MetaFic

Tue, 12 Sep 1995, 10:29

In a flash of fire, Fawkes appeared on the headboard of the bed where Dumbledore lay unconscious, his glorious wings spread to full extension and his feathers extended in a warning crest. Harry had a sudden, vivid recollection of the phoenix attacking Crowley and hoped he would be given time to explain before he found himself on the wrong side of the bird’s ire.

Hoping for the best, he ignored the inarticulate cry of protest from Madam Pomfrey as Cyril took one step back and brought his own wand out, the point directed into the space halfway between Harry and Dumbledore.

“Madam Pomfrey! Be still!” Harry ordered, and, to his mild surprise, she stopped reaching toward the headmaster and stood glowering in evident righteous anger, arms outstretched and hands flexing in her professional conflict. “Both of you, back away from the bed!”

Cyril immediately took several more steps backward, redirecting his wand to point at the headmaster, while Madam Pomfrey stood her ground. “Mr Potter, he is sick and wounded, and you are making things worse!”   Fawkes gave another harsh cry as he kept his gaze locked on the people in the room, a soft light radiating from his raised crest.

“If you move any closer to him, I’ll Stun you too, Madam!” Harry could tell she was less than pleased, but at the moment he had enough problems to be going on with. “Back away and give me some time to examine everything.”

“Absolutely not!” Madam Pomfrey’s voice could have polished diamonds. “You’ll explain yourself before I let you do anything more in this room!” Fawkes let out a trill that seemed to be in complete agreement with the mediwitch, and it left Harry feeling a discomfort akin to the sensation of a snake slowly crawling up the inside of his trouser leg.

Harry could tell Pomfrey was going to be adamant in demanding an explanation, but he was still operating under rules of secrecy. Content that the mediwitch would at least not be physically approaching the headmaster for the moment, Harry flicked his eyes to Cyril and asked the silent question. What can she learn?

Cyril’s wand was now firmly aimed at the headmaster, an unwavering presence of alertness about the man that clashed horribly with his hospital-issue pyjamas. “I have talked with Poppy a bit, Harry. I believe you may tell her anything that does not violate your primary objectives. Her risk factor is negligible, and she never leaves the castle.”  Fawkes was shifting from one foot to the other, and it was obvious that the phoenix was agitated and alarmed.

Keeping his eyes on the phoenix, Harry nodded his acceptance of the information from Cyril before he moved away from the doors. With a casual and silent Colloportus, the doors sealed into an unbreakable whole with the wall. Several Imperturbable Charms later, he felt that the room was secure enough to talk cautiously. Turning his wand back on the unconscious Dumbledore, which earned him a baleful look from Fawkes, Harry let out a long breath to prepare for the impending conversation.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry said as he gestured toward a chair as calmly as he could manage, “please, sit over here. I won’t do anything, but I do need to talk to both of you.”  Harry paused to regard the phoenix carefully.  “Fawkes, I promise, as long as Dumbledore doesn’t move, I won’t do anything to him.”  Fawkes gave a loud trill, somewhere between irritation and comfort, before the phoenix relaxed visibly and settled on the headboard.   The crest retracted, but the wings stayed half extended, as though the phoenix could wrap Dumbledore in a mother’s embrace at any second.

With an obvious air of disappointment and frustration, Madam Pomfrey sat primly and looked expectantly at Harry. For his part, he moved into the space she had recently occupied and kept his wand on the prone form in the bed.  He tried to ignore the phoenix that was a silent spectator and judge rolled into one and, very possibly, an executioner as well. Dumbledore’s aura was still rolling, shifting, and shimmering like a fresh spring welling up out of the ground. The surface visage was heavily distorted, and the bands of colours were breathtaking yet appalling. It seemed distinctly possible that there were two executioners in the room.

“Madam Pomfrey, are you aware that I can see auras?”

Silence was the only answer. Taking a few steps backward to be well out of reach of the headmaster should he wake suddenly and lunge from the bed, Harry looked at the mediwitch. Her expression was one of obvious surprise. Resigned to giving an even longer explanation than he wanted, Harry moved all the way back to the wall, resting his back on it as he regarded both Cyril and the matron. Cyril had Dumbledore under guard, so Harry could relax slightly and freely try to find words to explain enough that they might appreciate the precarious situation.

“Right. That’s a secret, so no talking about it, not without dire need. Do either of you know what an aura should look like?”

Madam Pomfrey shot a glance at Cyril, who was frowning slightly, but it was the mediwitch who responded. “I’ve read descriptions in the Healer texts from other people that could see them to varying degrees. They were all old passages.” Harry kept watching her as she paused and closed her eyes, apparently concentrating on what she had read long ago. “I think they said something about reflecting the type of magic the person was using.”

Harry nodded but said nothing. He looked at Cyril, one eyebrow flexed in silent query, but his Mentor only shook his head, the man’s eyes never deviating from Dumbledore’s form. Harry knew Cyril had to know more than that, as he had found a way to defeat Harry’s aura vision, but for whatever reason the man was keeping silent for now.  Fawkes seemed to be calming down since they were only talking, but the phoenix was still on protective display.

“Okay, then I need to give you the whole picture. Bear in mind, what you learned is based on an old understanding of magic.  What I’m telling you is based on the best information we have today, but we might be slightly off in places. First, it’s not seeing an aura, really. Instead, it’s seeing magic as a type of light, not just energy. Everyone can see most spells, as the energy is focused in a burst, but really, everything with magic in it… leaks, I suppose. The more magic that is inside something, the more that it leaks, and the brighter it appears with a so-called aura. Does that make sense?”

Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, as though the information was new but not quite surprising.

“Good. I want to use your word – reflection – but it’s not completely correct, that idea of seeing the reflection of the magic being used. Reflection is the important concept here. Your aura doesn’t tell me anything about you personally, unless you’re very devoted to a few possible things. That, uh, colours your aura into one of a few certain… possibilities. However, most people are a bit of a mix, and their auras reflect that. The universal truth, though, is that the ‘reflection’ is kind of like a mirror. It doesn’t change much, but it gets brighter or dimmer based on how you feel. If you’re content and relaxed, your aura is kind of dim. If you’re worked up over something, well, it’s pretty bright – unless you’ve had some training to control your emotions.”

Cyril cleared his throat meaningfully, so Harry stopped and waited for his Mentor to speak.

“I thought the aura changes as you use magic,” Cyril stated, his eyes still firmly on the supine form of the headmaster. “That it’s constantly changing.”

Harry shrugged absently. “Not really. The hand you’re doing magic with will change the aura around it with a particular spell.  You’ll get some brief whorls in other places during the spell, but your overall aura is actually pretty stable. The colours and patterns change over time, but it’s a long-term thing, as in months and years. There is a part of the aura that’s, well, we think it’s unique for each person and never changes, but that’s only part of the overall aura. The brightness can change rapidly, though, kind of like a flickering light, if you’re worked up enough emotionally.”

“All right,” Cyril said after a moment. “So what exactly is the problem with Albus?”

Harry sighed for a moment. “His aura image, the sort-of reflection, it should be like a still pond. When he casts magic, it should ripple slightly like a fish just under the surface. When I look at him, though, it’s like a big rock keeps getting thrown in to the middle of a small pond over and over again.”

Once again, silence was the only response. It was Madam Pomfrey that finally broke down first. “What does that mean? And have you ever seen it before?”

Harry shrugged. “I’ve no clue what it means, but I don’t like it. And I have seen something similar before, once that I remember clearly. There may have been one or two other times, but I’m not sure.” Harry paused to find the right words to make sure Cyril would understand exactly what he was saying. “The confirmed occasion was four days ago, when we had that sticky problem with the fireplace.  Things there were… grim and gaunt, you might say.”

Harry could see Cyril’s eyebrows rise steeply at that, and he was hopeful that all of the descriptions he had provided for the strange behaviour of the raw magic all over the floor of the Gaunt House were coming back firmly to his Mentor. In other times, he might even be amused to see Cyril slowly back away even further from the bed, coming to rest on a wall himself. In this case, however, it was simply depressing to consider that they both had reached the same conclusion.  Fawkes responded to the retreat with a soft crooning song, folding the beautiful wings in and rubbing his head against Dumbledore’s for a moment.

“So what does that mean?” Madam Pomfrey was clearly starting to realise some possible implications since her eyes followed Cyril’s cautious retreat, and she was looking rather uncomfortable sitting so close to the bed herself.  While she lacked the knowledge of what transpired previously, she was quite intelligent, and the connections were not hard to make, particularly when Cyril was so clearly alarmed.

“If I had to take a guess,” Harry said quietly, “I think we should assume the headmaster has been compromised and is, at the least, not in total control of his magic. That should mean he’s not in full control of his mind, either, but Crowley said he would be free of the curse.  I trust Crowley completely.”

“Poppy,” Cyril spoke rather sharply, “weren’t you telling me this morning that Albus’ magic was missing? It wasn’t registering on your tests?”

“Yes,” the mediwitch offered quite slowly. “It’s as though his core is completely drained or is just not there. It’s been like that since Mr Potter brought him in.”

“Hmmm.” Harry shifted around, trying to piece it together. “I can assure you, he’s glowing like someone has really annoyed him. His aura is unusually large, especially considering how well the Headmaster keeps his emotions in check. It’s even reaching the floor, and I’ve only ever seen that a few times in someone not actually touching the ground.”

The three of them sat in silence for some time before Cyril cleared his throat again. “I don’t see that we’re going to resolve anything, Harry. I have been conversing with Albus since shortly after he woke, and he seems quite in control of his faculties. His wand is not in this room, yet despite many opportunities, he has done nothing untoward.”

“Perhaps,” Harry said softly. “But I’m under mutual oath with Dumbledore to tell him certain things. Need I point out just how bad things could be if he’s compromised? I’m already pushing the edges of the oath as it is.”

“Indeed.” Cyril’s voice held neither approval nor condemnation but was somehow a bit of both. “That would be a consequence of a hastily made decision.”

Harry felt somewhat surly over the implication of his Mentor’s tone, but understood the underlying message even if he failed to agree with it. “It wasn’t hasty,” he muttered. “Imprecisely worded, yeah, all right.”

“It’s your self-deception.” Cyril’s tone was still calm and unemotional, and Harry knew he was not winning anything on this line of discussion. “Decisions made in anger are always decisions made in haste.”

Finally, Harry sighed and faced the inevitable. “So you think I should just wake him up and tell him everything?”

“What other options are there?”

“None, I suppose.” Harry paused to reflect on the situation and how uneasy it made him feel. “However, I don’t see the point in us all being in here. If things do go as well as they did last time, only one of us ought to be trapped inside with him.”

Cyril nodded, his eyes still on the headmaster as they had been for some time. “A reasonable precaution. I shall step out, Harry, and you may… discuss… your actions with Albus.”

Internally, Harry knew he was not going to enjoy this conversation. It was, nevertheless, a conversation that had to take place, even if he was now wishing he had never made an Unbreakable Vow with the man. Perfectly well-thought-out plans failed to survive first encounters with reality, let alone repeated encounters, and this was simply another pointed reminder, as if the past two weeks had failed to drill that concept home thoroughly. Explaining the situation in the castle was going to be difficult at best, let alone what had happened during the fight at the Gaunt house.

Resigned to the outcome, Harry stood and released the door-sealing charms and enough of the Imperturbable spells to allow his Mentor to leave, though Cyril was only standing by the door waiting. Madam Pomfrey, however, ignored the outstretched hand from his mentor and showed no intention of leaving anytime soon. “Madam Pomfrey?”

With a grimace, the middle-aged woman rose to her feet, glowering again at Harry. “I will revive Professor Dumbledore, Mr Potter, and after I have ascertained his condition, I will leave you to your discussion. But you will not bar me from this room. Cyril will guard your privacy from everyone else.”

Harry shrugged in silent acquiescence, watching with grim spirits as Cyril left the room and Madam Pomfrey began casting diagnostics on Dumbledore, always under the watchful eyes of Fawkes. After a few moments, she appeared to reach her conclusion and swiftly cast a Rennervate.

Harry saw the headmaster stir almost immediately, arching his back slightly and reaching with both arms for the sides of the bed. When his truncated left arm banged lightly into the railing on the bed, the man’s eyes shot wide open, and he moaned slightly.

“Albus?” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was extremely soft and the most hesitant Harry had ever heard it. Fawkes again crooned faintly, shifting slightly to keep one eye on Harry and one eye on Dumbledore’s open gaze.

For Harry, the ensuing quiet was incredibly tense. His wand tip was locked on the bed, and he was prepared to hex with full power at the drop of a pin. When the headmaster finally responded, however, the voice was so drawn and tired Harry could feel his tension easing in empathic sorrow, despite his concerns and fears.

“Yes, Poppy?”

“How do you feel?”

Dumbledore’s eyes flicked over to Harry, and it was as though Harry could feel the weight of the world slowly settle onto his own shoulders. Dumbledore’s look was full of something beyond description; something sad and full of a terrible void was regarding Harry with an exterior calm that was almost horrifying.  For the briefest moment, Harry thought he was drowning under the sensation, and then it was over.  The headmaster was just tired, his gaze sad and forlorn, and his voice barely above a whisper.  “I feel well enough, Poppy.”

The mediwitch gave Harry a frosty glance before she turned back to Dumbledore.  “Mr Potter here has some things to discuss with you.  Supposedly, he’s not just being contumacious all the time, but you’ll be the one to judge that, I trust.”  She paused to cast another set of diagnostics on the headmaster, shaking her head slightly as she finished.  “I’ll be right outside the room with Master Feiner, Headmaster, so please call if you feel too tired or are in pain.”

Madam Pomfrey spent a minute bustling about, straightening the bed and Dumbledore’s bedclothes as well as the various vials and materials on the table by the bed. Apparently satisfied at last, she shot a final warning look at Harry on her way out that promised quite a bit of unpleasantness should he fail to be exceedingly courteous and considerate.   Harry wondered fleetingly if the mediwitch and McGonagall stayed up late at night honing their looks of intimidation.

All sources of distraction removed, Harry found his eyes once again locked on the man who was the indirect root of so many problems Harry had to deal with, and he shifted about as he tried to find some way to start the conversation.  Root cause or not, justified resentment or not, Harry was saddened to see a person so full of vigour reduced to this empty husk before him.

Dumbledore beat him to the point, however, as Harry continued wool-gathering.  The headmaster’s eyes were still full of disturbing emptiness. “And so we are as we began, Harry. Perhaps you would like to start with your propensity to make an entrance?”

Rather than the overtones of power and refined culture that usually comprised the man’s speech, Harry felt that his voice was almost as barren as his eyes. The rich timbre was now a half-whisper, and whereas before he had made statements that felt like commands, he was now asking questions that felt like pleas.

“Err… what do you know already?” Harry asked, his own voice hesitant and weak, almost an echo of the current expressive manner from the man rumoured to be the most powerful wizard in the world.

“Very little. Cyril was being courteous but extremely uninformative, and Poppy tells me I have apparently lost my magic.” Dumbledore’s gaze was still piercing, even if it was disturbingly strange. “Cyril hinted at a few bits but, with Poppy in the room, was only able to say that you and I must talk. Finally, you yourself have said nothing, yet the way you’re holding your wand says everything.”

Harry involuntarily shrugged, his body reacting to the words before he could suppress the reaction. “Yes, well, it’s… complicated. I’m not quite sure where to start. Your magic is still, uh, there, but there’s some confusion as to why it’s not, mmm, responding. Unfortunately, I’m also not sure what might be safe to tell you.” Harry slid the tip of his wand back and forth in the air, carefully aiming from head to toe of the headmaster, but never moving away from the body entirely.  Fawkes was no longer acting nervous or aggressive, but the bird kept one eye on Harry at all times. “There is some question as to whether your… faculties are completely under your control.”

Dumbledore said nothing for a while, merely watching Harry. With some effort, the man pulled himself into a partially upright position, his one good arm laboriously dragging the extra pillows behind him so he could be comfortable. Harry offered no assistance, and it was obvious that the headmaster expected none.  Once he was settled in place, Fawkes shifted around to the side of the bed before hopping onto the edge of the top-most pillow and resting next to the headmaster’s shoulder.

“Now, Harry,” he said gently, “you perhaps begin to understand my own reluctance when we first met. The issue of what to tell and what to keep in this game is quite deadly.”  Dumbledore paused to regard Harry for a moment before continuing.  “I know where we left off, or rather, where I left off. I had just opened the concealed brick and lost my fight against a most powerful compulsion. And then… then, I was here. Perhaps you might like to fill in the blank?”

Even with lingering concern over the situation, Harry reluctantly conceded Cyril’s point that there was no changing the outcome now. This may even have been how Dumbledore felt when Harry first trapped him into giving the oath – resignation overpowering all other emotions.  Given that all of their activities that fateful day had been Voldemort-centric, his oath mandated that he tell all, regardless of whether that was prudent or not. Lacking the sensory monitor record of the fight or a Pensieve on his person, Harry was left describing everything as well as he could. He tried to explain the aura flaring and the strange effects that all of the magic about Dumbledore had demonstrated during their fight just a few days prior. At no point did Dumbledore change his demeanour, even though he would ask questions or offer counter-descriptions based on old texts he had read in years past. In all, Harry found the entire conversation extremely uncomfortable.

“I was not aware it was possible to bypass Wards of Exclusion, let alone the ones that are on Hogwarts.” Dumbledore was looking at Harry expectantly, but Harry only shook his head.

“Sorry, Headmaster, but that’s something you don’t need to know right now.” Harry winced slightly at stating such a bald truth, but there was little room for error in the situation. Regardless of how much the man might seem to be in control, that information was something he was unwilling to risk even under ideal conditions. “Perhaps when your magic is back under control, we can discuss it.”

“Who taught you how to do that, Harry?”

A brief flicker of a smirk crossed Harry’s face before the depressing situation reasserted itself. “Let’s just say the lesser Exclusion was used to enforce rules I didn’t agree with, so I found a way around it.”

Dumbledore, for his part, only nodded fractionally as though the answer were almost expected. “I see. And this friend of yours, Mr Crowley, he knew how to break the ‘owth Qayin?”

“He can cast it or break it, actually.” Harry paused as Dumbledore’s eyes widened. “He’s been around a very, very long time, and unlike Edgar, he has no interest in civilized entertainments but only a deep love of knowledge.”

“Love of knowledge, Harry, does not mandate knowing how to do such Dark things.” Dumbledore’s voice was still the desolate fraction of what it should have been, and the protracted conversation was leaving Harry increasingly unhappy with holding his wand on the man.  The headmaster was obviously no immediate threat, yet he had to admit to himself that he did have some slight fear that it was still a ruse.  The man’s skills were not to be trifled with, old age or not, and Harry was uncertain just how to best handle the situation.

Sighing, Harry settled for keeping his wand aimed in the general direction of the headmaster, even if it was targeted at the wall above the bed rather than the man in the bed.  “That’s an empty argument, Headmaster, and you know it. Acts in the name of good can be evil, as the opposite can be true.” Dumbledore showed no reaction to this statement, but Harry knew they were both well aware of its truth. “You’re also presupposing that the generalised human tendency to be addicted to things of the Dark classification applies to non-humans. I’ve reason to believe that’s just not the case.”

“Really?” A hint of interest began showing on Dumbledore’s face, building on the earlier interest in the Exclusion bypass. While still a far cry from his normal bustling self, Harry thought the headmaster might be starting to show signs of life again, no matter how muted they may be. “That’s not in Remus’ Theory of Magic, as I recall.”

Harry gave a half-smile in response, finally deciding to take the chance and put his wand away. “No, it’s not something you’ve seen yet. You’ve got an old copy of the text, sir, from back when it was just one volume. Now it’s four volumes, and he’s still expanding on it.”

“I see. I shall have to ask him for a newer edition.” With a soft sigh, the headmaster seemed to deflate back to his state of Spartan awareness. “Neither of us really wish to discuss the true issue, do we?”

The quiet question was far more effective at bringing Harry to a complete halt mentally than anything they had covered previously during the morning. With his own answering sigh, Harry sank down into the chair Madam Pomfrey had used earlier. “No, not really. I am sorry about what I did to you, sir.”

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment, merely once again regarding Harry with an air of acceptance even if it was laced with what Harry surmised amounted to the first stages of depression. “It is apparent, Harry, that you had no sustainable choices at that moment. In hindsight, would you have done things differently?”

Harry nodded slowly, swallowing against the discomfort that was slowly rising in the back of his throat. “Yes, I believe I would have.” Unable to hold the headmaster’s gaze any longer, Harry studied his boots for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry to say, though, that you probably would have come out in far worse condition had I done so.”

“And what have you learned, Harry?”

“Now that’s a loaded question,” Harry muttered quietly.  Dumbledore showed no tangible reaction, but for some reason Harry thought the man was almost uninterested in his response. “You recall that ‘evaluation’ duel we had when I arrived?”

It took a moment for Dumbledore to look back at Harry and respond.  “Yes.  It was quite… different from most duels I’ve been in.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to stick around and trade volleys.  Sirius gave me a hard time for not taking things seriously enough during our battle at the Gaunt house, if you’ll pardon the puns, and there was a bit of conflict recently that proved his point.”

“Recently?  You’re saying that in the three days I’ve been in this room, something else has happened?”

“Ah.”  Harry paused for a moment, wondering how to proceed.  “That would be one way of describing it.  Err, well, Lucius Malfoy brought Polyjuiced impersonators of his son and Filch with him to the castle, and things got rather sticky.  They’re all with the Aurors now.”

Harry tried to ignore the look of disbelief on the headmaster’s face.  “And Snape has been kicked out by the Wizengamot, stripped of his teaching credentials.”

When Dumbledore’s eyebrows rose further, Harry glanced out the window.  “Umbridge is trying to take over the school at Fudge’s direction, and they’ve been monkeying with some legal footwork to make it possible.  Edgar managed to slip a kink into their plans, but that barrier won’t last long when Fudge returns from holiday.”

Silence fell over them as Dumbledore seemed to contemplate the synopsis of recent events, although Harry knew he would be subjected to a detailed cross examination.

Dumbledore sighed and pulled off his glasses, setting them atop the blankets. Rubbing at his eyes as though he had stayed up too late reading, the man stilled and re-seated his glasses across his nose.  “I see that you have finally had your way, if the Wizengamot has indeed revoked Severus’ credentials.  Is he going to be arrested?”

“As long as he’s law-abiding from here on out, no, I don’t think so.”

“Very well.  I will want to discuss this topic again, Harry, but I must understand more of the events with the Malfoys and Madam Umbridge now.  Which would you care to explain first?”

With a sigh, Harry began relaying the sequence of events and acts that surrounded the most recent Malfoy conflict.  After covering the suspicions and events leading up to the battle, he skipped the actual battle and only explained the injuries and Aurors involved in the investigation.  Harry then recounted Edgar’s analysis of the elder Malfoy’s options and possible political or legal manoeuvring, as well as the likely outcomes for each option exercised.  Without waiting for Dumbledore to ask for clarifications, Harry then proceeded directly into a rehash of the recent Educational Decree project and the rather unsubtle efforts by Fudge’s administration to interfere at Hogwarts.  When he summarised his verbal exchanges with Umbridge, as well as the unmodified original law and Edgar’s enhancements to it, Dumbledore just closed his eyes and reclined on the bed in silence.

“And now the circle is starting to close, Harry.”  The headmaster’s voice was barely above a whisper as he lay motionless.  “I expected something like this was coming, but not so soon, and not so forcefully.  What do you make of these developments?”

“Honestly, sir, we’ve been trying to understand Fudge’s alternating between the rare astute political move and the more typical act of utter incompetence for a long time now.  We just don’t see how he does this, since he supposedly was very savvy before he was elected, unless he’s bipolar or something.”

“Bipolar?”  Dumbledore’s tone was faintly amused, Harry thought.  “Perhaps he is.  It’s worth thinking on, Harry.”

As the silence dragged out, Harry reflected on some of the short discussions he had shared with McGonagall on the situation with Umbridge.  He was sure that the deputy headmistress was fully informed of Dumbledore’s thoughts and plans and would have her own conversation with the headmaster as soon as she was able to get away from her duties.

Dumbledore’s voice broke Harry’s moment of reflection, although it was still quite soft and the man remained lying back with his eyes closed.  “And how are you getting along with our Professor Umbridge, Harry?”

“All things considered, sir, I’m quite happy to not be in her class anymore.” Harry was unable to mask his smug tone, but he was fairly certain the headmaster would understand.

Dumbledore sat back up slowly at Harry’s comment, however.  “Oh? You are obligated to take her class, Harry.  How did you get around that requirement?”

“Cyril told me to stop,” Harry offered simply. “He said the temptation was too great.”

“Which temptation?”

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t ask, but there are just so many with that woman. It could be almost anything.”

Dumbledore was silent for a long time, his hollow gaze resting on Harry yet leaving the impression that the headmaster’s thoughts were somewhere else entirely. It was an opportune time to sit and reflect on everything they had discussed so far, and ultimately Harry came to the conclusion that if Dumbledore really was a leak of facts and unintentionally aiding the other side, a vast amount of hard work was going to be lost.

“Harry,” the headmaster began slowly, “that may be a problem. I was prepared to petition the Board of Governors for a waiver for you to skip core classes you needn’t take after testing, and they would have agreed just to have you here. But we decided not to, that you would sit through the Defence classes, and now I’m not sure they would agree. I fear you may have to take all the core classes you signed up for.”

“Technically, sir,” Harry offered with a smirk, “Cyril told me to stop, so I have to stop. Unless you, as Supreme Mugwump, want to over-ride his instructions until the next Convocation can arbitrate. That’s the way it is legally.”

“The problem with hiding behind a technicality, Harry, is that they tend to disappear when you need them most.” Dumbledore made a vague motion toward the door. “Would you ask Cyril to join us, please?”

Harry moved over toward the doors, careful to keep Dumbledore at least in his peripheral vision, and turned fully sideways as he stood in the doorframe. The headmaster was still quiescent in the bed, but, much like Fawkes, Harry wanted to keep an eye on him anyway.  Harry was unsurprised to find Cyril sitting comfortably in a chair a few yards off, the man’s gaze locked on the doors Harry was propping open with his back.  It was slightly unnerving to see Cyril’s wand tip aglow with magical power and to subsequently be reminded that his Mentor was prepared for an escape attempt on par with the fiasco over the weekend.

“Any problems?” Harry asked quietly as he beckoned Cyril to come over.

“None of merit,” Cyril offered as he stood. “Poppy had to chase Mrs Norris off again, but the cat refuses to accept that Master Filch is not here anymore.” When Cyril reached the doors, his mentor inclined his head toward the room Harry was blocking access to, dropping his voice to avoid being overheard. “And are you convinced of anything, Harry?”

Harry, for his part, sighed slightly, still ensuring that the headmaster was in his field of vision. “Not really. I’m rather terrified of some things getting out if Dumbledore isn’t in his own mind, but the damage has already been done. I’m keeping a physical distance, but I don’t think I need to keep him at wand-point anymore.”

Before Cyril could say anything else, Madam Pomfrey strode out of her office and paused to regard the pair by the door to the private room.

“Well?”

Harry paused to let Cyril enter the room past him. With his Mentor now guarding his back, Harry was able to fully look at the woman demanding his attention.  Harry could tell she was still anxious about the situation, but she seemed to have reverted to a stronger concern for Dumbledore’s health since Harry was obviously not suffering the ill-effects of yet another violent injury. Given her years of experience, Harry surmised that she was likely yielding the evaluation of the headmaster as a possible risk to Cyril and, perhaps to a lesser extent, himself.

“He’s all right for now. We’re still talking.” Observing the mediwitch carefully, he was somewhat hesitant to antagonise the woman any more than he already had for the day.   At the same time, he did still need to continue discussing issues with both the headmaster and Cyril.  “Do you need to check on Dumbledore, or can I seal the room for a bit since Cyril’s in here with us? We do need some privacy.”

“You’ve not abused my patient further?”

Harry winced slightly, knowing that even a remotely incorrect answer was going to make his life hell, but he had to give the woman credit for calling a spade a spade. “Ah, no. We’ve just been talking.”

For an interminable period, Madam Pomfrey regarded Harry silently, a faint look of disapproval on her features. “Very well, Mr Potter, seal the room. But I’m giving you one hour from now, which will bring us to lunchtime, and then I expect to be admitted even if you aren’t finished. Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry said quietly. “Perfectly so.” He kept his eyes on her as the woman nodded her acceptance, and she disappeared back into her office. After he pulled himself back into the room, he again sealed the doors and recast Imperturbable Charms about the room.

Dumbledore started the conversation again as Harry finished securing the room. “Harry tells me that you’ve pulled him from the Defence class, Cyril.”

Cyril waved the question aside as though it were of no matter, all while pulling a chair over to the foot of the bed. “Regardless of the teacher, he never would have learned anything in that class. His time is better spent working with me.”

Harry went back to the chair he had previously occupied, letting the two friends discuss the issue. While he was happy to be free of the small mind and dubious intelligence of the so-called witch masquerading as a Defence Lecturer, it was only a hardship to sit through her class in the sense that his patience was quite finite and his urge to hex her into oblivion was dangerously high.

“Be that as it may, by the rules of Hogwarts he must study Defence with an accredited instructor. If you wish him to avoid the class, you’ll have to become so qualified, Cyril. You know the English Ministry has refused to recognise the credentials issued to those from the continent.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” Cyril said with more than a hint of irritation. “I’ll make a note to have my credentials established here before too much can be made of this trifle.”

Dumbledore frowned for a moment before glancing at Harry and then back to Cyril. “As we’ve discussed previously, you know that this trifle is a front for Fudge. Right now, Fudge has a solid base of popular support, and I am having doubts cast upon me for allowing young Harry to be here at all.”

Cyril sighed slightly before waving vaguely in Harry’s direction. “Yes, well, that all became slightly worse while you were napping. Fudge’s administration is in a better position, and you are in a less tenable one, ever since Snape was sacked.”

The silence was profound, with Dumbledore staring hard at Cyril, who was completely unfazed. Harry, however, was feeling confused regarding the content of Cyril’s statement. He knew that Snape had been ousted, but the mechanisms that were employed should have been neutral to either Dumbledore or Fudge. While Harry understood that there was a widespread loathing for the man among those who had been students at Hogwarts during Snape’s tenure for the past fifteen years, particularly so among those who had suffered from his so-called teaching style, Snape’s removal had been ordained by the Wizengamot, not Hogwarts or the Ministry of Magic.

“So,” Harry interjected into the silence, “you’re implying that someone working for Fudge has claimed that it was a Ministry investigation, then, that booted Snape?”

Cyril nodded his head slowly, not removing his gaze from Dumbledore’s. “It’s quite the coincidence, when you think about it. You used Master Percival Weasley’s school supply law, with Weasley siblings filing the complaint, against your Master Snape. At the same time, Master Weasley was promoted to Fudge’s Assistant right before the verdict was delivered which revoked all of the man’s teaching rights. Consider that twist with his popularity as a professor here for many years.”

It was obvious to Harry, as Cyril had meant it to be, that Fudge could read the writing on the wall and had executed a rare sharp political move. By setting things up just right, it would seem like his own administration had been working behind the scenes to collect sufficient evidence to bring down a generally reviled lecturer at Hogwarts, clearing the way for a more suitable replacement while also winning the affection of a large fraction of the general populace’s heartfelt thanks.

Harry knew that historically Fudge had been, prior to becoming Minister, very politically astute, but the man was so short-fused over perceived challenges to his delusions of vice-regal authority that he typically came off as a complete idiot these days. The deftness of this particular manoeuvre left Harry wondering once again whether Fudge carried out his own plans or if someone else held the strings behind the Minister. The latter possibility made the most logical explanation, given the evidence and applying Occam’s razor. When the Minister acted like a buffoon, he would likely be doing something a hypothetical controller was indifferent about, but when intelligent actions happened, it would be the opposite. While Harry and his mentors had been looking for decisive evidence to prove the theory either way regarding Fudge, to date they had turned up absolutely nothing. Alternately, the man could have been having an ‘up’ day on his bipolar swings, engaging the brain enough to actually do something, however late and little it might be.

“Right,” Harry finally said. “Lots of fun implications.”

Cyril nodded, obviously taking Harry’s statement at face value. “What I wish to understand, Harry, is why you were striving so hard to remove Master Snape from the building.”

It took Harry a few moments to realise that Cyril was actually waiting for an answer, and then only a few moments longer to recall that Cyril was not privy to the discussions and planning that had occurred under the guidance of Nicolas.  It was a sobering thought that Cyril had been letting Harry carry on with his agenda without fully understanding the rules of the game, but it was also starting to become clear that Harry would be required to explain his actions before carrying them out in the future.

Since Snape was now firmly evicted, Harry knew that his oath required telling Dumbledore his motives before he could leave the infirmary.  He had dreaded that first conversation with Dumbledore this morning, which had been the debacle he feared in some ways.  Unfortunately, he harboured similar reservations about this new line of discussion and about his new Mentor Cyril publicly second-guessing the decisions his family had made long ago. “Errr,” he offered quietly, “are you sure?”

In the face of extensive silence as a combined answer from the two men, Harry slouched somewhat lower in his seat. He was almost certain that Cyril was buffering up a bevy of topics to take him to task over in addition to learning of his plans, but most likely the worst parts would centre on his so-called ‘hasty decisions’ or ‘failure to understand consequences’. He found it somewhat ironic that he, as her sort-of-mentor, had only this morning taken poor Ginny to task over her failure of imagination regarding spells, when that was almost exactly the reprimand he could expect from his own Mentor. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was more than likely to become quite upset with Harry – and, indirectly, Harry's supporting cast at home – for altogether different reasons when the requested set of details was laid out on the table.

Resigned to one more inevitable situation in a day of unpleasantness, Harry opted for the approach that Sirius tended to favour – pointed questions in obvious logic exercises. “All right, first, can either of you name all the suspected or formerly known-to-be Death Eaters that do not live under a Fidelius Charm and possibly an Unplottable Charm as well? Those who are still alive, at any rate?”

Neither of the men answered, but Harry could tell they were considering the topic carefully. He took their continued silence as tacit admission that no names would be forthcoming.

“And do either of you know where Riddle likes to hold his little social gatherings? The ones where he's not attacking some hapless Muggles or some Wizarding family?”

Dumbledore stirred slightly, but his eyes were cast down when Harry looked at him.  With an obvious reluctance, the headmaster admitted to knowing some of the answers.  “As we discussed many days past, Harry, I’ve been told by Severus of three distinct places… Malfoy Manor, somewhere near Newcastle, and a few times at Riddle Manor.  Supposedly, he no longer would use the Little Hangleton area, yet that’s where last summer’s events took place.”

Harry shrugged off the reference to the calamity that had shattered the balance of power in his life and forced the issue of finally attending Hogwarts.  “Yes, well, I could have told you the same.  In fact, the only reason I didn’t tell you that information during our previous chats was because you told it to me first.”  Harry paused to rise to his feet, restless in the confined room and unable to stop himself from pacing.  “We didn’t need old Snape for that, just a lot of hard work on our part.”

Harry paced for another moment or two before turning abruptly to face the headmaster.  “How do you locate a site under Fidelius?  How do you find that which is Unplottable?  How do you tag someone such that they are unaware of the tracking you are trying to do of their person?”

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, but Harry knew both he and Cyril had dealt with this problem in their colourful pasts.  “Tell me, sir, did you ever find a way short of breaking the charms?  Or of deep Legilimency scans to determine who is the Secret Keeper, and then again on that Keeper to find the location?”  Harry turned to regard Cyril just as solemnly.  “Or you, Cyril?  Did you ever solve these problems in another way?”

The slowly shaking heads were more than sufficient answer, but Harry had no need to see them.  He knew that those were the tried-and-true methods for bypassing such restrictions.  You either had to pin down and break the Occlumency barriers of someone that knows the secret, such that you learn who the Secret Keeper is but not the secret itself, or else you have to stumble across the protected location and break the spells hiding it.  Neither was a viable option if you were pressed for time, and just knowing the Secret Keeper was seldom useful as that person tended to be hiding rather thoroughly if you were looking in the first place.

Harry dropped back into the chair he had occupied previously, resting his head in his hands as he rubbed his temples.  “We found a way – accidentally, actually – to get a direction on people that Apparate.  The problem is that most people pop around for lots of reasons, and you don’t know why someone is going somewhere in specific.  Each time someone Apparates through the detector, it breaks it down a little bit, so it’s of pretty limited use.  And it’s finicky to set up, as well.”

Sighing, Harry leaned back in the chair to regard his Mentor and his headmaster.  “It’s impossible to track people when you don’t know when or where they’ll be.  Plain tracking charms don’t work properly inside protected locations, so you need a means of triangulation.  Snape is the only Death Eater we could consistently locate, because he was hiding here in the castle.  We needed him out there, where we could track him, to discover where he lives.  We can then gradually discover where all the others live and, of course, ultimately find Riddle himself.”  Before either Dumbledore or Cyril could speak, Harry held up his hand.  “Yes, yes, it’s a risky proposition, but we all know that Snape will come and talk to Dumbledore regularly, one way or another.  We can track him based on those meetings, and within three or four of them, we’ll know exactly where he comes from.  Then we do it again based on that location.”

It was only scant seconds before Dumbledore was clearly angry.  The shroud of loss in the man’s eyes was still there but was reduced slightly by the anger displayed on his face.  “You’re telling me you just wanted to know where Severus lives?  Where he goes?  That’s why you had him kicked out?”

“Hardly,” Harry countered bluntly.  “The man’s a right bastard, and you know it.  He had no business being here in the first place, abusing students left and right.  He’s actually useful out there, when the world knows he’s been kicked out.  He can’t hide in your pocket anymore, he has to interact with the other Death Eaters, and he has to attend to Voldemort more frequently.  He’s got no excuse not to.  That will give us information far more useful than anything he’s told us so far.”

“Albus,” Cyril’s voice cut across the room.  “You’re not thinking clearly on this.  You’ve spent so much time trying to protect Master Snape that you’ve lost sight of the bigger picture in places.  In this case, Harry is correct, although I don’t entirely agree with his methods.”

Dumbledore’s scowl deepened, but Harry was happy to see him swallow the retort he had been about to deliver.  Fawkes stirred slightly to trill for just a moment, further calming the headmaster, although the man was still clearly upset.  Cyril turned his gaze on Harry, the eyes piercing in intensity.  “Given the oaths you and Albus exchanged, you should have been more upfront with your plans.  While I agree that man has no business teaching, there may have been a better way to handle the outcome.”

Dumbledore nodded briefly at this, his scowl lessening somewhat as Fawkes continued the song.  “I can agree now that he was not a good teacher, but I think had we tried to coordinate better, we could have tracked him as he went to places for meetings we knew of.”

Harry shrugged.  “Maybe.  But if you hadn’t put up that strong fight to keep him at Hogwarts, then everyone would be suspicious as to what game was really being played, now wouldn’t they?  This way, even Snape is completely in the dark as to how he’s helping us with the Dark.”

“That does not justify your actions,” Dumbledore countered, although his anger was clearly dissipating as he thought about the situation and Fawkes continued to work phoenix magic.  “I could have told you where he lived, you realise?”

Harry snorted involuntarily, his sense of cynicism overpowering his tolerance for the point.  “Right.  I know where he lives during the summer, it’s a place called Spinner’s End.  It says as much in the current edition of Hogwarts, A History.  Think you can point it out on a map?  Last I checked, it was under Fidelius and Unplottable, just like all the other Death Eater abodes.”

Dumbledore was regarding Harry intently again, albeit without the scowl, but this time Harry just gave him a flat stare back.  If the old man wanted to play second-guessing games, Harry would give him all the arguments he could handle.  Fawkes settled back down into silence, and the staring contest came to an abrupt halt as everyone watched the bird tuck its head down and become still.

Cyril, if anything, seemed faintly amused. “As I said, I don’t fully agree with you.  What about the Weasleys, Harry? Where do they fit into your plans?”

Harry scratched his head momentarily, reflecting on how to safely answer that question. “Fate owes me a thing or two, and apparently she decided to cough up a partial payment.” Harry rolled his eyes theatrically for a moment. “I can’t say I care for her sense of humour, though. The twins are overly fixated on some things, you know?”

Dumbledore’s lingering disapproval turned into a faint smile at Harry’s observation, but the headmaster waved the commentary away with his good hand. “Appearances, Harry, are rarely quite correct. What you have done is not likely to be undone.  Now that you’ve pushed Severus out, what are your plans?”

Harry was stumped for a moment. He had revealed some hints along those lines, but it was unclear if he was required to answer the point blank question by his oath. At the same time, he knew what the original agenda called for next, but enough things had transpired with the schedule so firmly botched that it was impossible to be sure what they actually would do next. While he was wondering what Remus, Sirius, and Edgar might have in mind, he remembered the note from his Transporter Box that he had stuffed into his robes unopened before training with Ginny. Ignoring the looks of curiosity from both Cyril and Dumbledore, Harry pulled the letter out and broke the seal, reading quickly.

Harry –

We’ve confirmed the bat’s hideouts. Strange post problems, but we’re working on the holes. Has quite the selection of beverages and what not. Left suddenly, returned with a wee, but there was too much interference. We’ve got some field work to do, and you’ve not got a Potions instructor anymore. Your luxurious suite at the palace awaits you, so shoot for 1 pm and be ready – it’ll be a long day.

– The Unwanted

Chuckling, Harry casually touched his wand tip to the parchment, setting it on fire and letting it burn to ash before vanishing the mess on the floor. “It would appear that Snape’s moved into the Hog’s Head Inn for now and has taken quite the collection of potions and ingredients with him. I do hope those weren’t school supplies, sir.” Harry did not even bother trying to hide his smirk. “That said, the fellow’s been keeping some strange habits and schedules of late, and that’s made us curious. I guess the next step will be to scratch that itch.”

Dumbledore said nothing for a long time, as he apparently chose to regard his bedclothes instead. Harry and Cyril exchanged a mutual glance of resignation, knowing that the headmaster was deeply buried in his own mind and would talk to them when he had reached his own conclusions. Dumbledore would frequently pause in reflection during a conversation, but it was very infrequent for him to go into a deep introspection over some topic. Harry had witnessed this many times since Cyril’s arrival, but it usually was in reaction to some exchange between the two older men. While this was not the first time Harry had directly triggered this type of introspection, it was uncommon, and they both knew they had several minutes of silence to look forward to.

“Harry,” Dumbledore cautiously began, “you must realise by now that it is not possible for a secret that has ever been uttered or written to remain a true secret.” The headmaster’s gaze rose and locked with Harry’s. “Do you understand the consequences of your actions?”

That was, Harry knew, the ultimate question. His exchange of oaths with Dumbledore was already a demonstration that, despite what you know, or think you know, the consequences of any single act are beyond comprehension for anyone. While the ripple-effect may be large or small, ultimately so many things will change that the fundamental question was meaningless.  Then, of course, Cyril had been badgering him on that same topic, either obliquely through the mirror or else directly through pointed books and statements.  “As well as anyone can, most likely. No one can understand the full impact of anything, sir.”

“And what of first-order understanding?”

“I certainly hope so,” Harry muttered. “Those things that I can plan for, I do. And as often as I can, I do so with the input from others.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, as though this set of answers was entirely expected. “Perhaps your experience and background gives you a bit of bias, Harry. I’m not convinced you do actually grasp the full first-order effects.”

“In what way? I assume we are still talking about Snape, here?”

Dumbledore shook his head briefly. “Not really, Harry. Not really.” With a sigh, he looked back at Cyril briefly before turning to contemplate the ceiling. “And now I must find a new Potions Master, before the students suffer further.”

Cyril’s abrupt snort caused Dumbledore to look back at him. “Minerva already took care of that.” Harry was curious to see how well the headmaster would react to the news that Cyril was about to unleash in his typical manner. He was unsure why exactly his Mentor had such a dislike of the man about to be discussed, but he knew that if he watched Dumbledore, he would have a solid second data point to consider. “That would-be hermit-like fellow is coming back – Master Slughorn.” Cyril’s delivery was so dry, Harry wondered just how his Mentor said it without tripping on his own tongue.

“Indeed?” Harry was unclear on what two raised eyebrows meant from the headmaster, as no other facial expression came with them. “She contacted Horace?”

“Unless he contacted her, yes,” Cyril said with a faint hint of disgust. “Supposedly, just until the end of the academic year.”

“How fortunate,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I’ve been meaning to have a long talk with Horace ever since Harry and I had our little introductory meeting two weeks ago. When is he arriving?”

“Tomorrow,” was Cyril’s curt response. “What could possibly make you want to talk to him?”

Dumbledore went back to studying the ceiling for a moment, but his eyes drifted back to meet Harry’s quickly. “I’ve always been curious where Tom Riddle learned some of things he did, and Horace was one of Tom’s professors. I’ve been curious to find out what they may have talked about outside of class.”

Harry was unable to resist leaning forward at that statement, surprised that the circle of teachers at Hogwarts was so small that they would be stepping substantially backward in time to replace Snape, rather than taking a contemporary peer – although hopefully it would have been a peer that was capable of teaching. “What makes you think that Riddle was friendly with Slughorn?”

“Professor Slughorn,” Dumbledore quietly rebuked him. “I dare say you’ll find out why when you finally meet Horace, Harry. Almost from his first year here, Tom was well on his path to Head Boy – you could see it about him. He was incredibly gifted and intelligent, and his innate understanding of magic has been like no other I’ve met since.” Dumbledore paused for a moment, peering at Harry over his glasses. “Although perhaps I shall have to revise that and say that Remus has quite possibly surpassed Tom by now in understanding magic.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know,” Harry offered. “I only saw Remus and Tom fight briefly last summer, and at that point, none of us were doing very well.”

Cyril’s voice broke the ensuing silence, which in a way Harry was quite grateful for as it provided a distraction from memories he wanted to avoid. “I asked you before, Harry, how well your plans were being executed since you came to Hogwarts.  Do you have a better answer for me yet?”

Harry wanted to toss a hex or two at his Mentor, but he knew that would only delay the inevitable.  It was bad timing, as far as Harry was concerned, since he had very little desire for Dumbledore to witness his impending chastisement from Cyril.  “Not really.  It all fell apart when I got ambushed outside the Headmaster’s office.”

“And do you know why you lost control of things?” Cyril’s tone was ever so slightly mocking, and it was pitched just right to be incredibly irritating.

“I’m not sure.”  Harry paused to glance at Dumbledore, who had a pensive expression on his face.  Cyril was looking at Harry as though he had failed some simple task, which did not help his disposition.  “After the battle, we didn’t have the time to fully think of the public backlash or how to nullify it.  It was too unexpected, too sudden, we couldn’t plan for it.  Before the battle, I failed to consider the true threat level here.”

Cyril shrugged absently.  “Partially right and partially wrong.  There are lessons here, Harry.  We shall talk more about this when I am free of… this facility. Perhaps we should discuss the ring, Albus, and not waste more time on things that will ultimately –”

Harry whirled almost perfectly in sync with Cyril as they levelled their wands at the doors into the room, which had suddenly reformed with a loud squelching noise. As a faint, hollow booming sounded from the doors, Harry chanced a glance at his watch, and noted that it was just now noon. “That’s the bell, gentlemen.” Harry waved his wand a few times, releasing the layered Imperturbable Charms from the walls. “Madam Pomfrey warned me she’d be calling right about now.”

As the doors pushed open, Harry was surprised to see not only Madam Pomfrey enter but also the mysterious Healer he had heard McGonagall and Cyril arguing about before. Before he could fully realise what was going on, the Hogwarts mediwitch had Dumbledore under her wand, sweeping the man with diagnostic spells, while the Healer deftly cornered Cyril.

“I don’t recall giving you permission for magic use, Cyril,” the attractive Healer said in a tone that Harry knew he had heard before from Madam Pomfrey. The words were simple, but the voice was quite firm and conveyed more clearly than any reproachful words could that no nonsense would be tolerated. “And how much have you been exerting yourself?”

Cyril’s flat look at the woman’s questions was roundly ignored as she started her own diagnostic scans of him. “You know,” she quietly muttered as she moved around him, “I had been planning on releasing you tomorrow morning if you were behaving.” She paused near Cyril’s back and spent a few moments casting additional diagnostics. “Why is it that you Auror types are so dreadful at following simple instructions?”

Harry was fighting a grin that was threatening to escape as he had a front-row seat to observing two highly respected and revered men being treated as obstinate children under the stern wands of the clearly competent witches. While Madam Pomfrey was not saying anything aloud, it was clear she was doing just as thorough an examination of the headmaster, if not more so, than what Cyril was receiving.

Harry’s amusement, however, came to an abrupt end when Cyril caught Harry smirking. “Healer Worthy,” Cyril said quite formally, “allow me to introduce my Apprentice, Harry Potter.” The woman looked around Cyril, her dark eyes going wide momentarily.  “As his Mentor, it would be remiss of me not to point out that Harry, too, was grievously injured this weekend past. I would appreciate your checking him over as well.”

Madam Pomfrey sniffed loudly, never turning from Dumbledore. Harry thought he might even see a faint smile on the headmaster’s face at Cyril’s request. “Really,” Madam Pomfrey said quietly, “I did heal him, Cyril. Are you casting aspersions on my skills?”

Healer Worthy shot a look at the mediwitch that Harry did not understand before she stepped away from Cyril and turned to regard Harry. Cyril, however, merely bestowed a gracious smile on Pomfrey. “Not at all, Poppy.  However, it would be well for Harry to have an alternate Healer familiar with him, should something happen to him and you are somehow unavailable.”

Harry wanted to groan and possibly hex his Mentor for a moment. The man’s argument was at least superficially sound, but Harry knew there would be even more reasons behind the request, at least one of which would include reminding Harry to not be smug in front of others. “Healer Worthy,” he inclined his head slightly. “A pleasure to meet you.”

She raised one eyebrow but had not moved from her position. “Mr. Potter,” she finally acknowledged him. “I’m surprised to find you so polite, given what my aunt has told me in passing.” She flashed him a brief smile before glancing quickly at Cyril. “Do you feel as though you need to be checked for anything?”

It took quite a bit of effort, but Harry did manage to suppress his smirk this time. “Not particularly, Healer Worthy.  However, if you think it’s best, feel free to check anyway.” Harry had firmly launched the ball back to her and was curious to see which way she would lean – would she dutifully follow Cyril’s implied demand, or would she simply wave it off as unnecessary since Madam Pomfrey already made it clear she had checked him?  It was one of those wonderful tests of fundamental character and trust that nothing beyond the requirements of medical aid would be used. That thought caused Harry to reflect again as to the real reasons Cyril had made his request.

“Oh, just check him already,” Madam Pomfrey commented somewhat irritably as she handed potions to the headmaster. “Even if I checked him a few hours ago, he’s probably landed himself back in trouble since then. He seems the type.”

When the Healer again looked at him with one eyebrow raised, Harry just shrugged with a faint smile. “Perhaps,” was all he offered. Apparently, it was invitation enough, as she walked over and began her diagnostic scan on Harry directly.

Madam Pomfrey ignored everyone at that point, pressing the ubiquitous and uniquely coloured Dreamless Sleep Potion onto the headmaster with demands that he get more rest.  Apparently, the after effects of the battle and unexpected magical trauma were going to keep the headmaster in the infirmary for at least the next few days.

As Healer Worthy worked, Harry was surprised to hear her whispering to him. “I wouldn’t have done this, you know, but Poppy forced the issue. My aunt is your Professor McGonagall, and she mentioned a few things to me in passing yesterday.” The pretty Healer paused and cast quite a few diagnostics on Harry’s left arm. In a normal voice that was somewhat abrupt in its delivery, she all but demanded, “What happened here?”

Harry looked down at the scar running the length of the inside of his left forearm, very close to the radial artery. The extended frown of the Healer told Harry that she was very unhappy to see that, but he was at a loss as to why. “Err, it’s a souvenir from a fight. I don’t think you’re cleared for that information. Sorry.”

“This was inflicted by someone else?”

Harry nodded blankly, not quite seeing the point. It was just a plain knife wound. When she relaxed visibly, he looked at Cyril, but Cyril only shook his head briefly, which Harry took to mean the topic was not to be discussed.

“Very well.” Healer Worthy moved on, pausing again briefly behind him. “What are the old wounds on your back and legs, Mr Potter?”

Harry knew better than to react to the question, so he simply shrugged. “Sorry, privileged,” was all he returned. This time, Harry kept his eyes on the window, ignoring the looks from both his mentor and his headmaster.

After completing the sweep around him, she stopped again in front of him with her wand pointed directly at the centre of his forehead. “I see only two problems. One, your scar. It’s not acting like a scar should. I assume you’re aware of this, and it can’t be healed?” When Harry nodded, she continued on. “Two, you have a nearly perfect circular bruise in the centre of your forehead. It’s recent, less than four hours old. Would you like it healed? It’s going to be quite the visual if you prefer to keep it.”

Harry smiled slightly, suddenly glad that he had not objected overtly to the check-up. “Yes, that was a reminder from this morning to not take the environment for granted. I’d be quite grateful if you could fix that.”

Two flicks of her wand later, Harry became aware of the loss of faint tension in his forehead. It had been almost too little to actively notice, but with its sudden departure, he was quite aware of the fact that it had been there. He needed to think of a suitable reward for a certain redhead, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“Thank you,” Harry said quietly.

“You’re welcome, Mr Potter. And now, if you would be so good as to leave us, we have to do a more careful inspection of our patients. I trust you’ll take some lunch downstairs?”

Harry caught a resigned nod from Cyril before he smiled at the woman in front of him. Looking over at Madam Pomfrey, who was watching them, he was amused to see her shake her head. “Your conversation with the headmaster will have to resume tomorrow, Mr Potter. He’s going to be sleeping quite a bit until then, as the restoration potions will drain his energy.  At his age, it’s best to do it this way.”

Nodding his understanding, Harry turned back to the Healer. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I’ll be sure to compliment Professor McGonagall on her excellent niece.” With a quick wink, Harry was out of the doors and headed back to the Great Hall.

+++++=====+++++

Tue, 12 Sep 1995, 12:56

Hermione had been somewhat annoyed when Harry told her he would not be available for the Potions Tutoring session that day, but he was unsure if it was due to her desire to actually teach him something or the lost opportunity to grill him on something else.  He had seen her surreptitiously trying to do spells with the wrong words since the revelations in the hospital wing, but thus far she had yet to even make random things happen.

Ginny had given him a good-natured glare over his perceived abuses on her personage during Transfiguration.  When he merely winked at her, she hissed quietly that she was most emphatically not property to be manhandled at his whim, even if she understood his intent to ‘instruct’ her.  Harry had briefly considered the point, giving her a shrug at the time, and then ignored her feigned petulance.  She, in turn, switched tack and instead actively participated in the conversation he began with Neville and the twins over the best way to either implode or explode a cauldron in Potions class.  Hermione refused to contribute, even when Harry said he was just trying to get some Potions tutoring in during lunch, but her faint smirk at some of the more outlandish suggestions told him she was not really upset over the situation.  Ron had laughed out loud at some of them but had refrained from injecting his own ideas or opinions.  Finishing lunch with time to spare, Harry waved his goodbyes before heading back to his suite to pick up his broom.

He cast the habitual Disillusionment Charm on himself and his broom before he left the suite, riding relatively slowly on the broom once he went through his bedroom window.  The low speed helped to avoid making too much displacement in the air as he flew toward the Whomping Willow. That particular giveaway would let others know that something was going on around them, and he had learned a long time ago not to provide such vital clues.

As he slipped past the Willow and into the tunnel, Harry heard the sounds of faint wailing coming from the shack at the other end of the passage.  He recognised both of the distinct wails he could hear, and he knew that there was no danger or distress – just two friends blowing off some steam and amusing themselves while waiting for Harry to show up.

When he finally climbed out of the passage and up to the area that would have been a front room in a non-shack dwelling, Harry found Padfoot sitting in one of three worn and abused chairs, howling at nothing in particular.  Remus was sitting in another chair, trying to match the sounds Padfoot was making with his hands cupped around his face.

“Harry!” Remus called as soon as he finally saw Harry laughing at them.  Harry had to give him credit, since Remus showed no embarrassment at having been caught in such an act.  “Sirius, change back, Harry’s here.”

“So this is what you called me out here for, then?” Harry asked as he dropped into the beat-up chair opposite Remus and the now reformed Sirius.

“Naturally,” Sirius grinned at him.  “How’s school, kiddo?”

For his part, Harry could feel his grin slip away as he sighed and looked at the floor.  “Kinda rough.  Dumbledore woke up, and we talked a bit.  I don’t really want to get into it right now, since I just finished with him before lunch.” Looking up at his friends, Harry could see both of them looked as uncomfortable as he felt when he had received the note from Madam Pomfrey that started the whole ensuing discussion.  Shaking off the mixed feelings, Harry tried to focus the conversation on the situation.  “What do you two reprobates want with me today?”

“More of the same.”  Remus paused to vaguely wave out the poorly boarded up windows, giving Harry a sympathetic glance at the same time.  Harry was just glad that Remus seemed to be willing to let the Dumbledore issues slide for the moment.  “It’s a big town, and lots of people pass through it regularly.  I’m going to lay down a full set of mapping grid charms, or at least as much as I can this afternoon.  I’ll start from the Hog’s Head and work my way out.  You, Harry, get to set up the Apparition Flow Field.  Sirius is going to play back-up if something unexpected happens to either of us.”

Harry chuckled at Remus’ turn of phrase.  “Something unexpected?  Like what, a drunken brawl that spills into the streets?  Don’t you mean if open warfare erupts?  That seems to be more my luck.”

Sirius just shook his head as he chuckled along with Harry.  Remus was clearly none too chuffed with their amusement, but Harry knew that his friend was laughing on the inside as well.

“Very well, Harry,” Remus finally ground out in mock anger, “if you wind up picking another fight with Dumbledore or Voldemort, Sirius will come out and hold your water bottle, and I’ll come over to keep score.  Happy now?”

“Yeah, good enough,” Harry smiled.  “Are you going to explain more about that note, or do I just set up the Field all over the Hog’s Head?”

Remus shook his head and pointed lazily at Harry’s godfather.  “I was sleeping off last night, talk to that mutt over there.”

Sirius grumbled a bit at the denigration from Remus, but apparently chose to act superior rather than succumb to the taunt.  “Actually,” Sirius pointed out, “Edgar’s the one that saw most of it.  I just came along at dawn to relieve him.”

“Hmmm.  Where is Edgar, anyway?” Harry asked as he looked back and forth between the two of them.  “I would think he’d be here in person to gloat and preen.”

Remus shook his head briefly.  “He’s been using too much of his power lately, Harry.  He had to skip out for a bit before he gets the hunger going again.  I expect we’ll see him by Friday if nothing urgent comes up.”

“Okay.  So what did Edgar find out, then, Sirius?”

“Well, he was hanging around the Hog’s Head in his alternate form; you know how much he enjoys that.  Apparently old Snape got a summons, as he Apparated straight out of the pub area.”  Sirius paused to smile grandly at Harry, which was something Harry distinctly recalled telling his godfather was an annoying habit.  “Like anyone with a bit of curiosity, he took that time to go browse Snape’s room.  As he put it, there are enough potions and ingredients stored away up there to open a couple of shops.”

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Remus, but it was obvious his friend already knew these details, as his expression remained serene.  Turning back to Sirius, Harry thought he might as well play along by asking the obvious questions.  “That’s to be expected, though.  He’s a Potions Master, after all.”

Sirius made a see-sawing motion with one hand as he drew out his reaction just to annoy Harry.  “Maybe, but we don’t know what potions he’s got up there, do we?  Edgar certainly can’t identify them, but that’s not the point.  Edgar also found a few books, nothing too interesting.  But do you know what he didn’t find up there?”

Harry just rolled his eyes and waited for Sirius to decide when the suspense had been built up sufficiently.

“Right,” Sirius said with a grin.  “Neither do we.  The whole thing, according to Edgar, was freakishly neat and orderly, completely unlike his cave at Hogwarts.”

“Maybe because he’s only been living there a couple of days?” Harry asked as dryly as he could manage.  “Even you take a week or two to make a mess, Padfoot, but at least you’re paper trained.”

“Very funny,” Sirius said with a frown, ignoring the amused chuckles emitting from Remus.  “Snape got back around four in the morning.  I showed up at six, and Edgar flew off into the twilight.  The only other thing of note that happened was the morning post.  Snape received several birds all at once, seven of them, and they were all loaded down.  Within three or four minutes, six were back out the window just as loaded with material.  The seventh left after an hour or so, but it was fully loaded too.”

“Interesting,” Harry observed while sitting up straight and thinking fast.  “Did you get any Tracking Charms on them?”

Sirius looked completely offended at the question.  “I may be a bit older than you are, Harry, but I’m not a complete invalid.  Of course I did!”

Sighing, Harry just waited his godfather out.  He knew Sirius would play the mock emotional wound angle for all it was worth, bordering on nearly lugubrious self-pity.  When they had first ‘evacuated’ Sirius from Azkaban, they had all hovered over him excessively, trying to get him back into some semblance of health and hoping that he might recover from years of neglect and abuse at the prison.  It had taken the man all of five seconds to comprehend the change of fortunes and milk it for all he could.  These days, his random attempts to revive the behaviour were a study in reminding them all of how well he had out-pranked them – once.

“Right, right, old-but-not-totally-useless, do go on.”  Harry adopted his wide-eyed innocent-child look, which only caused his friend to growl slightly.

“They all vanished after a while,” Sirius ground out while glaring at Harry and Harry’s eager school-child demeanour.  “Into one of the four areas we think may be Spinner’s End.”

Harry knew the grin on his face had to match the evil grins on both Remus and Sirius.  “Now that is interesting.  What else?”

“That’s it,” Sirius shrugged.  Harry watched him reach down onto the ground and pull out a giant sheet of parchment, unfurling it across the floor and keeping it down with some light Sticking Charms.  “This is the map paper, already prepared.  For the next step, it’s up to the two of you.”

Harry paused to look back at Remus.  “Snape is still in there?”

Remus nodded.  “We’ve no idea if he’s awake or not, in his room or the pub, or what.  All we know is he hasn’t left, and no one has Apparated in.  I guess he might have used the Floo Network to go somewhere, but that’s something we all know he hates doing.”

Harry sighed mournfully, aiming for the full effect.  “That sucks.  I know I can’t extirpate him, but can I maim him?  Just a little?”

“Harry,” Remus chided with an air of patience, “you know you can’t do that until we don’t need him anymore.”

“Fine, fine, deny me my fun.  So I’ll do the Field around the building, but not inside since Snape’s still around.  Meet back here before five?  I’ve still got to go home, after all, for some physical training.”

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance before they both nodded.  “Sounds about right,” Remus said.

+++++=====+++++

Tue, 12 Sep 1995, 16:41

Harry had spent his afternoon in the sun, doing tediously slow wand work under multiple Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not Charms.  One of the side effects of learning magic differently from everyone else that went through a traditional curriculum like Hogwarts offered was that sometimes you made completely wild mistakes.  Of course, in his opinion, everything was heavily complicated given that he was learning in a decidedly non-traditional manner while they were simultaneously trying to decipher how magic itself functioned.

Studying the theory rigorously had advantages and disadvantages.  On the one hand, when you made a mistake, it required a lot of discussion and reworking to learn where the mistake actually came from.  Was it the wand movement, the incantation, the power focus, or something completely separate like standing in the wrong spot?  The possible sources of error were simply staggering.

When considered from another angle, however, sometimes those mistakes had value in them.  In this particular case, Harry had been trying to cast the Anti-Disapparition Jinx and practicing the effectiveness with Remus in an open field, coincidentally not too far from Hogsmeade.  His first few attempts had been completely useless, not inhibiting Remus from moving about in the least.  It required a deep re-thinking on the tenets behind Apparition and how to stop it.

The key to successful Apparition had less to do with the so-called Three D’s and far more to do with understanding Newtonian and Einsteinian mechanics.  To move from one place to another, you had to create a channel through space, essentially boring a hole from where you were to where you wanted to be.  The magical force kept that hole drilled but void of all material.  To Apparate, you first had to bore the channel to the target location, and then you had to transpose yourself for an equal volume of air from the other side of the bore.  It made for a very unpleasant, tight fit, and wound up displacing a good bit of air in a non-instantaneous manner, leaving a tell-tale noise in proportion to distance, speed, and bore diameter. Given the amount of energy it took to drill a small bore across short distances, the idea of using a larger diameter to reduce noise or accelerate the transport was abhorrent.

To restrict Apparition via the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, you in effect constructed a type of ward that would inhibit the initial bore drilling.  Unable to dig a channel to a destination through the barrier, Apparition was understood to be impossible.  Harry’s interesting mistake that day had been to make the bore-deflection aspect too weak, such that the fine mesh netting of magical power lines could be punched through relatively easily.  The unexpected side effect, which made it an interesting mistake, was that the frayed ends of the mesh extruded out in the perfect pattern and direction of the bore channel, giving anyone with the ability to understand it a rather large indicator of which area someone was moving to.  Repeated applications of a deliberately weakened jinx in different locations would, in fact, act as a full triangulation system, locating places that would otherwise be impossible to find.

As with any new discovery, it took very little time to find the inherent weakness of the idea.  As more Apparitions were carried through the mesh, it eventually dissolved under the frayed energy couplings, and all the information ‘stored’ in the mesh was lost.  Once they had hit upon the idea of using the mesh as a type of tracking device, it had taken quite a bit of time to work out how to reflect the mesh status back onto a version of the infamous Marauder’s Map of Eagle’s Nest.  Of course, it was mostly useless at home, but it had been a proof-of-concept and was quite rewarding when completed.

The other drawback they found as they started applying the method to attempt locating known former Death Eaters was that it took a long time to cast a mesh over any large area.  Just encompassing the designated safe Apparition point at home had taken almost an hour and had left Harry drained for quite some time.  Granted, he had been younger, but it would be nearly impossible to instrument all of Hogsmeade with the tracking mesh.

This left Harry sitting back in the beat up chair at the Shrieking Shack, grateful to be off his feet and in the relative cool of the shady building interior, nursing a cold butterbeer that Sirius had handed to him when he returned.  Remus and Sirius were perched on the edge of their respective chairs, intently studying the beginnings of a Marauder’s Map of Hogsmeade.  The Hog’s Head Inn was fully marked on the outside, and the surrounding town for a few streets in every direction was completely active.  The glowing lines indicating the Apparition Flow Field were pulsing softly around the building, but so far no one had punched through the webbing.

“You know, Remus, I have this whole list of things I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Harry said as they sat idly, all watching the parchment somewhat owlishly. “This would probably be a good time, but damned if I can remember any of them. And some of them were questions others raised.”

“You should write them down,” Remus pointed out. “Then you wouldn’t need to remember them.”

”That thought has already occurred to me, but then I have to remember to carry around some paper and a pen, or where I last left them.” Harry paused to finally glance at his watch. “Well, gents, it’s been fun, but I’ve got a man to see who wants to beat me bloody.”

Harry stood up and clapped Sirius on the back. His godfather gave him a brief one-armed hug, never taking his eyes off the parchment.

Remus waved vaguely, his eyes never leaving the parchment in front of him either. “We won’t be home for dinner. And give my regards to Master Gata, Harry,” he called out right before Harry reached to activate his Portkey.

Before he made full contact with his watch, however, he had a sudden feeling of vertigo and a flash of sharp pain through his left arm. Without quite realising it, he was sitting on the floor, and Remus was holding his shoulders. Sirius was clearly trying to observe them but not actually look away from the map.

“Harry?” Remus asked. “Alright there?”

Harry took a moment to collect himself mentally. The sensations had been both very alien and very fleeting. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think… Hedwig just got hurt.”

“Is she okay?” Remus’ voice was laced with worry, but Harry was uncertain precisely why. He knew that Remus refused to let him bring Hedwig to Hogwarts, and even if the explanations had been lacking, his friend was so adamant that Harry had just given in to the idea.

“Dunno, Remus.” Harry climbed to his feet slowly. “I only ever get flashes, so it’s hard to say. I need to go check on her.”

“Harry,” Remus said while still holding his shoulder firmly. “If anything is wrong, or anything feels suspicious, come right back, alright?”

Harry nodded, and Remus moved back over to sit by Sirius. With a swift motion, he activated the Portkey home.

+++++=====+++++

Tue, 12 Sep 1995, 21:04

As Harry crossed the entrance hall and moved up the first main staircase, he was contemplating what he might work on with Ginny in the morning. Aside from some magical duelling and basic theory practice, he would need to work on some of her strength issues as well. Before he could fully settle on anything, however, he found his path suddenly blocked.

A large, hulking, clanking suit of armour was standing at the top of the stairs, a lance lowered precipitously down at Harry’s face. It took Harry a moment to realise it, but traditional English suits of armour were quite small – knights and what-not being malnourished and underfed, they were at most five feet tall and small change. This suit of armour, however, was easily seven feet tall, and the tip of the lance was for war, not sport.

“Right,” Harry offered brightly, glancing around for a moment. “None shall pass, eh?”

The armour said nothing but began descending the stairs slowly, the lance never deviating from a precise path to his nose.

“Would an apology do?” Harry tried conversationally, as he stepped to the far left side of the staircase.

The armour clearly had no tolerance for anything other than chastisement, or perhaps lugging him off to someone else for discipline, but Harry had no interest in being waylaid in such a scurrilous manner. The suit clanked down one more step. “And so it is,” he offered quietly.

With a fast and silent spell, he turned the entire right half of the main staircase into a sheet of ice. In a matter of moments, the suit of armour was slowly sliding down the staircase, gathering momentum, and Harry casually ducked under the lance tip that went past. When the armour crashed disturbingly loudly onto the hard floor at the bottom of the stairs, it spread out into several pieces and lay immobile.

“Problems, Harry?” Harry looked up to see Ginny Weasley paused in the corridor above the stairs, her red hair flowing over the banister as she leaned out to regard him. She was some yards from the top of the staircase itself.

“No, no problems,” Harry said casually as he climbed up to meet her. “Just testing how well those slick steel boots in armour work on ice.”

Ginny quirked one eyebrow and then slowly shook her head. “Does everything you do focus on fighting, Harry?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” he offered with a wink.

“I thought you were supposed to be in detention every night until, well, forever,” Ginny offered with a wry look around, presumably searching for teachers.

“Ah, a funny thing, that,” Harry said as he fell in step beside her. “You see, Dumbledore assigned me detention on a monthly basis to a person, not a title. The way I see it, if I’m not seen during the hours a detention might be carried out, why advertise the opportunity to give me a new one? As Filch and Snape are gone at the moment, well, I guess I’ll just have to punish myself.”

“Really? And what do you think is appropriate punishment?”

Harry smirked. “Reading up on some magical theory of transfiguration, thwarting tomorrow’s efforts of your brothers, and maybe scheduling a little mayhem myself.”

Ginny clucked disapprovingly. “You’re never going to win friends at this rate, Harry. And don’t forget, my mum should be sending you a letter or some such in the morning.”

“You assume I want some friends, Ginny, and I’m rather looking forward to hearing from your mum. What are you doing out and about, anyway?” Harry asked as they slowly walked toward both Gryffindor Tower and his suite. “Based on your comments this morning, I thought you’d be buried in work.”

Ginny said nothing in response for a while, her hands stuffed deeply in her robes, as she plodded along at his side. He was pleased to see her keep her eyes up, however, even if she was walking in a slouch.

“Detention with Umbridge,” she finally offered quietly when they were somewhere near the fifth floor.

“Oh? What for?”

Ginny shrugged at his question, which made it clear that she had no interest in explaining. “Where are you coming back from this time, Harry? It seems like you’re always off the castle grounds whenever I’m trying to find you.”

Harry found himself watching Ginny very closely, as he wondered how much she was tracking his movements. “Home.”

“Everything okay, then?”

Harry said nothing for a moment as he continued to wonder why she was being inquisitive. “Mostly. My owl broke her wing in some freak accident while hunting, but otherwise, yeah.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Harry.” Ginny’s voice had an odd quality to it, and he wondered what precisely was going on with her. “Why isn’t your owl here?”

Harry shrugged absently, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the line of questioning. Hedwig had broken her wing in an apparently failed hunting dive, and it was a nasty break. It was also true that she had hit a rock when she landed, but Hedwig never had hunting problems before. He was worried something might really be wrong with his companion. “She’s not allowed. I can’t really explain it, sorry.”

They continued on in silence for a while before Ginny spoke up again. “Harry, in that book on magic theory, what’s it mean by ‘natural talent’ when it talks about conduits?”

“In reference to what?”

“Healing, I think,” she said while rubbing the side of her nose with her left hand. “Something about too much damage reducing any natural talent or the like.”

They passed the gargoyle outside the Headmaster’s office, but this time its expression did not change as they walked past. “Did you make up with it, Harry?”

“Hardly,” Harry offered, his voice dropping to match her quiet tones. “That thing’s got a mind of its own.” Harry stopped to look at the gargoyle, admiring both the stonework and faint magical aura radiating from the sentry.

“Why don’t they ever show all four of the Founders in other places?”

Ginny’s question caught Harry off balance, and he looked around to see her in turn looking at the static painting on the wall by the Headmaster’s staircase. The four Founders of Hogwarts were there, dressed regally, and regarding everything with an air of power that was conveyed even by a painting that had no motion in it. Ginny was studying the figures, but Harry found himself either watching her or else looking closely at the faces of the four.   There was something subtle in the difference between their faces and hers.

“Maybe if they had a magical painting, they’d spend all their time fighting?” Harry speculated after a moment. There was something odd in the way each Founder was holding their head, and it only stood out when he compared it to the faint scowl Ginny was wearing.

“Probably. I’d be tempted to give Slytherin a hex or two if he was off in a painting somewhere, though.”

Harry chuckled. “That’s another excellent reason to not leave their portraits about. Someone probably feels that way about each of them.” Harry focused more closely on the facial expressions of Slytherin and Gryffindor in the painting. “Ginny? Does it seem to you like they’re almost disgusted with being in the painting, or is it just me?”

“Hmmm.” The redhead stood quietly for a moment. “I think it’s just you. They look like they’re trying to be regal, but it doesn’t quite work right, does it?  It’s almost as if they didn’t like each other when this was made.”

Harry shrugged absently. “Well I certainly don’t want to be in a painting. Shall we?” As he moved back onto the path for Gryffindor Tower, she fell in step beside him quietly. “Going back to your question on the theory book, Ginny, you’re still in the introduction. Keep reading, and it will explain talents and recessives as you get further in.”

“Wait, there really are specific talents?”

Harry sighed before he glanced at the redhead. “Obviously. Metamorphmagi, for example, are exhibiting a talent. Animagi exhibit a different, albeit similar, one. I’m sure you know of quite a few others.”

Ginny stopped and gave Harry a frown when he halted in turn to regard her. “That’s not what I’m talking about, Harry. The way it’s been written sounds like people have generic talents, some kind of special abilities, not that they have those kinds of extremely rare abilities at birth.” Ginny paused as she watched Harry’s face closely. “It reads as if it’s almost commonplace or something.”

For his part, Harry chuckled at her question. “Right. I’m sure you mean that to sound other than how you said it. You’re not wanting to tell Animagi and so on that they’re all a bunch of freaks, now are you?”

Ginny said nothing in return, but her look conveyed more than enough. Harry just waved vaguely and resumed walking, and she fell in beside him again.

“The word ‘talent’ is possibly misleading this early. Better to say, perhaps, ‘affinity’ or something along those lines,” Harry explained as they continued on their path. “You have to understand how conduits work, and how magic works, to understand that some groupings or clusters mean that you might have an easier time with Charms as compared to Transfiguration, for example. That doesn’t even get into what a wand does.”

They walked in silence until they finally approached the painting of the Fat Lady. The lady herself made no effort to conceal her distaste for Harry, doing her best to glare at him from fifteen feet away and obviously preparing to rant further at him as soon as he approached close enough. “So it’s really an ordinary natural talent, then, not some super power?”

Harry smirked for a moment. “Right. Super powers. Why is everyone obsessed with the idea of obtaining more power? If you can’t use it right, it doesn’t matter how much you’ve got.”

Ginny looked surprised for a split second before she flashed him a wicked smile. “And you’re intimately familiar with that topic, then, are you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s a natural talent, right? While we’re playing twenty questions, Weasley, what’s the deal with the Venomous Tentacula?”

Ginny’s wicked smile rapidly melted into open curiosity. “What Tentacula, Harry?”

If Harry had been susceptible to the effect of artful innocent looks or gazing up from behind long eyelashes, he might have been tempted to let her off the hook. Having been on the receiving end of many such attempts from Tonks in various guises, however, he was more than capable of shrugging her contrived expression aside. “Right. You didn’t encourage Neville to ‘skip up a bit’ in his schedule, perhaps to more dangerous plants, and you surely didn’t decide to up the ante with the tutoring for Hagrid’s class in the hopes I’d get smeared.”

Ginny’s look, if anything, became even more artful and innocent. “Me? Harry, why would I? I want you to train me, after all. I wouldn’t want to see you grievously injured or anything.”

Harry gave her a level look, doing his best to approximate Remus when he was fed up with the line of garbage Sirius was passing off as an excuse. Ginny had apparently been through the entire routine before as well, as the look he gave her had no discernable impact whatsoever. “Mmmm,” Harry offered noncommittally when he realised they were in a visual stalemate. “And payback was the furthest thing from your mind when you orchestrated those events, eh?”

Ginny reached up and patted Harry’s shoulder in a distinctly condescending manner. “There, there, Harry,” she said with a smile, “it’ll all look better in the morning. You might even thank me for it later. Now, I’ve got exercises to do!”

Before he could fire a retort, she fled toward the Fat Lady and the Gryffindor common room. “Right. Tomorrow at five in the morning! Meet me at the training room!” Harry shouted after her. He could almost swear she smirked at him over her shoulder as she vanished behind the portrait.

Sighing, Harry headed to his own suite, ignoring the faint yells coming from the Fat Lady. He had his own exercises to do and essays to write before he could once again stare at Cyril’s ever-annoying mirror.