White Horses Fandom: Harry Potter. Author: Jackie Stevens. Genre: Angst. Rating: Mature. Characters: Draco Malfoy. Ginny Weasley. Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley. Pairings: Draco/Harry. Hermione/Ron. Summary: They say that there are no white horses—those that we think of as white are really just a faded and deceiving grey. Names can be misleading and definitions can be false, and yet through the maze of artifice and deceit, we might just find something true. When Harry returns for his last two years at Hogwarts School, he will find that boundaries are shifting and not everyone is who he thought—including himself. He will have to learn that change is like those elusive white horses: swift, beautiful and irretrievable. Link: www.fictionalley.org/... Prologue Fifth Year Girls’ Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Late May 1996 “So, explain to me again just why I am here?” Harry Potter looked askance at the girl next to him, who also happened to be one of his best friends, Hermione Granger. He was asking for clarification for what had to be the fortieth time that night. Rather than a logical explanation from Hermione though, Harry got a slightly less useful response from Parvati. Parvati Patil was one of Hermione’s house-mates and was positively quivering with excitement at the moment. “Look, I explained to you already, Lavender told us—” “Lavender, who is currently trying to break Ginny’s record of dating every guy in Gryffindor?” Hermione and Parvati both glared at him—though probably for different reasons—before Parvati pushed on again, “Lavender told us about this old charm, which witches—” “I am not a witch.” But Harry was pointedly ignored once again. “—which magical people have used for generations, because it is supposed to—” “ ‘Supposed to’? Come on, Hermione, since when would you believe in any hogwash like this bogus charm?” At this point, Parvati gave up her explanation in favour of glaring daggers at the boy, before rolling her dark eyes and asking him nastily, “Honestly, Harry, are you consciously trying to channel Ron here, or have you finally become as dense as him after all these years together?” But she had only given Harry more ammo, which he was not going to pass up as he asked in a bewildered voice, “And why not have Ron here? Why me, eh? Why not some other of your girlfriends?” Parvati was the one to respond to Harry, while Hermione had developed a sudden fascination with the duvet she was lying on as soon as Ron Weasley, Harry’s other best friend, had been mentioned. “Look. The charm requires three single witch—er, ‘magical people’—in order to work. And Lavender already has a guy, who she found using this charm. Ginny, as you so tactfully pointed out, is in no need of a boyfriend. We don’t really associate with any of the other younger years and the upper years are all taken as well. As for Ron—” Parvati paused to glance at Hermione, who had looked up with a strangely determined expression on her face. Harry knew that look. It was lecture time. “Harry, now you know that I don’t go in for these superstitious rumours. They positively border on the trash that Trelawney dishes out. I am participating for the sake of scholarship.” Hermione paused—ignoring Parvati’s indignant spluttering over the insult to her beloved Divinations professor—and slipped back into her familiar lecture-voice: the one which usually caused Harry and Ron to slip into a stupor for the subsequent fifteen minutes it would take her to get to the point. “There are so many supposed ‘charms’ like this in the magical world, which those who were raised with magic assume to have at least some truth. As Muggle-borns, we of course have no such inundation in magical lore and thus have no reason to believe there is any truth to such silly rituals. However , this is magic we’re talking about. We have so many other gibberish incantations that can have effects ranging from making something levitate to giving you complete control over another person’s mind, that it would be fascinating to see if there is any truth in these old wive’s tales. Thus I am participating and plan to take full notes on the repercussions, if any, of performing the charm and perhaps with more study I could write a treatise on it for Flitwick. It could improve my outlook for the N.E.W.T.s.” Both Harry and Parvati looked slightly ill at this last comment, since they were still just finishing up their O.W.L.s. Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but Hermione cut him off with an evil glint in her eye. “Come on, Harry. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy a little company. Especially after the whole disaster with Cho.” His teeth clicked audibly as he snapped his mouth shut again. Great, just what I needed reminding of: the Cho debacle . Cho Chang was the Ravenclaw Seeker who was a year ahead of him and their brief but disastrous relationship still remained a favourite subject for entertainment around Gryffindor Tower. And in the Slytherin dungeons. And just about everywhere else in the school. With a dull flush in his cheeks, he nodded shortly—it would probably be less painful just to go along with Hermione anyhow. Hadn’t they all seen what happened when they tried to stand up to her in the past, like with S.P.E.W.? Yes, definitely better to just play along. Hermione looked pleased as she checked the procedure with Parvati one last time, “So we get together three single ‘magical people’ with the same name, correct? Who then sit around a table together and everyone says ‘white horses’ simultaneously?” Parvati nodded and then gushed excitedly, “And one of the three will find true love within a years time!” Hermione only nodded clinically to this claim, although Harry thought she might be a bit flushed. Then again, they were sitting in front of the fire, here in the sixth year girl’s dormitory, so perhaps it was just the heat. He was just about to open his mouth to ask Hermione about the names, when she turned to him. “Yes, Harry, you want to know about the ‘same name’ issue.” She sighed, looking at him with pity, before continuing in a slightly disapproving voice, “If you had taken any worthwhile courses, you wouldn’t need to ask. For example, in Arithmancy much of what we learn is about borders and parameters in magic and how we define the elements used in our spellwork.” She looked at him hopefully, but didn’t seem to take much from his blank stare. “So, that means that we can skew the focus of what we define as our names. We obviously do not all have the same first names, or even the same last names—as Lavender did when she performed this charm with her cousins last summer—but we do all share the name of Gryffindor.” Harry looked like he was catching on, which was more than Hermione could say for when she had first explained it to Parvati. The other girl had been so disappointed after hearing how the charm had worked for Lavender, only to realize that she didn’t have two other people with the same name to perform it with. Hermione, being of course the cleverest witch of her age, had come up with the solution of using their house identity as a name. Harry was still rather dubious, but he had agreed to participate in this little experiment of Hermione’s (before really knowing what is was, of course). He glanced rather miserably at the two attractive girls in front of him, sprawled over their beds, and mused how many of his year-mates would kill to be where Harry was now. But boys could not come up to the girl’s dormitory without a girl physically taking them up and holding onto them the entire way, or the stairs would turn into a smooth chute that would eject the offending boys quite speedily, accompanied by a shreeking alarm. He’d had Hermione hold his hand all the way until he’d sat down where he currently was in front of the fire, just to be safe, and hadn’t moved since. With both Hermione and Parvati looking at him so expectantly, he finally agreed reluctantly. Holding his hands out to Hermione, he muttered resentfully, “Fine, all right—let’s try it then.” He was nearly jerked off his feet though, as both Parvati and Hermione grabbed his hands eagerly to drag him over to the table. Even Parvati had seemed to forget how she had been teasing him earlier about wanting Hermione to hold his hand the entire way. They settled at the table, each girl holding one of his hands and then joining their free hands as well. Hermione looked at the two of them rather magisterially and clarified one last time. “Alright, just focus on our unity as Gryffindors. And on the count of three...” Parvati’s grip tightened slickly on Harry’s hand, which was feeling rather sweaty at the moment. “One.” Hermione nodded in time with her counting, and the other’s joined her for, “Two.” Harry felt a peculiar tingling sensation down his spine, but wasn’t sure if it was magic or just dread. “Three.” He didn’t have time to guess which. “ White horses .” Chapter 01 Harry Potter’s sixteenth birthday, and indeed his whole summer, had been spent quite miserably with his equally miserable relatives, as was tradition. Harry was rather disappointed to call it tradition, as he had been hoping against hope to not spend the entire holiday alone in Little Whinging. Back when he had first started at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had always managed to escape the Dursleys, and Number Four, Privet Drive, for at least a portion of the summer holidays. Even last year’s escape—being whisked away to Grimmauld Place, hardly a pleasant trip—was no longer possible, as Grimmauld Place had been the property of his godfather, Sirius Black, and had been seized by the government upon the fugitive’s death. From what he had heard, the Ministry of Magic had been quite disappointed by the decided lack of Dark paraphernalia in Grimmauld Place. Harry could feel a grim satisfaction at this news, at least, since he and his best friends had been the ones forced to clean out the creaking old manor. But mostly Harry had just been trying to avoid thinking of Grimmauld or anything else that might remind him of his late godfather, ever since the funeral back in July. It had been held right after he’d received his O.W.L. results and had been his only trip outside of the house all summer. To be fair, though, life at the Dursley’s hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. His cousin, Dudley, had been quite petrified of Harry, despite being nearly a foot taller and easily a hundred pounds heavier than his diminutive cousin. After the dementor incident of the year before, Dudley had taken to noticeably paling and stuttering whenever Harry was around—quite acting like the gibbering idiot that he, in fact, was. Of course, not knowing what Dudley had seen when the dementors had attacked still plagued Harry with curiosity, but he knew better than to bring it up if he wanted to relative peace to continue. Harry had also found himself surprisingly apathetic towards the senior Dursley, despite his uncle’s best attempts at intimidation. Harry no longer considered Vernon Dursley worthy of fear, having seen so much worse, and it was now to his Aunt Petunia that he turned his attention. He had spent much of the summer trying to trick her into revealing any knowledge she might have of the Wizarding world. After she had so foolishly let it slip last year that she knew of the wizard prison Azkaban, and since he had nothing else to do at Number Four, he had spent the entire summer trying to learn what else Petunia might know about the Wizarding world. Unsurprisingly, his aunt only got defensive and tight-lipped each time he dropped wizarding terms into a conversation in an attempt to trip her up—so tight-lipped, in fact, that he was sometimes surprised that her mouth didn’t simply disappear into her face. She could almost rival Professor McGonagall for disapproving looks. But she hadn’t kicked him out of the house (most definitely because of her promise to Dumbledore), and so he had kept on pushing the limits. Although he hadn’t received any surprising news from Petunia about any knowledge she might or might not have about the Wizarding world, he did still subscribe to both the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler . The latter subscription had been out of appreciation to his friend, Luna, for getting his story published in the rather unique news magazine that her father worked for. But it was the Prophet that ran the story which had captured Harry’s attention that summer. It was a report of Lucius Malfoy and the eight other Death Eaters who had been captured the previous month in the Ministry of Magic. All involved had been sentenced to numerous consecutive life sentences in the new prison, with no hope of repeal. Even Lucius Malfoy’s money, so much of which had funded the Ministry for years, couldn’t keep him from justice this time. The Ministry, after spending over a year denying the return of Lord Voldemort, had decided to rectify their mistakes by making a vicious example out of these first criminals of the war; trying to assure the public of their readiness for the difficulties to come, or so Harry imagined. The location of this new prison hadn’t been revealed, of course. Since Azkaban had been overcome by the Dark Lord’s forces, no one knew where the new prison was, or what the security measures might be. There would be no visiting sessions for Narcissa or Draco Malfoy, both of whom were described in the article as declining comment. Of course, there had also been mention of the remaining two Malfoys’attendance of Sirius’funeral. The reporter had tried to allude to the Malfoy family’s continued entanglement with the Dark Arts by bringing up Narcissa’s ties to the house of Black. But Harry was of course blocking out anything to do with Sirius, including the surprise of his rival’s disturbing presence at the funeral. The rest of Harry’s reading material for the summer had consisted mostly of Defense Against the Dark Arts books. He had gone back through all of the textbooks he had used in the past five years of schooling and made sure that he knew everything covered. He had also already read the entire textbook for the coming year, which he had ordered through Owl Post. Although he was still more than a little resentful of his expected duty in the upcoming war—to be a living weapon employed by Dumbledore, as it were—he knew better than to let his resentment of circumstances leave him unprepared. He had certainly learned that during his fourth year with the Triwizard Tournament. Besides, he wasn’t the only one training. The entire wizarding world was facing dark times, and everyone needed to be prepared for the war that was already building up. There had been a number of attacks already that summer, mostly small skirmishes whose only point seemed to be letting the Wizarding world know that Voldemort truly was back. The people were being lulled into a false sense of security, though; thinking that these small sorties and few casualties were the most Lord Voldemort could cause. But Harry knew better, having been exposed to the Dark Lord himself for years. Thankfully he was no longer privy to Voldemort’s private thoughts and visions since he had started practising Occlumency the year before. It was his Occlumency lessons, in fact, which brought him to Dumbledore’s office on a calm, rather balmy evening in early September. * * * Albus Dumbledore looked over his gold-rimmed half-moon spectacles at the boy staring rather stonily back at him with his mother’s green eyes. This was Harry’s third Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore so far this term. He’d had a conference with the headmaster on his first night back to discuss Dumbledore’s taking over the lessons in Professor Snape’s stead. Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat; lightly sucking on the lemon drop that was still dissolving in his mouth. “Well, Harry, you’ve been doing remarkably well. This marked improvement shows how much effort you’ve put into your practice this summer,” he started kindly, only to be met with silence. “Yes, yes, and no more dreams involving Voldemort, I trust?” Dumbledore thought that Harry might have snorted at that, but it was quickly masked as the boy replied shortly, “No, sir. None of those dreams.” Dumbledore nodded sagely, as though this were somehow significant news. He liked to keep his students wondering. Harry, meanwhile, was quite quietly fuming. He was still rather frosty towards the headmaster, trapped behind the awkward embarrassment that still lingered from his blow-up at the old man last year. He did miss the grandfatherly relationship he’d shared with Dumbledore in the past, but he didn’t know anyway to get past the wall that he had himself erected. Even if he could have, he was by no means ready to trust Dumbledore with his inner thoughts and worries, nor any of the nightmares he’d had involving Voldemort. After all, no one is interested if my dreams aren’t far seeing or prophetic. If my dreams don’t have any valuable information, what does anyone care about the scarred mind of some sixteen year-old? He could have continued in this mental tirade—it being so familiar to him—but Dumbledore interrupted his bitter ruminations once again. “Yes, very good. Very good progress indeed, my boy.” Dumbledore seemed to realize that his compliments were not meeting with much reception, however, and switched tactics to a much more business-like tone. Stroking his long beard thoughtfully, he leant back in his chair, preferring to examine the arched ceiling above him with its gilded crossbeams flickering in the candlelight, than the resentful boy in front of him. “Yes, well, as we’ve discussed before, Harry, there have been a number of attacks this summer, but we in the Order believe this to be the proverbial calm before the storm. It seems to us that Voldemort’s actions were merely testing the precautions against him, to see just how vulnerable his victims are. It is likely that Voldemort will begin striking in earnest, now that his presence is well known and before there are yet any real measures taken against him. Knowing of his animosity towards you and owing to the circumstances, we, both the Order and the staff here at Hogwarts, must insist that you take part in special lessons beginning this year.” At this point, he glanced at the young Gryffindor. Harry stared rather blankly back at the headmaster, wondering resignedly just what these special lessons were to entail. Introductory Defeating Dark Lords? An Elementary Course in Saving the World? He didn’t have to wait long, though, for Dumbledore to elaborate. “Judging the current situation and the likelihood for skirmishes, we thought it would be prudent for you to be privy to some special tuition, mostly focussed on the magic that will be useful in combat- type situations. This will also assist you in your future endeavours towards Aurorship, as Professor McGonagall has informed me that you are hoping to apply for the Auror program.” Dumbledore appeared to follow that thought for a moment, before backing up and setting his speech firmly back on track. “This new schedule will include advance tuition in potions, charms, transfiguration, mediwizardry and duelling, both wizard duels and the more physical duelling involving muggle hand- to-hand and weaponry. And, of course, we will continue in our Occlumency and perhaps even begin teaching you some Legilimency, if you are up to the responsibility. Each evening will be assigned to one subject, leaving one open night a week for your Defence club, if you still intend to hold it.” Harry was a bit sidetracked by the mention of the D.A., the defence group that he had started with Hermione and Ron and which had grown into a large club sprawling across three of the four houses. Since they had arrived back at school three weeks past, there hadn’t yet been any discussion about getting back together again, but Harry supposed he should talk to others about it. Of course, it would be much harder to get together with everyone if all of his night’s were full but one. After all, with members from all the different houses and from many different years, the meetings had always been based as much as possible around everyone’s conflicting schedules. It seemed that from now on they would be based solely on Harry’s conflicting schedule. Not to mention Quidditch! he realized with a silent groan. He had been almost looking forward to getting back to Quidditch this year, as Umbridge had banned him for life in his fifth year. He presumed the ban was void, now that the mad cow had been sacked from both Hogwarts and the Ministry. Even though he knew that this new program had surely been devised for his own benefit, he couldn’t help but feel annoyed. His voice held a hint of bitter sarcasm and perhaps more than a hint of desperation as he asked, “Headmaster, I know that you all expect me to kill Voldemort, but how exactly am I supposed to learn all of these extracurricular lessons in addition to all of my N.E.W.T. courses? Not to mention Quidditch practices and games, and maybe even being a teenager from time to time?” Picking up steam now, he ignored Dumbledore opening his mouth to rebuke him and spoke in a rush, “You’ve already told me that I’m tied up in this prophecy—can’t this wait until I’m out of school, or when I’m actually an Auror, if I do become one?” As soon as the words left Harry’s mouth, though, he realized what he was saying. He didn’t need Dumbledore to reiterate it aloud, the thought was already racing through his head: It couldn’t wait. Every day that he tried to push the reality of the situation away meant that more people were dying uselessly in his place. Dumbledore recognized his understanding and nodded, looking sorrowful— when Harry wanted him to show anything but this infinite sadness and regret. He wanted Dumbledore to get angry, to be determined, to be strong, anything but the weakness on display in front of him. Harry had never wanted Albus Dumbledore to fail, hadn’t wanted to lose the image of a benevolent god-like figure who would swoop down to provide him with all the answers and save him from every pinch he found himself in. But now he was left staring in dim horror at the frail remains of an old man, speaking slowly in front of him. “If it were up to me, Harry, I would give you all the time in the world. But I fear that the world would not have very much time left if I did so.” * * * Harry walked slowly through the thick stone corridors which led back to Gryffindor Tower. He was half avoiding his friends and all the questions they were sure to have. He could probably try to pass off all this new training as being due to Voldemort’s ever constant animosity towards himself. It was true, of course. But he still hadn’t told them about the prophecy which foretold either his murder of or murder by Voldemort. For reasons he couldn’t quite express, he didn’t want them to find out. Suddenly he remembered Hermione’s hesitant question back in third year: “Harry doesn’t want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?” No , he thought bitterly, I don’t want to kill anyone, Hermione. But I don’t have much choice anymore, do I? He had, of course, had murderous impulses before. He still hated Wormtail with a passion unparalleled, except perhaps by his hatred for Belletrix Lestrange. Both had taken away the only family he’d had. But the rage was one thing, thinking he might like someone dead or even thinking about killing someone, all ended up as empty speculation when he was faced with the real thing. Then he realized that he couldn’t end another life, even if it were the life of a miserable human being who had caused nothing but suffering for Harry. Maybe I am just a scared little boy , he thought to himself. But of course he was. He didn’t have any particularly stunning magical prowess, no special powers. What was supposed to save him? Love? No, love only got those who cared for him killed. Deep in his musings, Harry hadn’t noticed that he’d passed the corridor that turned to go to Gryffindor Tower. Instead he was heading into some section of the dungeons he hadn’t seen before. The whole area was dusty and seemed to be in disuse. He didn’t spot any doors leading off the corridor and wondered absently if there might be any hidden rooms down here, wishing that he had the Marauder’s Map on him. Marauders. Sirius. Oh. Letting his train of thought shudder to a stop, he turned back round, taking vague note of where the corridor hedged back into the main part of the castle for future reference. Always good to know extra hiding places from Filtch. He made his way back again toward Gryffindor Tower, managing to keep his mind off Sirius by fretting instead about what he would tell his best friends. * * * After giving the Fat Lady the password (“ Ice Pops ”), he was surprised and almost pleased to find Ron and Hermione getting along peacefully for a change. He couldn’t be completely pleased, because if they had been arguing, they wouldn’t pay him much notice. Oh well, I would have to explain it eventually. Even Ron would notice if he were gone every night for hours at a time. Harry’s best friends had looked up at him from their congenial chess match, which Ron was unsurprisingly winning. Hermione’s face in particular openly showed all her sympathy and worry for anyone present to see. Lucky for Harry, then, that there was no one else left in the common room. “Oh, Harry, you’re back. How was the Occlumency lesson? You’re later than usual tonight. Didn’t everything go smoothly?” There was a hint of steel in that last query, as Hermione still didn’t understand just why Harry was so cold and critical toward Dumbledore this year. She had tried to imply that his behaviour was due to Sirius’death, but Harry had cut her off harshly before she could even finish her statement. Since that shocking incident, neither she nor Ron had tried to bring up Sirius in Harry’s presence. Tired and not wanting to beat around the bush, only to have Hermione pry it out of him eventually, he sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs that littered the room and launched into his explanation. He started off rather awkwardly, telling them, “Actually, things didn’t go all that well. Dumbledore wants me to take all these extra lessons, which are pretty much just warfare and fighting. After all, I’m The Boy Who Lived once again and it just wouldn’t be so effective a symbol if The Boy Who Lived died.” Ron swallowed hard at the thought of his best friend dying, but didn’t say anything as Harry went on to explain how he would have to meet with the professors every night. Hermione, trying to be pragmatic and yet praise the Hogwarts staff simultaneously as usual, said rather stiffly, “Well, Professor Dumbledore is only looking out for your best interests. You know how much of a target you are, Harry. The headmaster surely just wants to be sure you can fight for yourself.” Harry’s mouth tightened and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes when he heard Hermione’s words. “Oh, no, if I’m fighting for anyone, it’s definitely not for myself,” he muttered bitterly. Taken aback by his friend’s rancour, Ron blustered into the conversation, “Well, all that extra training and fighting and all should come in handy for the D.A., right? Just think of all the great things that you could teach us now. You are still going to teach, right? Come on, we should plan the first meeting for the new year!” Ron looked pleased with what he imagined to be his suave changing of the subject, but Harry pushed himself tiredly out of his chair. Looking away from his friend’s eager eyes, he absently brushed his hair out of his eyes, baring the glaring red scar on his forehead. “Yeah, well, I’ll figure out this new schedule and then I’ll set the coins so everyone knows we’re still on, okay? Right now, I’m going to try to get some sleep. It’s been a long night.” He left his friends by the fire, where they watched silently as he climbed the stairs, fading into the darkness. * * * It was only later that night, as Harry lay on his bed, staring at the complicated new timetable he had received from Dumbledore, that he remembered something else that the old man had said. Harry, still angry, had complained of how frustrated he was at being used all the time, as if he had no mind of his own: “It’s my life, isn’t throwing it away my decision?” But he had been severely put-off when Dumbledore’s only reaction had been to pause for a moment, as if in surprise, and cock his head to the side, musing thoughtfully, “You know, I had a boy in my office just last week, saying the very same thing. Curious how these things work out.” Even now, Harry was dumbfounded by the headmaster’s seemingly random comment. And, despite himself, he couldn’t help but wonder just who the professor had been talking about. * * * Several days later, Harry found himself once again singled out before the familiar figures of the D.A., their eager faces shining in anticipation of whatever pearls of wisdom he would bestow upon them this year. He couldn’t decide just how he felt in the face of their adoration. At first, he probably had been flattered by their respect, feeling like he could finally live up to his name. But now he resented their expectations for him to be the hero, to be some super-human power. No one expected him to be just another moody, hormone-driven, immature Sixth Year like them. No, that wasn’t right: no one allowed him to be just another moody, hormone-driven, immature Sixth Year like them. All his life, Harry had been a symbol. When he was with the Dursleys, he had been a symbol of everything they had hated, everything unnatural and abhorrent in their world. When he had first entered the Wizarding world, he had been a symbol of hope; his very existence was their world’s proof that good could triumph against overwhelming odds. But since Voldemort’s return, he had lost any humanity he might have once held with the rest of Wizardkind. No one viewed him as Harry Potter, sixth former and quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts School. He was irrevocably the Boy Who Lived, and he would save them all. Likely it had always been like this and he had been too immature and sheltered at Hogwarts to see what was really going on around him. When he had first found out he was a wizard, everything had been so bright and new, so inspiring when compared to the dull drudgery of life with the Dursleys. He saw the bright and gaily dressed crowds, extravagant in a rainbow swirl of cloaks. He didn’t yet know the terror that could be hidden in the dark shadows beneath a concealing cowl. Upon his first trip to Diagon Alley, he never would have imagined there would be a place like Knockturn Alley so closely entwined with the festive streets. When he had first heard of Albus Dumbledore, he never imagined that there could be someone like Voldemort in the world, a dark reflection of Dumbledore’s light. Sometimes he wondered, as if the whole subject were unrelated to him: how could the adults do it? How could they expect some scrawny, underdeveloped little boy to do what they could not? Was it just them wanting to foist responsibility off on someone else or did they really believe he could actually save them? He, who had no special talents, who hadn’t even finished school yet. Didn’t they realize he was a child? They were once children themselves, and yet they expected him to be so much more than they had ever been. His parents had died for him, but that didn’t prove anything more than that his parents loved him, as any other parents should love their child. That didn’t make him special, there were many orphans in his generation. He had somehow lived through the Death curse, Avada Kedavra . But as for how he had survived, the only thing he knew was what Dumbledore had told him long ago: that his mother’s love had protected him—a type of ancient magic, the oldest magic of all. So, maybe his mother would have been a spectacular witch, but he sure wasn’t a spectacular wizard. He needed Hermione to even pass his classes with the lowest marks. And there was Hermione, with the rest the club, watching him with that lemming-like drive to follow him, even as he lead them into the depths of hell. How could she look at him like that, she who spent nights lecturing him over and over, going over charms till they lost count, just so that he might scrape through on the next test. What could she see in him? He wasn’t even a good leader— and yet here he was, leading again. “Welcome back to the D.A.,” he said, trying not to dwell on their choice of names. As if he wanted to be a part of anything associated with that old man anymore. Knowing none of the others would understand his change of heart, he continued, “I realize that we disbanded under rather... extreme circumstances last year...” There were a few nervous titters as they remembered Umbridge and her Inquisitor Squad. But the Squad, like the rest of her Nuremberg laws, had been thrown out along with her. “And although with Umbridge gone there’s no longer any specific reason for us to hide ourselves, to be some sort of secret society, I still think that in the current situation...” He trailed off, realizing how awkward this sounded coming from him. He had never been very good at speech making. Looking to Hermione helplessly, Harry was relieved when she continued on without hesitation, stepping up next to him. “Given the current situation and atmosphere of the Wizarding world,” she started primly, “we feel it would be more prudent for the D.A. to continue its activities in a concealed manner. It does not mean that we will not welcome new members; however, we will leave the invitation of new members to your discretion. Those of you still remaining in the D.A. are trusted explicitly, as you have proved yourself in the last year.” No one needed reminding of Marietta Edgecombe and the price of her defection. “If you trust someone enough to tell them of the D.A., then we will trust your judgement and allow them to join. But choose carefully.” As she said this, Hermione tried not to look too blatantly at Neville, who everyone could agree was the biggest liability in the group. There were more than a few nervous glances in his direction. “We simply don’t have the time, resources or energy necessary to screen each new member. And there should be no more incidences such as last year when we were in grave danger for illegal actions. “As such, you may wonder why we are going to these lengths to preserve secrecy. Although it’s true that our group is no longer openly under attack, we cannot ignore that in actuality the entire Wizarding world is under attack. Our training here need not be common knowledge. Why should we give our enemies any advantages by knowing our strengths? In these days of darkness in which distrust and suspicion run rampant, let us not open ourselves to such accusations! Let us remain as a trusted and trusting group, that we might absolve ourselves of such paranoia that would tear us apart and leave us only more open to attack.” Even Harry felt slightly taken aback by Hermione’s sudden vehemence. He hadn’t been expecting such a rapturous speech out of her, merely an explanation of the new terms. He commended her for her eloquence with a slightly less enthusiastic, “Er... right, Hermione. Thanks. As we were saying... yes, well, we will be accepting new members. But we won’t be starting at the beginning again. Every new member you bring in will be your responsibility and you must bring them up to snuff with what we have learned here in the D.A. If there is a legit reason why you can’t, then one of your fellow senior members can help you. “Otherwise, this year we will be focussing mainly on duelling.” There was a brief cheer and the students ranged in front of Harry looked slightly heartened. He felt a tiny flare of dark pleasure as snapped sharply, “But don’t imagine that this will be anything like the duelling you may have done before. True enough, we will start at the beginning, with elementary duelling: counting down, taking turns at curses. But by the end of the year, you should be up to duelling with multiple partners, and defending yourself against unexpected attacks and what might seem to be unusual measures, such as muggle fighting and weapon combat. Our final testing for the year will be an attack. One of us will attack each one of you, probably in the last term, since I don’t imagine anyone will be advanced enough before then.” Harry took a moment to glare at Zacharias, who faltered in his gloating. It felt rather good. “This will be an unmitigated surprise attack, made by an unknown person with unknown abilities. It may not even seem like an attack at the start. You will need to evaluate the situation and react appropriately.” Realizing with a small smirk that he sounded like some drill sergeant from a television program Dudley was likely to watch, Harry paused for a moment to savour his captive audience. “But, of course, we aren’t ready for all that yet. We’ll start at the beginning. Everyone, pair up.” * * * Much of Harry’s planning for this new year with the D.A. had been influenced by his meeting with Remus Lupin earlier that week. They’d had an awkward start when Lupin had tried to talk to Harry about Sirius’death, and Harry had refused to listen. Once they had got past that, though, Harry had realized that Remus Lupin had quite a bit else to say. The professor seemed rather uncomfortable in his assigned role as Harry’s duelling instructor and had laughed sheepishly at himself as he admitted that he’d never taught fighting skills to anyone else before, aside from the ‘teaching’ provided in school-yard scuffles. That first night they didn’t get into any physical contact, although Harry was taught some basic stretching and warm-ups, and introduced to the serialized motions that Lupin called patin. Harry didn’t quite yet understand the purpose behind the patin, but it wasn’t critical for him to do so just yet, or so Lupin had told him. “It will all come together later, Harry. The patin are the central aspect of the fighting practised by werewolves.” Seeing Harry’s curiousness, Lupin explained briefly, “After your parents’ death, Sirius’betrayal and Peter’s supposed murder, I retreated to a lycanthrope community for a number of years, finding comfort in the simplicity of life there... and the isolation.” Harry was taken aback, as he had never before thought of what it must have been like for Lupin in those dark days, with all of his closest friends and companions either betrayed to their deaths or betraying him. He hadn’t ever thought to ask just what Lupin had been up to in the decade or so before he had come to Hogwarts. He didn’t have time to feel more than embarrassed, though, as Lupin had continued on. “As I’ve said, much of the patin won’t really make sense initially. Once you’ve learned the basics, we’ll start applying the moves to hand to hand combat and continue on from there—until you are able to hold your own in a fight. We’ll also be adding weapons in as we go along, and a portion of each of our meetings will be dedicated to magical duelling, as well. “The first, and most important lesson for me to impart upon you, though,” Professor Lupin paused and chuckled under his breath, “is constant vigilance . Now, I don’t intentionally mean to sound like Mad-Eye, nor am I aping his teachings; however, the most important skill I can teach you is awareness of your surroundings. Despite all the potions, charms and spells that you learn, the one thing most likely to keep you alive is this awareness. I want you to take note of everything around you.” He smiled reprovingly at Harry as the boy looked around searchingly. “Not just now, but from here on out. This isn’t just when you enter an unknown area or encounter a suspicious person, this is all the time. “You must always be aware, es