Content Harry Potter Miscellaneous
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"I love what he's done with the place," said Draco acerbically, studying the gruesome pictures which now adorned the walls of the Defense classroom. "Making sure we won't take it lightly, d'you think?"

"Or trying to scare us off," said Harry, dumping his books on a desk. "As if we didn't already know—"

"We know it." Hermione's whisked fingers indicated the five members of the Pride currently present. "And the DA knows, at least with their heads. Their hearts might not understand yet, if they haven't lost someone they cared deeply for. But think about some of the other people we bump up against every day, Harry. The ones who've been more sheltered, who think it's all a big game. Isn't it better for them to be a little scared now if that means they'll be prepared for what's coming?"

"If they're still that oblivious, I don't think anything's getting through to them." Neville hung his bag on the back of his chair and sat down, one hand automatically adjusting the fall of his robe so that his potion piece was within easy reach. "Not until they do lose someone, at any rate. Or, not to be callous, but until they get hurt themselves. Or even killed."

"Good riddance to some of them," muttered Ron, claiming the desk between Harry and Neville, directly in front of Hermione. "The ones who'll be—"

"Enough talking." Snape's low, cool tone cut effortlessly through the Pride's conversation and the two others taking place in various portions of the classroom. "Class has now begun, which means your attention should be not on the antics of your fellow students or on the words of your book, which you can read at any time…" His black eyes rested on Hermione, who hastily closed Confronting the Faceless and folded her hands in her lap. "But on your teacher. Who happens, this year, to be myself."

Ron leaned back in his chair, his hands crossed on its left arm, fingers apparently twitching at random. Harry had to swallow a snicker as he interpreted the abbreviated Pride-sign.

Anyone else hearing a "well, finally" in there?

"The number of different teachers you have had in this subject naturally indicates a high level of discontinuity in what you will have learned, in the level of proficiency you will have been expected to display. I am quite frankly astounded at the number of you who managed to obtain the necessary O.W.L. to enter this class, though no doubt some of the marks were justified." His flickering glance towards the Pride left no doubt as to whom he meant to receive the backhanded portion of this compliment. "Bear in mind, however, I have no special reason to favor any of my students over any others, and no desire to coddle or coax the incompetent. If you cannot keep up with the coursework solely on your own merits, you will be asked to leave."

Neville's eyes went hard, and his hand slid down his side, towards the slit in his robes. Ron's fingers curled into fists. Harry could hear Hermione's unvoiced hiss and Draco's back-of-the-throat growl. He waited for his own answering surge of anger, but to his surprise, what rose in his chest instead felt like… amusement?

It's because I know he knows better than that. The answer rose from the depths of his mind as he watched Snape stride over to the first of pictures, a witch with her head thrown back and her mouth open in a scream. He knows none of our parents ever favored us when they taught Defense—if anything, they graded us harder than the rest of the class, because they knew what we could do. But he hates us so much that he can't acknowledge we did it on our own, so he's convinced himself that we haven't!

"Those who practice the Dark Arts are continually seeking new paths, new directions in which to unleash their energies and indulge their passions," Snape went on, waving his hand at the writhing witch. "Never underestimate your enemy, for that may well be the last mistake you ever have a chance to make."

Take your own advice, Professor Grumpy. Harry spread his fingers and moved his hand horizontally, palm down, warning the Pride without words to cool off. Give us a fair shakes, we'll do the same for you. And even if you can't, we'll still try. Because we know how to be adults…

"Do you find something funny in the contemplation of the Dark Arts, Potter?" Snape asked sharply from beside the picture of a body so battered by the attack of an Inferius that it was impossible to tell if it had been witch, wizard, or Muggle.

"No, Professor," Harry said promptly. "Not at all."

"Yet you are smiling. One might almost say, smirking." Snape stalked towards Harry's desk, his robes billowing out behind him. "Perhaps you would like to share the joke with the rest of the class?"

Harry considered doing just this for a fraction of a second, but decided the look on Snape's face, though likely to be marvelous, would not adequately repay him for a week's worth of detentions or some unconscionable number of points from Gryffindor. Instead he glanced back at the pictures Snape had been using as his visual aids, narrowing in after a moment on the central one.

"I was thinking over good memories, Professor," he said, tilting his head back to look up innocently at Snape, who had planted both his hands on the front edge of Harry's desk. "Memories powerful enough to create a Patronus, to protect against dementors and keep from being Kissed." A flick of his hand indicated the central picture, where a wizard lay crumpled against a wall, eyes empty and mouth hanging open. "Isn't that the proper method, sir?"

Behind him, he heard the slight hitch in breath which meant Hermione was trying very hard not to laugh, and the soft cough which indicated the same for Draco. Ron was grinning openly, and Neville's lower lip had disappeared. The other DA members in the room were variously beaming, snickering behind their hands, or tossing him encouraging gestures ranging from the innocuous to the obscene.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for cheek, Potter," Snape said after a long moment. "And I will see you after class."

"Yes, Professor." Harry waited until Snape's back was turned, then shot an apologetic look at his Housemates. Sorry, he signed to the Pride. I guess cheek is whatever he says it is.

Don't worry, Hermione signed back one-handed, her other hand rummaging in her bag for a quill. You didn't deserve it, so Letha will make sure we get them back.

Which is the only way any of the Pack-parents ever "favored" us, Draco added, sarcasm as clearly visible in the crisp motions of his fingers as it would have been audible in the drawling tone of his voice. What fun is winning if you cheat?

Depends on the game, Neville put in. And the stakes—

Ron rapped his desk twice, an urgent waggle of two fingers with his other hand needing no translation as Heads up! Harry and Neville quickly faced forward as Snape turned to survey his class.

"Today," he said, as coolly as if he and Harry had never exchanged words, "we shall see how many, or perhaps I should say how few, of you can muster the necessary focus and mental acumen for the casting of nonverbal spells…"


"Potter," Professor Black called as Harry followed Ron into the Potions classroom. "Come here a moment."

Harry handed his bag to Draco, who was behind him, and hurried up to the Professor's desk. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I believe you'll be needing this," Professor Black said blandly, extending a rather battered copy of Advanced Potion-Making. "Until you can get an owl to Flourish and Blotts, of course."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry felt his face start to burn and swore mentally. He had managed perfectly well throughout the first Defense class despite Snape's deliberate antagonism, avoiding any loss of points other than the ten at the beginning, even managing one nonverbal Shield Charm, though it hadn't been nearly as strong as Hermione's—how was it that the simple offer of a book, from a professor he knew to be on his side, could embarrass him so much more than all Snape's nasty little jabs?

Because she expects more from me, not less, and I disappointed her this morning at breakfast. Snape expects me to be just that careless all the time, no matter what I really do…

"Accidents can happen to anyone, Potter," Professor Black added in a casual tone. "They only become mistakes if you ignore them."

"Understood, Professor." Harry gave his Pack-mother a thankful smile and started back to the table Draco, Hermione, and Ron had claimed for their own, his borrowed book under his arm.

Time to put it behind me, and enjoy finally having a Potions professor who isn't out to get me. I wonder if Snape was secretly Confunding me all these years, and I'll suddenly turn into a genius with a cauldron now that he's gone?

Taking the chair on which Draco had hung his bag, he had to hold in a snicker. Somehow I doubt it, but hey, you never know.

"Good afternoon, everyone," said Professor Black, drawing all eyes to herself as she rose. "Welcome to Advanced Potions, and congratulations on your excellent O.W.L. results. This year, we're going to take the building blocks of ingredients and techniques you've been learning over your time here at Hogwarts and start to put them together in new and exciting ways…"


What a very interesting set of results for a first day.

Aletha regarded the twelve labeled bottles of the Draught of Living Death which her students had obediently delivered to her desk when she had called time. In the back of the room, in between cleaning out their cauldrons and packing away their ingredients, her own three children—cubs, she corrected herself with a mental chuckle—and Ron had their heads together, peering intently at a small object in Harry's hand.

Several of these are quite good. Some… She swallowed a chuckle as she looked at Ron's brewing, which resembled nothing so much as melted tar, and the navy blue concoction Ernie Macmillan had handed over. …are not. But one, one is exceptional, and that comes not from either of the people I would have expected but from someone who, as far as I can remember, has never showed any particular talent in this area of magic…

Settling herself in her chair, she fixed her eyes on that person. Stay, she willed silently. Make it look like an accident if you want to, but stay.

Turning around too fast, Harry sent a jar of wormwood extract flying across the table with his sleeve. He swore under his breath as it smashed on the stone flags and waved his siblings and Ron out of the room with a rueful smile, drawing his wand and glancing at Aletha for permission to use it to clean up. She nodded, smiling faintly in her turn.

It's good to know I haven't lost my touch.

By the time Harry had finished levitating the broken glass into the bin by the door, then using a firm Scourgify to remove the greenish liquid from the stones, the rest of the class had filed out. He slid his wand away, scooped up his bag, and started to follow them, moving briskly.

Aletha cleared her throat, and Harry's shoulders slumped. "Yes, Professor?" he asked guiltily, turning to face her.

"Is there anything you'd like to tell me?" Aletha inquired. "Before I have to take official notice of it, that is?"

Harry straightened in shock. "I didn't cheat!"

"I never said you did. But I do want an explanation." Aletha tapped Harry's stoppered potion flask, which could have been photographed and placed in a Potions dictionary as an ideal sample of the Draught of Living Death. "This potion is several levels more difficult than anything you've attempted before, and you made it perfectly on the first try. I'm not about to credit myself with that much more teaching acumen than Severus Snape, especially when both your siblings' potions are significantly less excellent."

With a sigh, Harry dipped his hand into his bag and pulled out his borrowed textbook. "It's this," he said, coming to Aletha's desk and flipping the book open to page ten to show her copious margin notes in a tiny, cramped, oddly familiar handwriting. "Whoever used to have it must've been fantastic at Potions, or done loads of research on his own to find all this out."

"I see." Aletha slid the book out of Harry's hands and paged through it, her sense of familiarity growing. She had seen this handwriting before, and recently. "Why do you say he?"

"Don't know." Harry shrugged. "Just… a feeling, I guess."

Aletha checked inside first one cover, then the other, and began to smile. "I think your feeling may be right," she said, turning the book so that Harry could see the small inscription along the bottom of the back cover.

"'This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince,'" Harry read aloud, frowning. "Prince? There hasn't been wizarding royalty for hundreds of years, not since the Statute of Secrecy was passed…"

"I see I'll have to write a thank you note to Hestia Jones," Aletha said dryly. "Since I'm quite sure you never would have known that when Professor Binns was teaching."

Harry grimaced. "He's still here, you know," he said. "Haunts the library now. Drives Madam Pince up the wall demanding she get him down books when she's in the middle of something else."

"Professor Dumbledore may be able to set up a spell to help with that. I'll mention it to him if I get a chance." Aletha shut the textbook and laid it on her desk. "Harry, I'd like to double-check this book. Make absolutely sure that it's only what it seems. If and when it passes my tests, and possibly those of a few other people, I assume you'd like it back?"

"If that's all right, Professor." Harry looked wistfully at the book. "It was nice getting the best results in Potions for once…"

"I'm sure it was, but consider it from my perspective." Aletha tapped the book. "I need a standard gauge by which to measure all my students. If one of them has different, and judging by today's results, better instructions than the rest, how can I be sure if he's learning anything on his own?"

"I know." Harry looked down. "Maybe if everyone had the extra bits, not just me?" he suggested to his shoes. "If I let you copy down the notes for the potions you were going to teach us every week, and put them up on the blackboard as optional steps or something?"

"That may not be a bad notion. But that's always assuming there's nothing unpleasant about this book, and that's yet to be proved." Aletha got to her feet, smiling as Harry looked up. "I'll have an answer for you by Friday at the latest, Harry. In the meantime, you can borrow one of the other copies from the cupboard here if you need it, or work from Ron's book or Draco's. And before I forget." She slid her hand into her pocket and found the folded slip of parchment she'd inscribed earlier. "This is only to be shared with your Pride, mind you, and for use only in true emergencies. If I find anyone using it for pranks or to try to avoid petty trouble, there will be repercussions."

Harry opened the slip, and his eyes widened. "Yes, Professor. I mean, we won't. Use it wrong, that is…" Rolling his eyes, he tucked the slip carefully into his own pocket. "Apparently doing well at Potions means I forgot how to talk."

"Go have some dinner." Aletha pointed to the door. "I understand that helps with tied tongues."

His most eager Wolf-grin appearing on his face, Harry nodded exaggeratedly and bolted for the door, pausing with his hand on the handle to look back. "Thanks, Professor," he said. "For everything."

"You're welcome," Aletha said softly, listening to his footsteps hurrying along the corridor. "For what it's worth."

After noting down the marks to be given to each student, she Vanished eleven of the twelve potion samples, tucking Harry's instead into one of her desk drawers. Adding the Half-Blood Prince's book, she closed the drawer and laid a quick but complex sealing charm around it, then made for the door herself. Food would help stimulate her thought processes as to who should be consulted about a thickly inscribed, possibly dangerous book.

Sirius or Remus would normally be my first choices, I suppose, but I have no way of knowing what else they're doing tonight, and if this thing really is dangerous, it might be best to keep it here at Hogwarts. So one of the other professors would probably be the best place to start. Flitwick could tell me if it's under any active charms, McGonagall if it was ever anything else, Snape if it's been influenced by Dark magic…

She stopped dead in the center of the corridor, her half-recognition of the handwriting codifying at last.

No. It can't be—or can it?

Turning on her heel, she hurried back to the classroom. If her wild, insane idea was correct, and it felt more and more likely as she let it percolate through her mind, there was a very simple way to verify the identity of the Half-Blood Prince, assuming his handwriting had undergone no massive changes between his own time at Hogwarts and the present day…


To Harry's surprise, Hedwig swooped down from the rafters as he was serving himself some rice to go with his baked chicken and laid a neatly wrapped parcel beside his plate. He tore into it to discover the book he and the Pride had just been discussing.

My research bore fruit sooner than I had expected, Professor Black had written on the inside of the wrappings. We will place your idea for the added information in this text into action on Wednesday, so please come a few minutes early. Also, test any spells you may find recorded in this book on non-living targets and in a controlled environment before you place them into everyday use. The Half-Blood Prince was not always mindful of others' dignity, though he was rather touchy about his own.

"Not always mindful of others' dignity?" Ron repeated. "That's quite a mouthful to say he was a git, isn't it?"

"It doesn't necessarily mean he was a git," said Hermione with a slight huff. "Padfoot didn't always think about how the things he did would make people feel when he was in school, but he wasn't a git. Exactly."

"Yes, he was," Draco said, reaching past Harry to get the platter of chicken. "He says so himself."

Hermione humphed and returned her attention to her slice of steak and kidney pie.

"We had an interesting Care of Magical Creatures lesson today," Luna said into the silence. "Professor Kettleburn is quite nice, though he didn't know about bowtruckles being able to bless or curse the wood that humans take from their trees."

"The eye-gouging would be enough of a curse for me," said Ginny with a wince. "But he is nice, Professor Kettleburn, I mean. Quiet, a little shy, but nice. Though he'll never be Hagrid."

"Nobody will ever be Hagrid." Harry set his fork down, his appetite momentarily gone. "Nobody could."

Meghan sniffled once, but resolutely took another bite of well-sugared mashed turnip. "Will we still be using Hagrid's Place for the DA, Harry?" she asked through it. "To run simulations and training exercises, and maybe for… something else?" On the tabletop, her finger traced out a large S, then pointed downwards.

Harry frowned. "How do you mean?"

"For an entrance." Meghan swallowed. "If we had people coming through the Forest, say, and it was too dangerous for them to get into the castle, or even down to the cave…"

"They could just go in Hagrid's back door," Neville said, nodding. "I like that. But where would we put it that it won't get tripped over by everyone who's in and out of there all the time?"

Meghan looked at Harry. Harry looked at Hermione. Hermione looked at Draco. Draco raised an eyebrow, and all four of them started to snicker.

"We missed something," said Ron.

"Nothing new there." Ginny poked Harry in the side. "Oi. Share the joke?"

"We will," Harry managed through his laughter, batting her hand away. "We will. Just… give us a sec, here…"

"No secs," Ginny began, then froze.

"What, ever?" Draco asked, as Ron gaped at Ginny with his fork halfway to his mouth. "That's harsh."

Luna began to giggle.

Ginny glared at her Pridemates, but the reddening of her ears cut the effectiveness of the look in half. "Shut up and tell us where you're putting this entrance."

"It's from an old, old joke of ours," Hermione said, recovering her breath. "Before we'd met any of you, even. We'd been in America, visiting our Aunt Amy—Letha's aunt, really, so our great-aunt, but that's too long to say for everyday—but in any case, we came back around New Year's and wanted to surprise Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid. So we slipped into Hagrid's house and hid all around, and all four of us—" Her hand circled to indicate the Pack's cubs. "—fit under Hagrid's bed. Which is funny because there used to be a rumor, when he was at school, that he kept werewolf cubs under his bed."

"And now he really had some." Neville smiled, tweaking one of Meghan's braids gently. "That's a good idea, too. No one who's in there to run a simulation will likely look under the bed, and even if they do, we can camouflage the entrance somehow."

"Floorboards," said Harry, refilling Ginny's goblet and passing it to her. "A section of them can come up like a trapdoor, either with a hidden catch or a password. Or both, like Professor Black has on her office." He patted the pocket where the slip of parchment detailing those security precautions now rested.

"Both is better." Ginny glanced around. "And maybe we shouldn't talk too much about this in public, either."

"Should I not have said it?" asked Meghan. "I was afraid I'd forget, though."

"No harm this once." Ginny reached over and tapped Ron on the shoulder. "All right in there?"

"Er." Ron shook his head as though he were trying to throw off the effects of the Imperius Curse. "You said… what?"

"Long day," Hermione said, covering Ron's hand with hers and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Let's go up to the common room, Ron, you'll feel better after you've had a rest."

"Rest," Ron mumbled, following her obediently. "Right."

Ginny watched him go, then looked back at Harry. "He's not going to react well at all when we're actually married, is he?"

"I think it was more the shock of hearing it unexpectedly," said Harry. "And certain people didn't help."

"Those nasty certain people." Draco scowled ferociously. "You should teach them a lesson, Harry. Show them what happens when they don't help."

"Thanks for the advice." Harry drained his goblet and stood. "I'll go upstairs and start working on that. In between homework. Coming, Gin? Luna?"

"Now that you mention homework, yes." Ginny swung her legs over the bench. "I thought you lot were just whiny last year, but now that I'm on the approach to O.W.L.s myself, I can tell you were trying to warn me what I was in for."

"It won't be that bad as long as we keep up with it," said Luna pragmatically, taking a handful of peppermints from one of the bowls as she passed it. "And I'll make everyone a sachet to keep the Wrackspurts away, because it would be a disaster if we went all fuzzy-brained now…"


Draco looked down the table at Neville and Meghan as the girls and Harry passed through the door into the entrance hall. "I'm doomed, aren't I?" he inquired.

"You're the one who gave him ideas," said Neville, as Meghan giggled behind her hand. "Don't look at us to get you out of it."

"I thought you were my friends." Draco pouted. "Friends are supposed to help each other."

"Help is one thing." Meghan scooped the piece of chicken Harry hadn't eaten off his plate and attacked it herself. "Standing between you and Harry, when he's in a Marauding mood, is different."

"I'd do it for you!"

"Not if I deserved it, you wouldn't."

"Point," Draco conceded. "And I know it can't be anything too bad, because of the year."

"But Harry's definition of 'not too bad' and yours might be entirely different." Neville sat back on the bench, his fingers moving in familiar patterns in front of him, as though he held his guitar and were working out a tricky chord change. "And you can't exactly ask him."

Draco shrugged. "I'll live with it, whatever it is," he said, helping himself to another spoonful of peas. "For all I know, he's planning to do nothing, just watch me sweat…"


Ron followed Hermione docilely up the stairs until they reached the fifth floor, at which point he carefully turned his wrist in her grasp until he was holding her instead and tugged her towards a tapestry behind which he could see the slight difference in temperature which meant a secret alcove. "Come fix me," he said, giving her the cocky grin he knew she enjoyed and loathed in equal measure.

"Oh, you fibber." Hermione allowed herself to be tugged, though she punched him lightly in the shoulder as the tapestry fell into place behind them. "You weren't broken at all, were you?"

"Maybe for a minute there. Bit of a shock, hearing that word out of my little sister's mouth, even by accident." Ron slid an arm around Hermione's shoulders, thrilling to the ease with which she leaned against it. "Don't tell me it doesn't shake you when you see Pearl with Neville. She was a baby just yesterday, hanging onto your robes and getting into your things and messing up your games. What's she doing with a boyfriend?"

"It does, sometimes," Hermione admitted, resting her head against Ron's chest. "But of course, sometimes it shakes me that I have a boyfriend." She glanced up at him through her eyelashes. "And then I remember it's you, and my shakes go away."

"What am I supposed to say to that?" Ron asked aggrievedly.

"Why do you have to say anything?" Hermione wrapped an arm around his neck. "Actions speak louder than words, you know."

"Right."

Quiet fell over the corridor once more.


"See anything unusual?" Harry asked Luna, watching her riffle through the Half-Blood Prince's book. "Any shapes or shadows, active spells?"

"Nothing dangerous, if that's what you mean." Luna ran her finger along the declaration of identity on the back cover. "There is a shadow, but not a Dark one, not all Dark." Her accent on the word was enlivened by the twiddle of her fingers beside the book, indicating the sort of magic she meant. "He had a strong personality, and he liked getting his own way, but he wasn't evil." She frowned. "I feel like I should know him, but I don't. Not well enough to say a name. But he's someone we've met, someone we've seen. Not a stranger."

"Not to be paranoid," said Ginny, looking up from Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, "but wouldn't Voldemort qualify? If this was something he made around the same time he made the diary, when he was in school?"

"You tell me." Luna shut the book and handed it back to Harry. "You met him, or his memory, down in the Chamber. Was he all the way Dark, truly evil, even then?"

Ginny shuddered. "Yes, he was," she said, her eyes momentarily distant as she looked into the past. "Even at that age, and probably younger than that, he liked to see people get hurt. If he had the choice between getting what he wanted without doing any harm, and getting it while hurting people, he'd choose to hurt people, because it made him feel powerful."

"So this can't have been his," said Harry, tapping the book. "Which, after dealing with that diary, is a relief. Do you realize how lucky we got that night, Gin?"

"Don't remind me." Ginny chuckled shakily. "I was positive we were both going to die, because Percy was so much older than we were, one of the best wizards I knew, and Riddle had been able to take him over and use him, just like that." She snapped her fingers. "We shouldn't have had a chance."

"Except it wasn't 'just like that', not really." Harry flipped idly through the book, noting the pages on which several iterations of what looked like spells had been written, all but the last crossed out. "We saw the end of what had taken all year for Riddle to do. He only had that little while to work on us, so he couldn't coax us into trusting him the way he did with Percy. He had to use force, and that, we could fight."

"It's always harder to fight things that happen a little at a time." Luna began to doodle on a sheet of parchment, shading a section darker and darker with every pass of her quill. "Because often you don't notice them until they've progressed a long way, and by then, they're very difficult to dislodge."

"Like bad habits." Harry reached over and flicked the piece of Ginny's hair she had began to chew on out of her mouth. She bared her teeth at him, but made no other comment, returning to her book. "Well, I'll be happiest if we don't make a habit out of chasing after things Voldemort's been involved with. Once was enough."

Luna smiled and returned to her drawing, which now resembled an underground passage shrouded in darkness, doors studded along the walls and a hint of something scaly at one end.


"What did Snape want with you after class, mate?" asked Ron later, when the Pride was fully assembled around one of the common room tables. "More points off Gryffindor? The hourglass didn't look any lower."

"No, he was setting up a time for my first…" Harry motioned in front of his eyes. "You know. Special lesson."

"Good luck with that." Ron made a gagging noise deep in his throat. "I'd rather sort through a barrel of rotten flobberworms, myself. Without gloves."

"I may get to that eventually, if I keep saying things he takes as cheek." Harry snickered once. "Wonder if I could keep him out of my head with that image?"

"He's a Potions Master," said Meghan, dipping her quill into Neville's open inkwell. "He's used to that. You'd need something he isn't used to, something he doesn't expect."

"Something he doesn't expect." Harry twisted around in his chair until he was lying sideways across the seat, legs dangling over one arm. "Maybe something he doesn't do well, or enjoy, and I do."

"Something he hasn't done," Hermione suggested. "Animagus, perhaps. Moony said once he'd looked into it, but never gone any farther than that."

"I've never seen him on a broom, but I bet he's no more than passable," was Draco's contribution. "And you're a natural, always have been. Though that might not be the best idea, now that I think about it, because it might throw him back to thinking about your dad."

"But that might also be a reason it's good." Harry arched his shoulders, stretching. "If he's thinking about Dad, he's not thinking about me. We may look a lot alike, but we're not the same person. Not nearly."

"Even just this might do." Neville indicated their small circle of chairs and sofas with his quill-holding hand. "This, or a DA meeting, a Quidditch team practice… anything that's people working together, liking each other, pulling towards a common goal. Snape's a loner, probably always has been. He doesn't understand how to get people to listen to him, to agree with him, to follow him not because they have to but because they want to."

Harry snorted. "You can say that again. But what does that have to do with me?"

"People trust you, Harry." Neville set his quill down, the better to gesture. "You know how to earn their trust, and how to treat them to keep it. And you don't try to cover up when you make mistakes—you just fix them, and work on not making the same ones again. I don't think Snape trusts anyone, and not that many people trust him. So that's a difference you can use, a piece of you he can't get a hold on." He smiled faintly. "Sorry if it embarrasses you, but it's true."

"I'll take your word for it." Harry pressed his hands against his cheeks, hoping his blush would subside quickly. "Something else that came to mind was that dreamworld we used against Voldemort," he said to Hermione and Draco. "If I could come up with something like that, only twisted a little, so that it just goes around and around and never gets him anywhere…"

"What about a maze?" said Luna, turning around her second piece of scrap parchment. High hedges in bewildering formations stretched away from the tiny, baffled-looking figure in their midst, which had a distinctly hooked nose and two curtains of stringy black hair. "Like the third Triwizard task, only going on and on and on. A nightmare maze, the kind you can never get out of."

"I dreamed of one of those once." Hermione leaned forward to see Luna's drawing better. "Only it was made of glass, so I could see other passages that looked more promising but couldn't get to them…"

Harry sat back and listened to his friends discussing possibilities, letting the words slide into his ears and be recorded by his mind for consideration later. At the moment, he was too busy storing up yet another memory which could be used to spark a Patronus.

This is the reason we're going to win. The reason Voldemort's doomed and doesn't even know it yet. The Death Eaters only work together because he makes them—take him away and they'd fall apart, grabbing for whatever scraps they thought they could lay claim to. Like Neville said, they don't trust anyone, and that's their downfall. A lot of them are strong on their own, and we shouldn't underestimate them, but if you took the seven most individually talented Quidditch players in the world and threw them up against a team which wasn't quite as good but which was a team, which had trained together and practiced together and knew each other and trusted each other…

"It'd be like the Quidditch World Cup all over again," he murmured aloud. "Krum may have caught the Snitch, but Ireland still won."

"Except in this case, the equivalent of the Snitch would be you," said Ginny, startling him into a jump. "And I'm not about to let anyone catch you but me."

"I'll hold you to that, now." Harry hooked his thumbs together and fluttered his fingers like a Snitch's wings. "So what did you think of Professor Sprout's announcement this morning?"

"About what the Hufflepuffs are doing for Halloween?" Ginny closed her hand around Harry's make-believe Snitch, squeezed it once, and let it go. "It sounds like fun. An all-school fancy dress party and banquet. Why?"

"I was just thinking about what we ought to dress as." Harry let his head dangle back, so that he was looking at Ginny upside down. "If you're going to be my date, that is."

"You shouldn't ask questions when you already know the answer. It's redundant." Ginny chuckled. "It sounds like you already have something in mind. Do you?"

"Well, that depends." Harry grinned. "How well can you say, 'Oh, Grandmother, what big eyes you have'?"


Alone in his quarters, Severus Snape reviewed his lesson plans for the next day, the back of his mind idly chewing at an oddity which had taken place before dinner.

Why would Aletha Black want a sample of my handwriting? Is she hoping to help that young hellion she has raised to cause even more trouble than he could manage on his own?


Looking over the notes she had taken on her class of third years, Aletha found her mind wandering to her actions earlier in the day.

Was I right to give Harry back that book, or should I have returned it to its original owner? And why did he ever let it out of his possession in the first place?


"Time moves on apace, old friend," Albus Dumbledore said with a sigh to Fawkes, who was preening his shining tail. "Do you think I can let the children have one holiday in peace before I lay yet another burden on them?"

And how much weight can even their young strength bear, before it all becomes too much?

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Author Notes:

Surprise!

I think this finishes the establishing section of this year story-time. We'll probably start to move pretty quickly after this, touching on the high points of classes, Quidditch, Sanctuary-building, and holiday parties, along with our glimpses of the Red Shepherds and the Order. You'll want to have tissues available at several points, because there will be losses and sorrows along the way, but as Harry has already realized, as long as they hold together, Voldemort's going down no matter what. The fun is finding out how.

Now, to repeat last chapter's important information: Once my original novel A Widow in Waiting goes on sale (which I hope and believe will be soon), for every 100 copies I sell, e-book and print combined, I will commit to updating Surpassing Danger on a weekly schedule—and if I sell more than 1000 copies, that will change to twice a week, which I've just proved I can handle.

Please note, SD will still be written and updated whether AWiW sells or not. This is just a way you can assure yourselves of regular and plentiful DV updates, if for no other reason than that I'll be less stressed and more in the mood to write if my original is selling well!

Watch both this space and my Facebook page, facebook.com/annebwalsh.page, for details. Once again, please remember, you do not need an e-reader to read an e-book—all you need is a computer, which, if you're reading this author's note, you already have!

Also, please do drop me a review, or pop over to the Facebook page to say hi. If you're worried about content, just pick one bit in the chapter you liked and tell me what you liked about it. I don't mean to be needy or greedy, but reviews and Facebook comments are my only way to know if people are still reading this…