The entire Gryffindor common room, albeit half empty, went silent when Harry climbed through the portrait hole.

   Harry looked cautiously around the room before spotting the two people he actually wanted to talk to. Two people who at least listen to me, even if I don’t entirely trust them…

   “You know, I think I might smell something, George,” one of the two said conversationally as he reclined in his armchair by the fire. “A faint whiff of something feminine…”

   “I know exactly what you mean, Fred,” the other agreed loudly with a broadening grin. “And it seems only to grow stronger as that bespectacled fellow approaches us –”

   “Oh, bugger off, you two,” Harry replied, even as he gave them an exasperated grin. “Why are you two so happy, anyways?”

   “Well, you’re actually here, aren’t you?” Fred said, raising an eyebrow. “That means everything worked!”

   “After a fashion,” Harry muttered. “You’ve got an overloading problem with those stones you’ll want to take a look at… although I won’t deny the damned things are a work of genius.”

   “Well, a good craftsman always likes to hear his work’s appreciated,” George said good-naturedly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “Of course, a better craftsman always aspires to make things better –”

   “And the best of them know exactly when to stop,” Fred finished with a smirk. “We wouldn’t want your little disguise to be permanent, now would we?”

   Harry rolled his eyes. “It faded, I’m all right. I just wanted… to thank you for your help.” Harry wished he could say more, but he knew that in the crowded common room, already breaking into suspicious whispers, he wouldn’t have a chance.

   “No, Harry, I don’t think you’re quite all right,” George replied with a sudden expression of deep concern. “We detect a strange aversion towards you that may or may not have anything to do with the fact that you are still wearing feminine perfume stolen out of Tonks’ closet –”

   Harry glared at both of them before shaking his head as the twins dissolved into laughter.

   “You’ll never let me forget this, will you?”

   “Never,” the twins replied at the exact same time.

   “However, even if you want to forget that, you shouldn’t forget this,” Fred added, slapping a small parchment scroll into Harry’s hand. “Read it when you get a chance – you might find it enlightening… probably as enlightening as the experience of –”

   “Oh, shut up,” Harry cut him off with a sigh, even as his heart was hammering in his chest. He already had an idea who the note might be from – and its urgency. “I’m going to bed – I had a long day.”

   “You see that, Fred?” George said with a nudge to his twin. “Dear sweet Harry needs to get his beauty sleep –”

   “Oh, screw you,” Harry replied, moving towards the staircase. He wasn’t entirely lying – he was exhausted. Must have been the stress or the early morning, he thought to himself as he slowly climbed the stairs. And the last thing I need is any more problems…

   He pulled open the door and immediately moved to his bed.  His trunk had already been brought up, and he flipped it open thankfully, only to find a tiny scrawled note on top of his haphazardly folded robes. He frowned as he flipped it open.

My math was slightly off a few days ago – you owe me another six Galleons for Umbridge’s textbook, and seven more for your other stuff. I want my money as soon as possible – tomorrow, if you could manage it.

Having fun yet?

N.T.

   Harry frowned as he looked closer at the paper. It seemed like random letters had been written in red ink… clearly Tonks was trying to send a message.

   Suddenly, he saw it, and he snorted at his own short-sightedness. Well, if she wanted to send a message that I’d catch, it’s a good way to do it… and given how most wizards don’t have an ounce of logic, they probably wouldn’t catch it –

   “Hey Harry!” Neville Longbottom said brightly as he walked in and spotted Harry. “You’re up here surprisingly early – long day?”

   “You could say that,” Harry replied tiredly. If you only knew, Neville… although, given your history, you might be someone I could trust… “Long day, long summer… well, you know me.”

   Neville’s face fell. “I do know you, Harry… and I saw the Daily Prophet. They wrote some pretty nasty stuff in there about you.”

   Harry snorted. “I’m not surprised.”

   Neville shifted uncomfortably. “You know that my Gran and I believed and Dumbledore when you said You-Know-Who was back, right? Gran’s always said that he was going to come back someday.”

   “Well, it’s true,” Harry snapped. “He is back, and I have the damned scars to prove it –”

   “I know, Harry, and the fact that the Prophet doesn’t believe either you or Dumbledore… well, Gran cancelled our subscription, but we still heard about what happened… with the Ministry.”

   Harry snorted. “And I suppose, just like the rest of them, that you believe I’m some twisted outlaw with a sick vendetta against the Department of Magical Law Enforcement –”

   “Harry, if I believed that, I wouldn’t be here talking to you,” Neville replied, taking a deep breath. “If anything, when I want to hear that story, I want to hear it from you, not the Prophet. And even if some of it’s true, that some Hit Wizards died… well, I know you wouldn’t have wanted people to get killed. That’s not the Harry I knew. And I know you wouldn’t have blown up Ollivander’s.” Neville snorted and flipped open his trunk. “Honestly, people are just so blind sometimes, don’t you think?”

   Harry said nothing, but a lump was churning in his gut. “And how do you know that I’m not a liar, that I don’t have a malevolent side that won’t hesitate to commit murder –”

   “Because you would have killed Malfoy years ago,” Neville replied frankly. “And as for Ollivander’s… Harry, it doesn’t make sense. It’s a storehouse and a sanctum of magic – and you’ve always treated magic as something special, rather than just… routine.” The round-faced boy – looking older and more mature with every second – made a disgusted noise. “Most purebloods just treat magic like a tool. Hell, I’ve seen it more than once.”

   Harry could only stare at Neville with incredulous disbelief. Could it be possible he had found a person that understood, that he could confide in, even with the terrible things he had done? I can’t trust him yet, but maybe…

   The door slammed open, and Ron stormed into the room, clearly in a foul temper.

   “Harry, you might not want to go downstairs for a bit,” he growled, tossing his wand on his dresser more than enough force.

   “What did you do, Ron?” Neville asked with a bit of awe.

   “Just put our good friend Seamus Finnigan in his place,” Ron snarled. “Pretentious little git, thinks that he knows what the hell you’ve been doing all summer –”

   “He’s been reading the Prophet, hasn’t he?” Harry said darkly, pulling out his pajamas with a scowl.

   “Not just that,” Ron spat, tearing open his own trunk. “Apparently, his precious mother didn’t want him to go back to Hogwarts because he believes you’re a dangerous tosser and Dumbledore’s going daft! The arse even asked me whether he could move to a different dormitory! Can you believe that, Harry?”

   “Yes,” Harry replied steadily, clenching both his fists, “and you should have let him.”

   Ron’s eyes widened with shock, and Neville stopped dead in his tracks.

   “You’re not serious, Harry.”

   “I don’t want a year of dormitory conflicts, Ron,” Harry said curtly, snapping his trunk closed and pulling off his robes, “and besides, what Seamus doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And you shouldn’t have ripped into him like that – frankly, I’m surprised you did.”

   Ron looked as though he was lost for words. Neville swallowed hard before speaking up.

   “Harry, eventually, some of this is going to have to come out, and it’d be a hell of a lot better if it was from you.”

   “I know, Neville, it’s just –”

   “Doesn’t help that the bloody Prophet will be hearing about the Dementors raiding the train,” Ron added bluntly. “That’ll make the front-page tomorrow morning, and considering nobody knew where the hell you were the entire time –”

   “Conclusions will be drawn,” Neville finished, his eyes meeting Harry’s. “They’ll start asking questions, and the editorials will start extrapolating… they really were looking for you on the train, weren’t they, Harry?”

   “Yes,” Harry growled, his mind filling with a vivid image of the Daily Prophet office going up in flames. “The Hit Wizards have been using the paper, haven’t they?”

   Ron exchanged a glance with Neville at the look of fury growing on Harry’s face. “Not explicitly, since the investigation is still mostly confidential –”

   “The editorials do their work for them,” Harry spat. “Damn it, I should have seen this coming!”

   The door suddenly opened, and Dean Thomas slowly peeked his head inside. He froze at the livid expression on Harry’s face.

   “Am I, ah, interrupting something?”

   Harry took a heavy breath and tried to get a reign on his temper. Got to keep things cool, can’t give the damned Prophet any more ammunition… “It’s nothing, Dean, you can come in.”

   Dean pulled himself inside and sat heavily on his bed. “Ron, you shouldn’t have called Seamus out like that. He was ready to punch you across the face.”

   “Let him come,” Ron growled. “He thinks he knows what Harry’s going through –”

   “It’s not just that,” Dean said heavily. “Look, Seamus had a rough summer. His dad read one of the articles about Harry escaping from that plane – well, he’s a police officer, and that article put him between a rock and a hard place.”

   “Why?”

   “Well, there was a bloodstain on the wing of that plane, and nobody could identify it,” Dean said with a wince. “And it doesn’t help that Seamus’ dad went undercover in the IRA when he was younger…”

   “What’s that?”

   “Irish Republican Army, Neville,” Dean replied with a bit of a shiver. “Don’t know too much about them, but from what my mum’s told me, they’ve done some pretty nasty stuff in the Muggle world…”

    “And what does all that have to do with me?” Harry asked with annoyance as he sat on his bed. “I’m not part of some bloody organization –”

   “Harry, just listen.” Dean swallowed hard at the grim, expectant expression on Harry’s face. “The IRA killed a lot of people for their cause, and when Seamus’ dad saw the article, all those bad memories came back for him, and he went livid when he heard Seamus was planning on living in the same dorm as you this year. So basically, Seamus spent half the summer arguing with his parents so he could return to Hogwarts… all because of you.”

   Ron let out a disgusted snort. “Well, he’s back, isn’t he? Even despite everything he thinks about Harry –”

   “Only because his mum gave in and despite her own misgivings convinced his dad,” Dean retorted. “Harry, I’ve barely heard about what happened with you this summer, and frankly, I don’t really care either way, but give Seamus a break, all right? Frankly, maybe it’s best for all of us if he doesn’t sleep up here –”

   Harry shook his head with disgust as he slid under his sheets. “Tell him to do whatever the hell he wants. If we both ignore each other, all the better. And he wants out of here, let him leave – he doesn’t need his life to be messed up because of me.”

   And with that, before Dean could even speak, Harry turned over and closed his eyes, praying for the cool oblivion of sleep to come all the quicker.

*          *          *

   “Do you even think the Ministry’s bothered to revise the curriculum for History of Magic?” Ron grumbled as he and Harry trudged towards the dungeons. “I mean, I’m all for reading about giant wars, but couldn’t they focus on something a bit more modern and relevant?”

   Harry rolled his eyes. “They could, but that would likely mean they’d have to start admitting some of their more obvious mistakes,” he replied with a shrug. “And it’s not like they’d be able to expel Binns from the school, considering how long he’s been teaching History. I get the impression the ghost will be at Hogwarts longer than any of us will.”

   Ron looked carefully around the corner before lowering his voice. “Did you actually take any notes in that class?”

   Harry shrugged. “A few. Mostly out of the textbook, how the old wizards took the giants they were fighting down without killing themselves. Could come in handy if Voldemort’s –”

   “Stop using that name, all right?’ Ron interrupted, wincing and looking around nervously.

   “Why should I?” Harry asked, his eyes suddenly hard. ‘We both know he’s back –”

   “You just gotta be careful here, Harry,” Ron whispered. “You might have other things to deal with besides You-Know-Who – the whole Ministry investigation and such – but Lupin warned us that mentioning anything about the Order and such could be very bad. And we don’t want to let on to Malfoy or the other potential Death Eaters that we know anything significant… they could change their tactics.”

   Harry snorted with disgust. “And where was I when Lupin was giving that little lecture?”

   “Upstairs, talking with Tonks and Sirius –”

   “Figures.” Harry’s hand clenched into a fist. “And except for the fact that I give Malfoy less credit than the average Flobberworm, it might actually be valid. Although,” he added suddenly, his eyes sparking, “if you do hear something that could be valuable to the Order, can you pass it along?”

   Ron swallowed. “Harry, I’m not exactly an Order spy here –”

   “I know, I know, it’s just that I want to be in the loop. No, more than that, I have to be in the loop.” Harry turned back towards the corridor, where a line of Slytherin sixth-years were moving heading downstairs and giving Harry very wary looks. “With this investigation, I’ve got no choice.”

   “You think HAIT’s going to use them to get information on you, like when Rita Skeeter used Malfoy and the other Slytherins?”

   Harry frowned. “Hadn’t thought of that, but it’s a possibility… come on, we should get to Potions before we get any more looks.”

   “You actually want to get that class?” Ron asked incredulously, hurrying behind Harry.

   Harry’s eyes blazed with smoldering fury. “Ron, you’ve got to know your enemy before you strike.”

   And leaving his friend stock still with shock, he entered the darkened Potions classroom and sat down at his usual table, pulling his potions equipment onto the desk as he watched the door.

   Ron’s eyes were wide as he quickly sat down beside Harry. “Are you saying you want to –”

   “Not now, hush!” Harry hissed, even as Snape strode into the room. In his usual, matte-black robes, the professor crossed to the front of the room and began to speak. But Harry wasn’t listening to the professor – his eyes, instead, were trained Snape’s movements. He’s obviously recovered from when Fluffy bit him, but are there any other weaknesses I can exploit…

   “The instructions for the Draught of Peace are on the board,” Snape finished, tapping his wand twice on the board. “It is a very difficult potion, and heavy-handedness with the ingredients will prove disastrous to any thick-skulled individuals who think they can easily pass this class. You have one hour – start.”

   Harry tried to keep his attention on his potion, but his eyes kept flicking up whenever Snape moved throughout the room. Even as his potion began smoking copiously, he kept watching the potions professor for any potential weaknesses. If I can exploit a physical weakness, I have an advantage…

   “Harry, your potion!” Ron said urgently, even as he struggled to tend to his own cauldron.

   “I can handle it,” Harry growled, even as Snape stopped in front of Malfoy’s cauldron.

   “Malfoy, what is this?”

   “The Draught of Peace, professor,” Malfoy replied promptly, his eyes snapping up.

   “I know what the Draught of Peace is, Malfoy, and this,” Snape said curtly, raising a ladle into the potion and scooping up a sample, “is not it. This mess is not to my standards.”

   Malfoy’s eyes were wide, and Ron and Harry exchanged shocked glances – they had never seen Snape get angry with Malfoy like this before. Especially over a potion that Harry guessed was far better than anything his cauldron was spewing out.

   Malfoy’s face was slowly going red. “Sir, this potion is near perfect, and if you compare it to, let’s say, Potter’s cauldron, I’m sure you’d find that mine compares favourably –”

   Snape’s eyes snapped up and met Harry’s for a fraction of a second. Harry glared at the professor, his hatred for Snape plain on his face. But then Snape turned back to Malfoy, an ugly expression growing on his face.

   “Potter’s endeavours with potions are not your concern, Malfoy – nor have they ever been.”

   “But sir –”

   “Why do you even have an interest in his cauldron or Potter at all, Malfoy? Is there something you wish to confess to my class?”

   Malfoy’s anger was plain to everyone now, and most of the class was watching the argument in stunned silence. “Professor, that’s out of –”

   Snape’s wand snapped out and pointed at Malfoy’s potion. “Question my authority one more time, Malfoy, and you will receive no marks for this class. It is not your business if other students are doing poorly in my class, and perhaps if you gave your full effort, you would not be producing substandard potions. Is that understandable?”

   “Yes, sir,” Malfoy growled through clenched teeth as he turned back to his potion as Snape strode away to berate Lavender Brown on her own potion, which was nearly boiling out of her cauldron.

   “Could you… can you believe that he did that?” Ron whispered. “To Malfoy?”

   Harry’s eyes were narrowed as he studied Snape. “He wouldn’t just be ignoring me if he didn’t have something to hide. And I know he does.”

   “But he would never have a go at Malfoy like that, even if his potion was rubbish!” Ron protested. “Harry, do you think…”

   “We’ll talk about this later,” Harry whispered, his eyes still fixed on Snape even as he packed his bags. Why would the notoriously biased professor attack one of his favourite students, without cause? It didn’t make sense…

   Perfect, he thought darkly, as he filled his flask with potion, left it on the table, and stalked out of the room. Just one more complication that I’ve got to worry about.

*          *          *

   “This’ll have to be quick, Professor,” Tonks said sharply as she entered the Headmaster’s office. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, you know.”

   “Regarding the investigation, I’m assuming,” Dumbledore said, gesturing towards the chair opposite the older man’s desk. “You have a role in HAIT’s investigation?”

   “Not a big one, but I’ll know what’s coming,” Tonks replied tersely. “Harry’s in more trouble than he’s ever been, you know, and given what Umbridge is scheming, things are only going to get worse.”

   Dumbledore sighed heavily and gestured to the pile of envelopes littering his desk. “The letters from the governors are already coming in, and the notable cancellation in the Prophet’s delivery this morning tells us a great deal about what Dolores Umbridge plans to do.”

   “She contacted Fudge –”

   “I know, he made his statement a few hours ago,” Dumbledore said grimly, “and the letter he sent me was even less complimentary. He’s pushing for an early, public interrogation of Harry – and given the precariousness of my position as it is, I can do little overtly to stop him.”

   Tonks nodded, but the affirmative action did not dislodge the distrust in her gaze. “I understand.”

   “Of course,” Dumbledore continued, rising to his feet and moving towards a cabinet against the wall, “Harry has acted unilaterally before, without my knowledge – and given what you told me last night regarding the events on the Hogwarts Express, he will have little compunction continuing to do so, utilizing any aid he can.”

   Tonks had an idea where Dumbledore was leading the conversation, but she kept listening. “So what, exactly, do you have planned?”

   “Do you have an idea what Dolores Umbridge is planning?”

   “She wants the governors on her side, and considering they’re the only thing in her way from asserting more dominance here, it’s a shrewd move on her part. She’s pressing from two fronts – hers and Fudge’s – and it’ll only be a matter of time before they capitulate… unless something can be dredged up that can slow things down. We can’t stop the Prophet, though – they’re going to run all over this.”

   “And what about the rest of HAIT?” Dumbledore asked, his walk slowing as he listened intently to Tonks’ words. “Do you know how they plan to assist?”

   “She’s choosing the interrogators in a few days, and she’s got Sanders looking into tracking Sirius’ bike –”

   “Which you still have not told me from whom you obtained it,” Dumbledore said, looking up and meeting Tonks’ eyes. “Hagrid is on the continent, Miss Tonks – and you well know that despite the fact he was one of the few who saw it last, there was evidence compiled against Sirius that included information only one who possessed the motorbike would have.”

   “Evidence only stays on record for so long.”

   “Such a record would have been reopened, Miss Tonks, when Sirius escaped from Azkaban,” Dumbledore said softly as he opened a black cabinet and withdrew a basin filled with silvery substance. “There is a missing link, Miss Tonks, and I am genuinely curious how you found the motorbike, particularly as Sirius has refused to divulge any of the plans –”

   “Sorry, Professor, but this is between me and Sirius,” Tonks cut him off. “Private, you know…”

   Dumbledore let out another deep sigh as he sat down, placing the Pensieve on his desk. For a few seconds, he looked very weary, as if he had seen and done too much. Tonks felt a momentary pang of sympathy – she could only guess the amount of stress the old man was under. Pity neither Harry or I can trust him…

   “Miss Tonks,” Dumbledore began after a few seconds of silence, “despite Harry’s efforts to conceal things from me, I suspect that he has done things – some likely illegal and very dangerous – to defend against the Ministry’s encroachments.”

   “So have we,” Tonks pointed out, her tone flat. She knew it was pointless denying anything at this point – she knew Dumbledore was going to start connecting the dots eventually. “All of us in the Order have acted illegally. If anything, Harry’s taking his first steps.”

   “He is getting into very dangerous territory, dealing with very dangerous men,” Dumbledore continued, as he drew his wand and tapped it to his temple, drawing a long strand of memory from his head and moving it into the Pensieve. “And knowing, ultimately, what he must do, I am concerned for him, and for anyone who he considers a friend.”

   “I appreciate your concern, Professor,” Tonks said curtly, her hand spontaneously clenching and unclenching behind her back. “You want to keep him safe – particularly as Lord Voldemort considers him a target.”

   “Voldemort is not the only dangerous man seeking ill for Harry,” Dumbledore replied with a measured tone, “and Harry has made enemies – some of whom are Hogwarts even now. And Harry knows this”

   “Then what do you want me to do?” Tonks asked roughly, cutting through Dumbledore’s circuitous words. “Protect him, or spy on him?”

   “Harry has a right to his privacy,” Dumbledore replied blandly, raising his eyebrows at Tonks’ brusqueness. “I do have his interests at heart, though, and I have no desire to see him go to Azkaban. And despite the fact my options are limited, I will do everything I can to help Harry –”

   “Whether he needs it or not,” Tonks said coolly, her eyes flashing. “I understand, Professor, but what, exactly, do you want from me?”

   Dumbledore gestured towards the Pensieve. “I will be offering Harry the usage of one of my Pensieves when I speak with him this evening. I’d like for you to convince Harry that it would be a good idea to use it.”

   “Pensieves are obscenely expensive,” Tonks said warily, “and there’s no guarantee Harry will accept your offer. You know he, well…”

   “He does not have the same trust in me he once did, I know - and that is why I need your help,” Dumbledore said, his quiet voice picking up a tone of urgency. “This interrogation Harry will face will likely include a form of Legilimency that even I won’t be able to restrict. If Harry can remove certain memories from his mind – which will not delete them entirely, of course – the interrogators will find it far more difficult to extract any information from Harry. Will you do this for me?”

   Tonks blew out a long, slow breath as she turned towards the door. “You know, Professor, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you were just honest with him, told him everything. He’d trust you, then.”

   “I don’t know all the answers, Miss Tonks.”

   “But you know enough – and you are hiding things from him.”

   “Too much knowledge, Miss Tonks, never makes for simple decisions,” Dumbledore replied heavily. “You and I both know that.”

   Tonks met Dumbledore’s eyes for a long few seconds. Then the Auror pulled the door open and left the Headmaster’s Office, slamming the door behind her.

*          *          *

   “We honestly should have dropped Divination while we still had the chance,” Ron grumbled. “What a bloody waste of time. Didn’t stop the old bat from giving us homework, either!”

   “I’d be more concerned about Snape’s or Binns’ essay than anything Trelawney’s giving us,” Harry replied, his voice curt. He wasn’t going to deny that he was not looking forward to his next class – particularly given everything Tonks had told him about Umbridge back in Grimmauld Place, how she had been responsible for creating HAIT and bringing it to Hogwarts. “And I’ve got other things to worry about besides homework.”’

   “What’s the bet Umbridge gives us loads?” Ron asked heavily. “I’m not looking forward to this evening, I can tell you that.”

   “Binns’ essay won’t be that bad,” Harry replied with irritation as he slid into the classroom, sitting along the far side by the window.

   “Are you kidding?” Ron asked incredulously. “Hermione’s refusing to give me her notes, because she thinks I’ll share them with you. How bloody unfair is that?”

   Harry looked over to where Hermione was sitting – near the front, next to Neville. He scowled. “Tell her not to bother; I can handle this by myself.” And if Tonks was willing to give me a hand, this could go over a hell of a lot smoother…

   But his train of thought was cut off, because a few seconds later, Professor Umbridge herself entered the room, a warm smile on her face.

   “Good morning, class!” she said loudly, moving to the board at the front of the room.

   There were a few, muttered ‘mornings’ from the students, and Harry caught several exasperated glances from the students.

   “Tut, tut, that just will not do,” Umbridge said with disapproval. “When I say, ‘Good morning, class,’ I want to hear, ‘Good morning, Professor Umbridge’. Is that clear? So let’s try this again… good morning, class!”

   “Good morning, Professor Umbridge,” Harry and the rest of the class replied listlessly.

   Umbridge’s eyes darted across the room, focusing on Harry for a few seconds before she tapped twice on the chalkboard with her wand. Words erupted across the board, scrawling a list in curly, cursive writing. It gave Harry the start of a headache even trying to read any of the words.

   “So, given that you have had four successive teachers before myself, I and the Ministry are prepared to alleviate the confusion in which you have been taught in previous years by returning to a basic, Ministry-approved curriculum appropriate for this class. You all have copies of William Slinkhard’s Defensive Magical Theory?”

   There was a muttered grumble of assent.

   “Now, that is not what I’m looking for,” Umbridge said reprovingly, rapping her wand on the desk. “When I ask you a question, I would like a proper answer, such as ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge’, or ‘No, Professor Umbridge’. Is that quite clear? Now, let’s try this again: do you all have a copy of William Slinkhard’s Defensive Magical Theory?”

   “Yes, Professor Umbridge,” the class droned. Harry gave Ron an irritated glance, in which Ron returned with a shrug.

   “So, wands away, quills out, and please copy down the course aims,” Umbridge finished, her smile returning to her toad-like face. “There will be no need to talk. Any questions?”

   “I have one,” Hermione said loudly.

   “Then please raise your hand, Miss…”

   “Granger, Professor. Hermione Granger,” Hermione said, her eyes defiantly meeting Umbridge’s.

   “Do you need to visit the ladies’ room, Miss Granger?”

   “Hardly,” Hermione replied, even as some of the class snickered at Umbridge’s comment. “I’ve got a question about the course aims.”

   “Are they unclear to you?” Umbridge asked sweetly. “Well, give them a few minutes to think them over, and I’m sure they’ll make plenty of sense.”

   “Actually, I don’t think that’s going to help,” Harry spoke up, his voice starkly loud in the quiet classroom.

   “I’m sorry, Mister…”

   Harry cocked an eyebrow. Is Umbridge actually feigning ignorance here? All right, I can play this game… “It’s Potter, Professor. Harry Potter. You might have heard of me once or twice.”

   “Are the course aims unclear to you as well, Mister Potter?” Umbridge asked, raising a well-manicured eyebrow. “Even for such a bright boy like yourself?”

   Flattery, now? Oh, this is interesting… “Yes, Professor, but likely for a different reason than Hermione’s over there.”

   “Well, I’m sure it’ll come to you if you think about them for a few minutes –”

   “Professor, I can’t read your writing.”

   Laughter broke out amongst the class, even as Harry gave a helpless shrug and tapped his glasses.  Umbridge, however, was not amused.

   “Would you like a seat closer to the front, Mister Potter?”

   “Not in the slightest.”

   “Then I would certainly hope you learn to understand my script before the year ends,” Umbridge finished curtly before turning back to Hermione, whose hand was in the air again. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

   “I still have a problem with the course aims.”

   “They seem perfectly clear to me, Miss Granger.”

   “Not to me,” Hermione replied bluntly. “There’s nothing there about using defensive magic.”

   Several of the students frowned, some taking second looks at the board. Harry just snorted. He wasn’t surprised, either. If Umbridge is as paranoid as Fudge is, she probably thinks that teaching us any kind of magic would be tantamount to giving the murderer the weapon to kill you with… and I wasn’t really expecting her to teach me magic, anyways… why would she want me to know more magic, if I’m a criminal?

   “Are you a Ministry-approved expert in defensive magic, Miss Granger?” Umbridge asked in a sweet voice.

   “No, but –”

   “Then I would suggest you leave the discussion of the course aims to witches and wizards with more skill and intelligence than you possess,” Umbridge finished with a decisive nod. “This curriculum was drafted by a committee of Ministry-approved experts, and requires only that you study the approved text in order to pass your Ordinary Wizarding Level.”

   “So we aren’t going to use magic in the class?” Ron asked incredulously.

   “Hand, Mister…”

   “Weasley,” Ron said impatiently, but Umbridge had already turned away to address Parvati, who had also raised her hand.

   “Yes, Miss…

   “Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit on our Defense O.W.L.? Are you suggesting that the first time we will actually be casting these spells will be in front of an examiner?”

   “As long as you have studied the theory of the magic enough, and the textbook, there should be no reason why you shouldn’t pass the exam,” Umbridge replied dismissively.

   “That’s a very big assumption,” Harry whispered to Ron. Umbridge’s eyes fell on Harry again for a split second before moving to Dean, who was waving his hand impatiently at the back of the room.

   “Yes, Mister…”

   “Dean Thomas, Professor, and I’ve got a question about this textbook here,” Dean said, flipping the book open. “The publication date is fairly recent, and it’s Ministry-approved, so I’m guessing you might know the author, correct?”

   “I have had the pleasure of working with Mr. Slinkhard in the past, Mister Thomas,” Umbridge replied with a bit of a smile.

   “Then could you tell me what this book is actually all about?” Dean asked with confusion. “I mean, from what I’ve flipped through, there’s practically nothing here about actually casting magic. There are no lists of spells, no discussion of the actual theory behind the magic… it seems, if anything, there’s a lot of writing about wizarding ethics in here. More of that than defense, in any case.”

   Umbridge’s eyes suddenly went cold, and her smile vanished. “Are you criticizing the textbook of this course, Mister Thomas?”

   “I just don’t understand why we’re using it,” Dean countered. “Forgive me for being stupid or something, but there doesn’t seem to be anything in here that’ll help me pass my O.W.L, and I skimmed through it at lunch.”

   “’Well, much as I appreciate your preparatory efforts for this course, Mister Thomas, this is the approved textbook and this will be the one that will be used,” Umbridge finished curtly. “Any more questions?”

   “Just one, Professor,” Harry spoke up again, his voice ringing in the class. “If what Dean says is true, will we be discussing modern ethical issues with Slinkhard’s defensive theory and discussing a variable approach to confronting the Dark Arts? You know, with class dialogue and such?”

   “Why would such dialogues be necessary, Mister Potter? They are not supported within the curriculum,” Umbridge said, her voice deadly quiet now.

   “Well, Slinkhard could be wrong.”

   The class gasped, while Ron gave Harry an amazed look, as if he couldn’t believe what Harry was saying. Umbridge, on the other hand, was looking as if she was having a bit of difficulty controlling her temper.

   “Are you suggesting you might be more right than a Ministry-approved expert, Mister Potter?”

   “Not at all,” Harry replied with a smirk and a shrug. “I’m just saying that if this text really is an ethical discourse, as Dean’s saying, then we should at least discuss it openly, instead of just assuming that it’s right or useful. And considering that it is only theory, shouldn’t we at least discuss it and its relevance to real-world issues?”

   Ron gave Harry a nervous look. “Harry…”

  “Ron, not now,” Harry muttered, his eyes still fixed on Umbridge, who was looking at Harry with a new, calculating expression, as if she was analyzing him as an opponent instead of just a student.

   “Potter, who is teaching this class?”

   “You are, Professor, it’s just that –”

   “And are you questioning that I am not qualified to teach this class?”

   “Not at all, Professor, but –”

   “Are you questioning the Ministry of Magic’s actions in the direction of this curriculum?”

   Harry knew that any answer he gave to that question would not be pleasant, so he kept silent.

   “Potter, realize that unlike your own personal delusions, you are not always right,” Umbridge said, her voice cool now as she approached Harry’s desk. “And while you are in this classroom, I am the professor, and you are the student. I have neither the time nor the patience to listen to dialogues perpetrated by students who have neither the intellect nor the qualifications nor the education to begin such diatribes. Five points from Gryffindor, Potter, and return to your reading.”

   But Harry had stopped listening. Getting to his feet, he slid his book into his bag, carefully capped his ink bottle, and tucked away his quill.

   “Harry, don’t do this!” Hermione exclaimed loudly, but Harry ignored her.

   “Potter, what do you think you’re doing?” Umbridge said, her high girlish voice even louder than Hermione’s.

   “I’m leaving,” Harry replied shortly. “It’s obvious I’m not going to learn anything – or rather, there’s no potential for me to learn anything in this class, so I’m not going to waste my time and yours in here.”

   “Potter, get back here this instant! Detention, this evening, with me, and twenty points from Gryffindor –”

   Harry snorted with disgust. “You can’t stop me, and I’ve got better things to do with my time than go to your detentions.” He wrenched the door open to the gasps of the class.

   He turned back for a few seconds. “And you know something? I wasn’t lying, either – I really couldn’t read your writing.” Then, with a wave to the class, he slammed the door shut behind him, completely ignoring Umbridge’s furious shouts as he headed down the corridor, a relieved feeling settling in his gut.

*          *          *

   The relieved feeling was gone hours later, and Harry missed it as he climbed up the moving staircase, a note clenched tightly in his hands. Nervousness and anticipation were seething in his stomach instead, blended together by cold satisfaction and hot anger. It was only a matter of time before he confronted me… well, at least I have a cast-iron excuse to avoid Umbridge’s detention…

   He reached to pull the griffon knocker, but Dumbledore’s voice emerged from the other side of the door before Harry’s hand even touched the brass.

   “Come in, Harry.”

   He took a deep breath instead. I can do this… he’s the one who needs to give an explanation this time, not me. His hand closed around the handle and turned.

   The door creaked open, once again revealing the glittering, magical room where Dumbledore made his home. The Headmaster was sitting behind his desk, and for a second Harry couldn’t recognize the expression on his face. But as he stepped inside and closed the door, he saw it: weariness. Dumbledore’s eyes, once filled with an ever-present twinkle, were weary, the twinkle sparse in the dim light of the room.

   “You wanted to see me, Professor?” Harry asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

   “Please sit down, Harry, if you will,” Dumbledore said quietly, gesturing towards the chair. Harry cautiously sat down and waited for Dumbledore to speak. The office was surprisingly quiet – the portraits did not make a sound, and Harry couldn’t even hear Fawkes’ trill within the circular room.

   “Where’s Fawkes, Professor?” he asked with a frown.

   “If a warning is needed, if a certain professor or other visitors of our school discover that you are not where you’re supposed to be, Fawkes will provide it,” Dumbledore replied simply.

   Wonderful. He knows about today already. “So you know about what happened in her class today.”

   “Professor Umbridge was most displeased with your behavior,” Dumbledore replied, pulling several slips of paper out from his desk. “She made this very clear over dinner, and I find it very likely that the Minister for Magic discovers your action.”

   “I don’t regret it.”

   “It was unwise, Harry, and it could damage your case,” Dumbledore said reprovingly. “It may prove difficult to respect Dolores Umbridge –”

   “I’ll respect her when she deserves it,” Harry spat, “and she’s a long way from earning that respect. I don’t care if she’s a professor – she doesn’t deserve that position either.”

   “And what allows you to make that judgment, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his voice quite bland.

   “You didn’t choose her,” Harry said coldly. “You know better than anyone that she’s not qualified. Hell, the only reason she has the position is because of HAIT and the Ministry.”

   “Which are both forces to be reckoned with,” Dumbledore replied. “And considering they are both in charge of your interrogation, you cannot afford to antagonize –”

   “Wait a minute, hold back a second, what interrogation?” Harry interrupted. “I wasn’t informed about any of this!”

   Dumbledore sighed. “Harry, your actions above the train were noted, and Professor Umbridge is determined that you will face some sort of Ministry inquiry. It was only through a stroke of luck that we managed to confine the interrogation to Hogwarts, to be carried out by HAIT members. Then, if any evidence is amassed to point to your collaboration with the Ollivanders’ bombing –”

    “Which I had nothing to do with, by the way,” Harry growled.

    “I believe you, Harry, but many do not, particularly considering the recent statement that the Minister for Magic delivered in the Daily Prophet,” Dumbledore replied seriously, gesturing towards the paper on his desk. “I assume you saw the post owls at dinner?”

   “So that’s why the Prophet wasn’t delivered this morning,” Harry muttered, cursing under his breath. “Just so Fudge could get his bit in!”

   “He was informed early this morning, so he could have time to prepare a statement,” Dumbledore said grimly. “Furthermore, he and Professor Umbridge are putting pressure upon the school governors to allow a public hearing, with as little of my ‘interference’ as possible. They want the Prophet to witness the hearing – and any witches or wizards who would want to listen, and that number is quite high. Worst of all, they are pressing for this hearing to be held at Hogwarts.”

   “But surely you can restrict that –”

   “My administrative powers, Harry, are already being diminished in whatever way they can be,” Dumbledore said seriously. “And any overt interference could prove disastrous, even resulting in my removal from Hogwarts.”

   Harry’s eyes went wide. He hadn’t expected this. “They wouldn’t dare – not here –”

   “Fudge’s letter has already made his intentions clear,” Dumbledore murmured, pulling an official sheaf of parchment out from under a stack of papers on his desk. “He would view any attempt to intervene on your behalf as just cause for charges of obstruction of justice.”

   “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Harry snarled. “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me!”

   “This is no joke, Harry, unfortunately.” Dumbledore sighed. “And I cannot afford to leave Hogwarts yet, it is still far too early.”

   “So I’m going to have to face a public interrogation? Alone?” Harry asked incredulously. “Don’t I get, I don’t know, a lawyer or something?”

   “That is one of the few things we can use to delay your hearing, Harry, but it will not be enough,” Dumbledore replied. “I will try to delay the proceedings the best I can, but I cannot stop the Ministry – not this time.” Dumbledore’s eyes finally met Harry’s. “Of course, you’re becoming rather used to taking matters into your own hands, Harry.”

   So he knows. Damn it all, he figured things out. “No use feigning ignorance now, is there?” Harry growled, getting to his feet. “I did what I had to do.”

   “You acted with a degree of intelligence and cunning I have never seen before in you, Harry,” Dumbledore replied steadily. “You even managed to deceive me, something I hadn’t ever expected. Even now, I do not know the full extent of your actions.”

   “But you intend to find out,” Harry snapped.

   “No, I do not.”

   Harry was stunned speechless. “What?”

   “Harry, despite the fact that you were likely involved in events that I would likely not condone, we cannot turn back the clock. Where I cannot interfere, you might be able to. And in the end, we both have the same goals, particularly in regards to the final elimination of Voldemort, who I suspect will become much more active in the confusion surrounding this hearing.”

   “So you want me to handle this… on my own?” Harry could hardly believe the words he was hearing. This isn’t like Dumbledore at all – he’s let me solve problems before, but not like this…

   “You have allies, Harry, even some I’m likely not aware of,” Dumbledore replied, the familiar twinkle flickering back in his eyes for a few seconds before the old man’s expression turned sad, almost wistful. “I could only wish you could consider me as one.”

   “You don’t trust me, Professor,” Harry replied bitingly. “And trust has to be both ways. And considering that you refused to train me, I’ve had to do things on my own from the start –”

   “Harry, surely you can understand now why I refused,” Dumbledore replied quietly. “The Ministry would likely discover my involvement and would interfere. I would certainly not be allowed to remain at Hogwarts.”

   “So you’re suggesting I should never have come back here?”

   “Harry, with Voldemort and his agents active again, Hogwarts is one of the safest places for you –”

   “Only while you’re here,” Harry pointed out.

   “Making a move towards Hogwarts would draw Voldemort into the open, and at this time, he does not have the manpower to support such a development,” Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. “So we have a bit of time, at least.”

   “Doesn’t change the fact you don’t trust me,” Harry replied coolly, folding his arms across his chest. “Why you only tell me part of the truth – if that at all.”

   “You’re referring, I presume, to the Potter accounts.”

   “That, and a bunch of other things that I want to know that you won’t tell me,” Harry snapped. But then he paused. “Wait… how did you know I discovered the Potter accounts?”

   “Lupin informed me that you had somehow found out about their existence,” Dumbledore replied heavily. “Unfortunately, Harry, only four people know the entire extent of that nightmare. Two are dead, one is in Azkaban, and one is…”

   “At this school,” Harry finished, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice. “Snape was involved in that mess, Lupin told me that much. And you let that treasonous bastard still teach at this school after he betrayed my parents and sealed my family vaults –”

   “Harry, even I don’t know the details in what happened with those vaults,” Dumbledore replied seriously. “Professor Snape has refused to divulge anything to me or to anyone else.”

   “He doesn’t deserve to teach at this school,” Harry spat. He left his other thoughts unspoken: he deserves to die.

   “Harry, that is not fair,” Dumbledore said sharply. “Until you know the entire extent of one’s actions, you cannot judge –”

   Harry’s eyes blazed. “I can sure as hell judge Snape for what he did. He betrayed my parents to Voldemort, and you still let that traitorous bit of filth –”

   “Enough, Harry!” Dumbledore said, his voice cutting off Harry’s in mid-word. “I can understand, and even tolerate to a degree your disrespect for Professor Umbridge, but I trust Severus Snape, and I am well aware of his failings. However, although you might not realize it, it is in our best interests that he is to be kept safe and viable. His information is vital to the Order, and to our efforts, so I would ask that you refrain from taking any action against him.”

   “I’m not promising that,” Harry growled. “And that’s the most you’re getting out of me. Is there anything else, Professor?”

   Dumbledore held Harry’s gaze for a long few seconds before sighing and pulling a heavy basin out from under his desk. Harry immediately recognized it.

   “I would you like you to have this, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sliding the Pensieve towards him. “If I cannot directly interfere in your interrogation, I will do whatever I can to aid you personally.”

   “And how is a Pensieve going to help?” Harry asked skeptically, eyeing the empty bowl.

   “Harry, throughout the course of the interrogation, some of those questioning you may attempt to use a magic called Legilimency,” Dumbledore replied seriously. “It is a form of magical invasion of the mind, allowing one skilled in its art to sift through one’s memories to find what they desire. However, if only a vague imprint of the memory remains, it would prove much more difficult to find.”

   “So you want me to use the Pensieve… to store my memories?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you honestly think that will work?”

   “It will certainly make their interrogation far more difficult,” Dumbledore replied, a small twinkle returning to his eyes. “The rest, Harry, I leave in your very capable hands, and I wish you good luck.”

   “Merlin knows I’ll need it,” Harry muttered.

*          *          *

   Tonks waited carefully, her eyes trained on the end of the corridor. If her luck was good, any second Harry would emerge from the shadows, and Tonks would be able to talk to him privately. She knew that she hadn’t left Harry a destination in her little note, but she had seen Harry receive the note from Dumbledore, and hiding under the Disillusionment Charm, she had carefully watched him ascend the tower. It wasn’t midnight yet, but she could catch him early, all the better.

   Finally, after a long period of fidgeting, she saw him. He was moving quickly, but she expected that. After all, it was late, and Harry needed to get back to the Gryffindor dormitory before he was caught for being out of bed.

   Taking a deep breath, she reached out and grabbed a hold of his sleeve.

   Harry started, his wand dropping to his hand as he attempted to wrench himself free –

   “Relax, Harry, it’s just me.”

   Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Reveal yourself!”

   Tonks sighed with exasperation as she dispelled the charm. “Still as paranoid as always, it seems.”

   “Who says I’m paranoid?”

   “Everyone who has seen, heard, or talked to you in the past couple of weeks,” Tonks replied conversationally. “But don’t worry – I’ve heard it makes for great sex.”

   “Oh would you shut up about that?” Harry asked, his face going red. “You don’t have to make those remarks every bloody time I’m around, do you?”

   Tonks mimed thinking about this for a second before nodding decisively. “I think I do.”

   “Why? It’s mortifying!”

   “And it’s unbelievably entertaining for me to watch,” Tonks finished with a smirk. “So how did the meeting with Dumbledore go?”

   Harry quickly motioned towards an abandoned classroom. The two slipped inside and with a wave of his wand, Harry locked the door.

   “He told me about HAIT’s interrogation.”

   Tonks winced. “So you know about that now?”

   “Are you going to be on the interrogation team?”

   “I doubt it. Umbridge will probably overlook me and choose some older Auror. Kingsley’s likely going to be on the committee, though.”

   “Bloody wonderful,” Harry growled. “Dumbledore didn’t mention that part!”

   “It’s not confirmed yet, so don’t get your knickers twisted,” Tonks replied steadily. “Hell, it’s not like HAIT’s giving him a lot of information either – at least not some areas. He’s relying on me and Kingsley to get what he can.”

   “Can’t he magically eavesdrop? I mean, this is Hogwarts, and it is his school, after all.”

   “I thought so, but apparently he can’t break through the magic that Umbridge uses – and even if he tries, she’ll know immediately.” Tonks snorted. “Harry, he’s only human.”

   “A damn pity,” Harry muttered, thinking fast. “He basically told me that I was on my own here – and that means he knows most of what we’ve done.”

   “We expected that things would come out –”

   “And at least he’s keeping his mouth shut,” Harry finished darkly. “The goblins, I bet, would pay dearly to find out how we compromised their security. Are they still investigating what happened?”

   “We really wounded their pride when you broke in,” Tonks said with an incredulous nod. “I don’t think I’ve seen them this distrustful since the whole Bagman issue a few months ago.”

   Harry sighed and turned towards the window. “So now what do we do? I know that I can’t stop this interrogation, and Merlin knows that Scrimgeour won’t help us, considering that we blackmailed him last time… do you have any ideas?”

   Tonks frowned and scratched her temples. “Harry, I honestly don’t see how we can interfere much without breaking some major laws –”

   “I don’t have a problem breaking the law,” Harry interrupted.

   “Well, I know that,” Tonks replied with irritation, “but this time if you’re talking about blackmailing the school governors, that’s a lot bigger group with more power than Rufus Scrimgeour –”

   “And how on earth can the Hogwarts school governors have more power than the Auror Head of Staff?”

   “I’m talking about money now, Harry,” Tonks replied seriously. “Prestige, power… all those things that the school governors have in spades. Don’t forget, Lucius Malfoy used to be a governor before he abused his power and was thrown out. And there’s twelve of them… you won’t be able to blackmail all of them without getting found out –”

   “Some of them, though, are likely behind Dumbledore,” Harry said sharply, beginning to pace in the room. “And some the Ministry will likely buy off… it’s the ones in the middle I have to worry about.”

   “Harry, the ‘ones in the middle’ are likely some of the most powerful witches and wizards you’ve ever dealt with, with more money than Lucius Malfoy could ever amass,” Tonks warned. “I’m talking about wizards that have international stakes. Some might not even be in the country right now.”

   “If these wizards are so powerful, then why on earth would they be school governors?” Harry asked with a frown. “And how on earth could Malfoy order them around three years ago?”

   “Harry, half of that group retired over the past few years,” Tonks pointed out with a helpless expression. “The new governors are much stronger – and much smarter. As for why they took the positions… Harry, it’s another title they can add to their names, and it’s a chance for them to influence one of the greatest magical educational facilities in Europe. Of course they’re going to be involved, particularly considering supporting Hogwarts is a great opportunity for ‘philanthropy.’ Hell, Malfoy ran with that idea for years!”

   Harry took a deep breath. “All right, so I can’t control the entire game board, but there are some things I can use here. Can you get me a list of the current governors and their ‘stance’ right now?”

   Tonks smirked. “Umbridge is already putting together a list just like it – I can nick that and copy it without any problems.”

   “Good, good…” Harry turned back towards the window. “And I need a way to get in contact with Sirius.”

   Tonks swallowed hard. “Harry, that won’t be as easy as it sounds. Umbridge is planning on monitoring all the communication going in and out of Hogwarts –”

   “What about those mirrors?” Harry asked suddenly. “Can we use those?”

   “There’s only two of them, Harry, and if you want to stay in contact with me…”

   Harry swore. “Is there any way Sirius can get more?”

   “He won’t be able to move around openly, Harry,” Tonks said with frustration. “I mean, I’ll still contact him, but this isn’t going to be easy by any stretch of the mind. And we’ll need a hell of a lot of planning to make this work.”

   “Not as easy as breaking into Gringotts, right?” Harry asked with a hint of a smile.

   “Definitely not,” Tonks muttered, even as she looked at her watch. “Damn, it’s getting late. You want me to take you back to Gryffindor Tower?”

   “I think I can handle it,” Harry replied, shouldering his bag – which Tonks noted seemed suspiciously heavy.

   “Did you take the Pensieve Dumbledore offered you?”

   Harry nodded. “It could come in handy, you never know.”

   “Are you actually beginning to trust him?”

   Harry gave her a hard look. “Are you?”

   Tonks closed her eyes. “Like it or not, I think it’ll take a lot more than a Pensieve for me to ever trust Dumbledore like I used to.”

   “Then we share similar viewpoints,” Harry finished brusquely, moving towards the door.

   “Wait!”

   “What?”

   “I remembered something!”

   “What, Tonks?”

   A sly smile crept across her face. “You still owe me money.”

   “Oh, for the love of… do you actually want it?’

   Tonks gave him a mockingly serious look. “Aurors aren’t paid half as well as we should be, Harry. Hand it over.”

   “And I thought you were just trying to convey subliminal messages in that damned note,” Harry muttered even as he pulled his money bag out and counted out the Galleons.

   “Am I the kind of girl to convey subliminal messages?” Tonks asked with an audacious wink. “Trust me, Harry, when I want you to know something, you’ll know.”

   Harry slid the money across towards Tonks and sighed. “I’m actually beginning to run out of money, and considering I didn’t get a chance to get into Gringotts…”

   “We’ll deal with it later, Harry,” Tonks said seriously. “But I’ve got to get back on duty. Good night, Harry!”

   And with a muttered word and a tap with her wand, she Disillusioned herself and vanished from Harry’s sight.

*          *          *

   The room seems a lot darker when Tonks isn’t here, Harry thought as he slowly crept out of the classroom. Doesn’t help a lot of the torches are out… damn, it is dark here…

   He began moving down the hall, each step echoing menacingly. His eyes scanned the walls – somehow, he expected that somehow, he wasn’t even alone –

   It erupted from the wall, a glimmering shadow with a horrifyingly wide smile and glinting eyes. Harry could barely hold back his yelp of surprise at the appearance of –

   “Oh, did I scare you, Potter?” Peeves asked, his smile hardly dimming.

   Harry growled with exasperation. “Leave me alone, Peeves.”

   “You see, that kind of attitude is not very friendly, Harry,” Peeves remarked, his ghostly smile never dimming. “I can call you Harry, I presume?”

   “I don’t see why you’d care,” Harry said with a snort, moving around the poltergeist and continuing down the hall.

   “You see, there’s so many potential nicknames that you can use with names like Harry,” Peeves continued, zooming after Harry before coming up alongside of him. “You want a list of examples?”

   “No.”

   “Are you sure? I’m sure you’d find some of them quite interesting?”

   Harry’s patience was already strained. “Look, what the hell do you want, Peeves? Just leave me alone, already, or I’ll get the Baron!”

   Peeves did something odd, then. He cocked his ghostly head to the side and moved closer to Harry. “And what,” the ghost asked in a sly tone, “makes you think I care about what the Baron thinks?”

   “He’s the only one you’ll listen to,” Harry spat. “Unfortunately. So get the hell out of my –”

   “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah,” Peeves said, raising a finger right in Harry’s path. “I really don’t think you want to be leaving this conversation quite so soon.”

   “You’re going to say nothing that I want to hear.”

   “Oh, I might just beg to differ,” Peeves said, his smile growing ever wider. Harry’s eyes narrowed – this wasn’t like the poltergeist, to make foreboding comments like this. The ghost even looked a bit different, his incorporeal eyes more hallowed, his face thinner, his grin more twisted…

   “What do you want, Peeves?” Harry growled.

   “I just think you might want to hear that a little something special is happening in Hogwarts, something that hasn’t happened in a very long time,” Peeves replied in an off-key singsong voice. “It really might be something you ought to know.”

   “Then spill it.”

   Peeves laughed now, and his cackle made Harry step back. There was madness in that cackle… something evil that hadn’t been there before. But what could change a ghost, even a poltergeist, like this?

   “No, no, no, Harry, you see, that’s not how the game works,” Peeves said, raising a hand with a sly smile. “And right now, we’re all pieces on that board – even you. And right now, our mutual friend is about to flip that board right over to start a whole new game.” The poltergeist’s smile grew knowing. “And you know exactly who our little friend is.”

   Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re saying – you’re implying –”

    “Ah, ah, ah, must not be making such accusations without enough evidence, Harry,” Peeves remarked, waggling a reproving finger. “Must be sure, Harry, must be sure.”

   “What’s he doing, Peeves? What’s he doing?”

   “Now that, I think,” the poltergeist said slowly, “would be telling, now, wouldn’t it?”

   “Peeves, I swear, if you’re –”

   “Harry, what you and dear little Albus don’t realize is that the chips… well, they’re already down. The bet’s been placed, and the flop’s been laid.” Peeves’ smile grew dark again. “And as the boundaries go down, all these little people… they’ll eat each other. You’ll see.”

   Harry took a steadying breath. “I’ll take this to Dumbledore, Peeves, I swear I will –”

   “Go ahead, Harry, go ahead and try,” Peeves said with a wink. “But he’s never been able to get rid of me, or the rest of them. He’s tried, everyone has, but you can’t get rid of a guy like me, Harry. I’m special, that way.”

   “What are you?” Harry whispered.

   “Me?” Peeves asked, his eyes gleaming with a malevolence that Harry had never seen before. “I’m ahead of the curve, Harry. I’m an agent of chaos… and Hogwarts… well, she’s already there.”

   And with a long, echoing cackle that made the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up, Peeves dove through the floor, leaving Harry alone in the darkness.