of the onslaught with it. The room was silent in their wake.

Harry didn’t even take a breath before he aimed and shouted, “Rhuumitai!” One of the spells Fred had used on him at his birthday party. In that instant Harry was aware of his trainer opening his mouth as though to chastise Logan, who looked puzzled by Harry’s incantation. The next instant all of it was blotted out.

Fred had not put this much behind the spell. The light in the room dipped to a coal red and a column of one-foot-long, red, green, and gold dragons streamed out of Harry’s wand. Still on instinct, Harry cancelled the spell with a jerk of fear that he didn’t actually know what the dragons would do, as they had not reached him the only other time he had seen this spell. Logan tried an icing counter, but it didn’t slow the creatures down and they swarmed over him as though they were actually liquid and wanted to encase him. Logan fell, struggling, and Harry started forward, panicked now as he had no idea how to counter the spell’s causetum. Fortunately, he didn’t get two steps before the effect vanished.

Coughing, Logan sat up straight and felt about himself as though to verify he was whole. Both Shacklebolt and Rodgers had reached his side. “Well, you deserved that,” Rodgers said, “for using a Flamesickle on an apprentice.”

“Sorry,” Harry said as Logan was helped to his feet.

“What?” Logan asked, confused.

Harry didn’t want to explain that he had not only unwisely used a spell he couldn’t reverse, but whose effect he didn’t even know. He shrugged as though he were gamely apologizing.

Logan brushed himself off and accepted his wand from Rodgers who had picked it up for him. “Should have let Kingsley have him,” he grumbled through wounded pride. At the door he turned and asked Rodgers, “When do we change shadow assignments?” while sending a calculating glance back at Harry. Just before the door close, he conceded, “Fair win, Potter.”

Harry didn’t think so. He thought he should be much more careful.

The next day they were off an hour early again. Aaron, with his usual spirit, organized another Diagon outing after they had finished their drills without supervision. Aaron insisted with a chuckle that they leave a note on Rodgers desk promising that they would use the extra time for readings. This seemed to amuse him no end, enough that Harry was amused by Aaron himself. Kerry Ann headed off her own way saying this was a good time to catch her mum before she left for work.

The remaining three of them stepped through the wall after Apparating into the Leaky Cauldron and into the clear sunlight, which only showed the grime better.

Aaron stopped before the owl emporium and peered in the window. “I need a new cage,” he said. “I want something a little nicer than these though. I should just find a Muggle bird catalog, I guess.”

Harry looked in as well and was about to suggest going inside, when he turned and found himself facing Draco Malfoy, cloaked to his ankles even in the heat.

Aaron said, “Well, look who it is,” in a less than welcoming tone.

Draco turned a haughty expression to him before his light eyes returned to looking beyond Harry. “Leave us alone a second,” Harry said to Aaron.

“You sure? You and a Slytherin?”

“Aaron, you are looking at the Wizarding world’s only honorary Slytherin. It’s all right.”

Aaron stepped away, taking Vineet with him. Harry could see them both glancing back as they sauntered to the next store and stopped before an outdoor rack of marked-down, dented cauldrons.

“Thanks,” said Harry quietly to his former nemesis.

Draco snorted a little laugh. “I don’t want you owing me, Potter.”

“Oh, good,” Harry quipped, trying for brightness. “I’d prefer that.”

Draco half looked behind him in the direction of the cauldrons. “Those your little Auror friends?”

“Yep.”

“The Ministry must be desperate.” Draco smirked. “As usual.”

With his own snide expression Harry countered, “They only need to be better than you, Draco.”

Draco smiled strangely before he dropped into seriousness, exhibiting that fast mood shift of his father’s. “Grateful, Potter?” he asked in a keen hush.

Evenly, Harry replied, “Yes, I am.”

“Hmf.” Draco moved as though to depart, but stopped to say, “Don’t expect me to bail you out every time.”

Almost laughing, Harry replied, “I won’t. Believe me.”

Brow raised in a vaguely disgusted manner, Draco stepped away.

Harry released his pent up breath and joined his friends.

“How is Mr. Malfoy?” Aaron asked sarcastically.

“I get the sense you don’t like him,” Harry teased.

“Hmmmm mmm mmm,” Aaron hummed, still watching Draco weaving his way down the crowded alley as though to make sure he didn’t try anything.

Harry fingered his wand inside his pocket and had a sudden thought. “You know I need to make a visit to Ollivander’s. Come along with me,” he urged his friends.

Aaron’s gaze was far away still. “I think I will try Eeylops,” he said and headed that way.

“Want to come along, Vineet?” Harry asked, trying for innocent. Then trying harder. “This old tainted wand of mine needs a renewal and given its provenance, I’d love company.” Vineet didn’t reply right away, and had he been Snape, Harry would have reinforced his Occlumency. Before the other could comment, Harry took out his wand and held it up to show the gouge, now worn and well-soiled along the bare, unvarnished faces. “Draco’s father did that,” Harry explained, remembering. “I keep meaning to get it repaired.” He tilted his head invitingly, “Come on.”

Vineet followed in silence with a shuttered expression. Harry, if pressed, would have guessed he was seething but would never show it. Harry, for his part, was determined to have his way, friend or village tradition or anything else be damned.

The bell on the door rang musically as they entered the dim and dusty shop. Harry had forgotten just how high the full shelves were, and just how many wands they held. Even Vineet seemed to be distracted as he looked around.

“Ah…my dear Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said with feeling as he approached the counter from the back. His light eyes considered Harry in detail as he almost methodically placed his hands on the counter and leaned toward him. “Wand still treating you well, I hope?”

“The magic is fine, but I need a bit of a repair.”

Ollivander accepted the wand and, handling it with a delicate touch, turned it this way and that, peered down the length of it, appeared to stare through it even. “So much power from such a simple thing,” he observed softly. After a slightly longer examination of the damage, he smiled and took it aside to a crowded little work area with a large, half-shaded lamp and lots of tools and bottles and rags.

Harry waited with poor patience while Ollivander worked. He had to force himself not to stand on tiptoe to try to see better what the sparkling spells in yellow were all about. A small crate of fine wood chunks in various odd shapes was perused and a sample selected and more sparkling spells ensued. Ollivander stopped and bending down, blew on the wand, as though to hurry the drying of glue. Bottles were opened and various vapors assaulted them in an eye-watering succession.

Presently, the shopkeeper straightened in the midst of fine polishing. When he finished, he presented Harry’s wand back to him from the depth of a red velvet polishing cloth. Harry blinked at it in surprise. It was so clean and shiny he barely recognized it.

“Thank you,” Harry said honestly and, after turning the like-new wand over yet again in his fingers, pulled out his coin purse.

“Four Sickles,” Ollivander said, as though pained at the notion of charging him.

Harry plunked the proper coinage down on the counter.

Ollivander slid the coins to his edge of the counter and held them there with his long, boney fingers. “And your friend here?” he prompted.

“I have a wand,” Vineet stated dismissively.

“He has a really interesting one,” Harry quickly said. “A really old one that’s not like British ones at all.”

Ollivander tilted his head almost birdlike and considered Vineet. He clasped his hands at his chin, making his sleeves fall away from his age-spotted arms. “Yes, you would have a Jaina wand then, no?”

Vineet shook his head before relenting and handing it over from his pocket. “It is the wand kept by my village to be honored.”

“Of course, of course,” Ollivander said, oddly reassuring, as he studied the wand. “Kshatriya then,” the shopkeeper murmured thoughtfully. “A Jaina wand makes very little sense, in British context.”

“I agree,” Vineet said. He had lost his cold edge and now seemed interested in the shopkeeper.

Ollivander held the wand before himself, in both hands, pinkies outward. “Are you in the market for a replacement?” he asked neutrally.

“No,” Vineet replied stiffly. “I have destroyed many wands not of my place of origin and it would dishonor my village to take on a permanent one of the wrong pedigree, in any event.”

“Ah,” Ollivander uttered, as though that were something he didn’t know. “You do realize that it has been altered from its original…incarnation, shall we say?”

This was clearly news to Vineet. “How’s that?”

Ollivander held up the end of it. “It has been re-cored, I am quite certain. Mixing budrose and unicorn mane is most unusual.” He said this in a way that implied it was to be avoided. “Hardy, true enough, but not good for much else. I suspect it originally was cored with something more appropriate.”

“Such as?” Vineet asked, truly curious now, and as Harry had hoped, completely pulled in by Ollivander.

“All manner of interesting things. Capricorn tail. Dragon spine, which is probably the most common. Even Siren sinew is not out of the realm of possibility. Let’s see,” Ollivander said, glancing up at the high shelves. He placed Vineet’s wand reverently on the counter before the Indian and hopped up on his sliding ladder and, with surprising ease for his age, climbed up to the far corner above the door and, after some searching of labels, shook loose and withdrew two long boxes from the very bottom of a very tall stack. Dust billowed down. He returned with the boxes and spent some time deciding between them without opening either one.

“Manticore heartstring,” he announced and paused to evaluate that statement with Vineet.

Vineet didn’t take his eyes off the slim, spider-web strewn box.

Ollivander opened it. “Thirteen and three quarters inches…approximately. Sandalwood.”

Harry stared in surprise. The wand Ollivander held was decoratively carved, brightly painted red and yellow with gold filigree.

Ollivander glanced at Harry and explained, “Years ago, a flying carpet salesman with a shop on the alley supplied me with these…with whatever wands he could buy up and bundle into the carpets during shipping. Carpets went out of fashion so there is not much call anymore. And immigrant Bengali children want British wands, and since they seem to work well enough for them…” he shrugged his boney shoulders and held out the wand to Vineet. “Care to handle it?”

Vineet started slightly as though he had just arrived via Apparition. He reached out for the wand and appeared quite surprised as he grasped it, although there wasn’t an outward reason for it. His eyes roamed over it, still surprised.

“Why do I dearly hope it does not work any better than my own.” he said to no one in particular.

“Give it a go,” Ollivander suggested casually. “Give it a wave, or hover that old chair in the corner or something.”

“I am concerned I will burn the wand out.” He turned to look back at his own wand. “Is that perhaps what happened to mine in the past to necessitate a core replacement?”

“Keep it simple then,” Ollivander said with a dismissive wave of one hand. “A little household charm or such.”

Vineet, with a long glance at the old worn wand on the counter, aimed, swished, and flicked. The chair burst where it stood into a column of wood chips and sawdust, which rained down on the shop as they were tossed clear of the spell’s effect. Harry put his arm over his head to protect himself.

“That seems to be your wand, young man,” Ollivander stated dreamily.

Vineet didn’t move even to blink.

“How much?” Harry finally asked.

Ollivander didn’t take his eyes off Vineet. “Eh, ten Galleons.”

“That’s all?” Harry, with a glance at his immobile companion, took out his own purse and handed over the gold coins.

“I am more pleased to have found its proper owner after all this time. All this time waiting on that shelf up there. And the many precarious miles it journeyed before that. It has bothered me these many many years…” He breathed once. “Those two last boxes…” the shopkeeper said, pocketing the coins along with the previous Sickles. He turned to Harry and asked with a gesture at the counter, “Do you think he would like this one, uh, tuned and re-cored?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask him later,” Harry said dismissively and took up the wand himself. “Thank you, Mr. Ollivander.”

“Anytime, my dear man. Anytime.” With a last concerned glance at Vineet, he disappeared into the back of the shop.

“Vineet?” Harry prompted, in serious concern.

Vineet blinked slowly and said quietly, “I would have refused. For anyone but you, I would have refused. I knew what you intended from the beginning. You are a very poor confidence artist.” With a long sigh, he lowered his forehead into his hand. “I have tried before over the years, other wands. And hated myself for the disloyalty, and the damage, when they failed.”

Harry was very grateful that they were alone in a quiet shop because Vineet looked ready to break down.

“It’s all right,” Harry said, trying to fit in the vein of Vineet’s thinking. “There was apparently one wand for you. But it was here for some reason. Waiting for you to come and get it, I guess.”

Vineet, head still bowed, looked the wand in his hand over again. In an almost empty voice, he said, “I have tried to do everything right for the memory of my ancestors, my village, why have they no reward for that?” He wasn’t asking Harry. It wasn’t clear if he expected an answer, but he fell silent as though waiting for one.

Harry resorted to shaking his friend. “Hey,” he said sharply. This finally brought Vineet around.

In an unsteady voice Vineet said to him, “I am humbled by your—”

“Stop that,” Harry ordered him. “You’re standing there, telling me about high expectations you can’t imagine living up to, a dead family legacy you can’t argue with because, well they’re dead…you’re telling me that?”

Vineet straightened up as he considered those words. Harry held out the other wand for him. Vineet put them side by side in his hand—faded and scuffed beside sparkling new—and pocketed them. After a soft exhale he said, “I am looking forward to tomorrow’s training…more so than usual.”

Harry laughed. “Just be careful not to kill anyone or take out any large blocks of London between now and then. All right?” He led him to the door. “You’ve been forcing your power through that old wand all this time. Merlin knows what you’ve boosted it up to.”

“I have never had a spell with too much power.”

“You did just now,” Harry said firmly, as they were stepping out, indicating the remains of the chair.

“I should be paying for the chair,” Vineet said, turning back.

“It was an old chair,” Harry assured him as he took him by the arm and steered him into the now, too-bright alleyway. They didn’t find Aaron, which disappointed Harry. “Should we take you back to the Ministry now?” Harry suggested.

“I will wait until morning,” Vineet said, much closer to his usual calm.

Harry, buoyant with the knowledge that Vineet would easily pass his six month review—as long as he left the Ministry intact in the meantime—grinned and suggested an ice cream to celebrate.

As they ate—Harry double chocolate, Vineet boysenberry—Vineet fell into a deep, inward silence. Harry didn’t interrupt it, just watched the shoppers as he spooned cold goodness onto his tongue. He was enjoying the fact that fewer people became startled upon seeing him there. Only one child squealed and pointed until shushed by an apologetic parent.

Vineet pushed his empty bowl aside. “You have been most patient with me.”

“You are a slow eater,” Harry said, deliberately misunderstanding.

Vineet shook his head but a faint smile played at his lips. “There are many more possibilities now.”

“I’m glad for that, Vineet. I like having you around.” Harry wiped his fingers again and tossed the serviette into the pool of brown milk in his bowl. “You are really good at illusion detection.”

“Such things are no effort. I was hoping that we would cover barriers as well before the next review. They also being easy for me. Although I do not think it would have made enough of a difference, no matter how rare a skill it is.”

Harry fought a frown but pushed it away with thoughts of tomorrow morning. Thinking of the note Aaron left their trainer, he stood and made his goodbyes with a last admonishment, “Be careful heating your tea.”

Vineet replied before they parted, “I generally am using the stovetop anyway.”

Harry arrived very early for training the next morning, but he still found Vineet in the workout room when he arrived. The Ministry was still quiet and the department corridors empty. Harry yawned and put his bag aside.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Harry challenged.

The dummy was still set up from the previous afternoon. Vineet stretched his shoulders back and aimed a Blasting Curse at it with the slightest motion possible. The stout metal beam of the stand bent a few degrees with an animal-like squeal and, rather than rock up, the dummy snapped out straight as though it were hollow and light before crashing back on its hook and shuddering.

Harry twisted his mouth and reluctantly asked, “That was the lightest you could manage, wasn’t it?”

Vineet stood thoughtful, brow low, and didn’t respond. The door opened into the silence and Rodgers stepped in before looking up at them in surprise. “You are both rather early.”

Harry, who had been eagerly anticipating this moment previous to that last spell, now felt a little uneasy about the forthcoming revelation. “We’ve, uh, been working on Vineet’s spell power.”

“Oh,” Rodgers said as he arranged some books on one of the desks. “That’s good. Any progress?” he asked in an informational tone.

“Uh, a bit too much, in fact,” Harry admitted. Vineet stood in silence, seemed content to let Harry do the explaining.

Rodgers shifted his attention to them and closed the book he had opened. “Too much?” he confirmed doubtfully. He left the books and stepped over to them, almost immediately noticing Vineet’s wand. Rodgers face went a little dark. “I do remember suggesting an appropriate refitting, spare office wands aside.”

Vineet held up the blond wand with its yellow and red rounded diamonds outlined in gold. Harry supplied, “It took some arm-twisting. A little cashing in on hero worship…”

Very quietly, Vineet admitted, “I have difficulty saying no to…” He nodded at Harry. “…the Destroyer of the Un-named— Voldemort..”

“Ah,” Rodgers muttered. “Well, let’s see something. Try a freezing spell on the dummy.”

Vineet lifted his arm and aimed his pale wand, but held back on the spell. Rodgers was patient through the long seconds the Indian hesitated. Finally, Vineet cast the requested spell. With a crackling roar, ice grew in a wave to encase the dummy, stand, the floor leading away to the wall. A frozen waterfall formed up the wall behind the dummy and even spread out onto the ceiling. The air grew chilled as the ice crackled quietly to itself.

“Ah,” Rodgers muttered again. “Some power attenuation is definitely in order now.” His eyes traced the mass of ice before them. “No drills for you for a while.” Without another word, he went out.

Vineet held his wand at arm’s length and stared at it. “It is odd to realize that one is not who one believed one was.”

“What?” Harry asked.

Vineet shook his head rather than elaborate.

Rodgers returned with a box of feathers. He pulled one of the desks aside, sat Vineet down, placed a feather before him and told him to practice hovering it. The first feather shot to the ceiling like a bullet and fell in a crumpled ball back to the floor. Rodgers said, “Working on that is your assignment for today.” Then as though to soften that, he added, “I’m sure I don’t need to ask if you’ve memorized the readings…”

“Congratulations, Vineet,” Aaron said when the others arrived and everything was explained. Vineet was concentrating on a less-than-average abused feather and didn’t react to being slapped on the back. When this one kamakazied into the ceiling, Aaron jested, “Maybe you should get a half-working wand.”

Rodgers, arranging things on the front table said, “That will probably only prolong his learning to control his power. But…if it comes to that. There are attenuation covers.”

The other three of them went through their usual discussion and drills. Vineet worked on feathers through the day until their afternoon preview of the next week’s training.

“Any luck?” Rodgers asked as Vineet moved his desk back into the group. When Vineet shook his head and kept his eyes far away, Rodgers said, “Give it time. It’s something most people learn naturally as their power grows.”

They broke for the day. Aaron departed with a reminder to Harry that the first Hogwarts Quidditch match was that weekend. Harry insisted he couldn’t forget that. He was slow packing away his things into his book bag and eventually only he and a rather somber Vineet remained.

“There is a saying…” Vineet began. Harry hoisted his bag and waited for him to continue. “I believe it is something about careful wishes.”

“’Be careful what you wish for,’ ” Harry supplied.

Vineet’s shoulders fell a little. “Yes. That is the one.”