Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter 20: Testing Limits

Harry had been lying back in his bed, trying to pass the time, when a small barn owl flew through the window, landing on his nightstand. A roll of parchment was tied to its leg. Could Remus have finally written back? he wondered.

Months had passed, and still no reply. Harry had tried to think of some explanations for the lack of a response. It was possible that Remus was angry with him, but that seemed out of character. Remus was a shy, compassionate man who would not attempt to make Harry feel guilty out of bitterness. It was also possible he wasn’t available. Dumbledore might have sent him off like he had Daphne, perhaps making early inroads with the werewolves. But such a scenario seemed unlikely, because the werewolves that formed small “packs” tended to avoid normal wizards as much as possible. They’d have no inclination to ally with or against Dumbledore unless they believed they had to, meaning they would need evidence of Voldemort’s return. And since Voldemort hadn’t yet come close to regaining his former strength, and remained in hiding, such evidence would be quite difficult to come by.

The last, and most obvious answer, was that Remus simply didn’t know how to respond to Harry’s overture, and had attempted to put it out of mind. Such procrastination was typical of Remus, according to Daphne. While he always handed in his assignments promptly, he seemed terrified of interacting with others outside of the Marauders, Lily, and Daphne. He made excuses, promised to do something later, argued that it wasn’t time for him to act yet. While this kind of social awkwardness had probably lessened with age, Harry wouldn’t be in the least surprised if it was still a challenge to communicate with people he didn’t know very well. Harry was, unfortunately, one of those people.

Giving the owl a scratch on the head, he sent him on his merry way, lest Madam Pomfrey discover his presence and starting casting Cleaning Charms on everything in sight.

He’d slowly untied the ribbon, and flattened out the parchment. The letter was very long. He quickly recognized Remus’s cursive scrawl, a strange combination of the refined and the brutish. Much like Remus himself, Harry knew.

March 10th, 1994

Harry,

I am well, Harry, although not entirely at ease or content. Dumbledore asked me to keep a low profile this year, and I have done as he asked. Unfortunately, it means that I am left with very little to do. I had few friends before I came to Hogwarts, and I have made few since I left. Since that avenue is barred to me, I have been a bit frustrated by my social confinement.

None of which explains why it took me so long to respond, of course. Harry, the truth is, I’m trying desperately not to foul up our relationship. It means a great deal to me…and to my other half. And in the process, I’ve preferred not reaching back and risking what I already have to trying to build on it. But in the end, Harry, I realized that failing to respond to you could only destroy the connections we’d already forged.

I must admit that I am concerned about you safety, Harry. Dumbledore wrote me just before I sent this letter, and explained what happened at the Second Task, as well as relaying some details your encounter with Barty Crouch Jr. It frustrates me that I’m unable to protect you, but I also understand that you don’t always want to be protected. You want to be able to stand alone, to be strong in the face of adversity. And you’ve gone and done just that, despite your age. And I can’t help but respect that.

You and James are very different, Harry. But in some ways you are the same. James was a fool as a boy. He grew up spoiled, ignorant, and as immature for his age as it was possible to be. He was also a very gifted individual. Of course, you know all of this already. What I fear you don’t fully understand are the good things about James. For one, James was fiercely loyal to his friends. Despite everything that had been given to him, despite all he took for granted, he would defend them. Even Peter. And as he grew, he became less bigheaded, and grew into a good man. He was brave, sometimes even foolhardy. He was daring, a risk-taker, just as you are. But if there was one thing about him that cannot be doubted, it was that he was committed to doing what he believed was right. That it took him a while to understand the difference between right and wrong is unfortunate. But he was admired and loved by everyone in the Order. During the Siege of Hogwarts, James nearly lost his life when he helped rescue two Third Years that were trapped in a collapsing building. Lily and Sirius yelled for him to leave them, but he refused to give up. Both survived, eventually married and had families of their own. Lily was deeply moved by his courage (she also slapped him for nearly getting himself killed,) and I think that’s when she decided to give him a chance, because the next time he asked her out, she finally said yes. They’d been on much better terms that entire year, but I think that when Lily saw him perform such a selfless act, it changed her opinion of him forever. I think comforting that poor first year after he had a nightmare the same night just confirmed what she already knew: James Potter had changed, and changed for the better.

I’m not trying to portray James as a saint, Harry. He most certainly wasn’t. But though you pursue your lofty goals using different methods, you both want the same thing. James wanted more than anything for Voldemort to be defeated, for peace to be brought to the Wizarding world. He never once questioned his commitment to the Order, even during its darkest hours. His life revolved around two things: the war and Lily. And, eventually, his infant son.

You are Slytherin. He was Gryffindor. He favored brash, immediate, and decisive action. He always volunteered to lead the charge, to go back for the wounded. You should have seen him the day when Lily was nearly killed by Lucius Malfoy. Daphne was furious, but James was beside himself. More than once, he ran back through heavy spell-fire and rescued wounded comrades or brought back their bodies so their loved ones could grieve properly. He led by example. But you are different, and I understand that well. You favor delayed, careful, yet devastating action. You seek others to help you, to improve your chances of success. You try to understand their motives, their thoughts, so that you can convince them to see things your way. You fight blindly only when you have no other choice.

But that doesn’t mean that you should cast aside your father’s memory. Perhaps, if Lily and James had lived, you might have been different. But even if you hadn’t, even if you were exactly what you are now, your father would have loved you and been proud of you. He would have learned to understand. He might not have always approved, but as long as you were safe, and as long as you thought you were doing the right thing, he would have left you be. There was another incident during the Siege where James ended up screaming at this 5th year Ravenclaw for fleeing and leaving a friend to die. Lily managed to stop him before he scared the poor boy to death, but I think James realized that day that not everyone could be like him. From that day forth, I never saw him call someone a coward. He never questioned a person if they decided to flee rather than fight. Even if he wanted to say something, he stayed silent. He learned his lesson, Harry.

Your mother was one of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. She was modest, compassionate to a fault, and a brilliant witch. She accepted my condition without hesitation, and even told me about the ongoing efforts that eventually led to the Wolfsbane Potion. Many people say that she changed James. But I am not one of them. She and James were meant for each other, there is no doubt in my mind. But James had already undergone more than one epiphany. The Siege of Hogwarts changed us all, Harry, but none more than James. He became a man, and accepted the responsibility that goes along with it. Lily would never have accepted the person he was his first six years at Hogwarts. He was the only person she never forgave when he did something truly idiotic in her presence (not that she hadn’t given him many chances). I think she fell in love with him at some point, and saw what he would become. And I think she was frustrated with him for wasting that potential.

I realize you didn’t ask me to tell you everything you ever wanted to know (and probably more) about your father, but I needed to, regardless. You did ask me about Sirius.

Harry, Sirius and your father, though best friends to the end, were very different people. Sirius grew up in an environment where he was disliked, and the feeling was mutual. His distrust of Dark magic is a result of his family’s status as the most prominent Dark family. His outright hatred of Slytherins is a reflection of his brother’s placement there, its association with Snape, who taunted him about his rejection from his family, and the fact that most of the Slytherins we worked, ate, and studied with for seven years became Death Eaters, and ended up trying to kill us. Azkaban was not kind to him either. I’ve exchanged a few short letters with him this year, and I’m concerned about him. He’s fixated on you, fixated on your House, and fixated on Daphne. Almost nothing else matters to him. I think he’s trying to put his life back together, centered on the things that mean the most to him. He’s not doing it well. I think he needs time to accept how things have changed. He feels helpless because he’s been rotting in prison while you’ve grown up. And he isn’t sure he likes what you’ve become. Well, to be blunt, he dislikes what you’ve become. And the fact that he had no control over that, despite the fact that he was your Godfather and entrusted to take care of you…that bothers him.

Please give him a chance, Harry. He could be a fine friend, and his wand is certainly one you want in a duel. And no matter what he thinks of you, he’ll fight by your side whether you ask him to or not. He loves you, Harry. I think that’s why he has so much trouble accepting what you are.

As for the rest, as you correctly assumed, I’m not the person to ask when it comes to courting pureblood families. It’s an important step, and I’m sure you’ve been told this before, but don’t forget the Muggleborns, or the less prominent Wizarding families. They will be a part of this war, too.

You want to be a leader. You need to be a leader. Is that “normal” for a boy of your age? Of course not. But that doesn’t matter. I’ll follow you, Harry, no matter what path you chose to walk. I owe you, and I owe your father. And I want to see Voldemort defeated. I don’t want the cycle repeated. I don’t want the next generation, your children, to have to grow up faster than they should. Maybe the most horrible thing about war is that it is so often fought by those too young to fight it. It seems that this will once again be the case.

I wish you luck, Harry, and I hope that you’ve learned something you didn’t know. You have to understand that it pains those of us that knew and liked James when you speak so poorly of him.

Your friend,

Remus

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him. A part of him wanted to reject what Remus had told him as the ramblings of one of his father’s old friend, giving biased accounts that were out of touch with reality. But the rest of him knew that wasn’t true.

If Harry was completely honest with himself, he’d never really looked upon James and Lily as his parents. He had so few memories of them that he simply couldn’t give them that kind of status, not when he had someone who had performed all the functions of a mother despite being unrelated to him by blood. And Daphne had also told him little about them. They’d existed as these strange, long-dead entities, canonized by some and cursed by others. Daphne had struggled to overcome the earlier memories of James, and because the memories of James and Lily after Hogwarts were simply too painful to contemplate, he’d never learned the whole story.

Severus Snape hated James Potter. Severus Snape loved Lily Evans. Severus Snape hated Lily Evans for marrying James Potter. Severus Snape had initially hated Harry Potter for being the spawn of the woman he’d loved and the man he’d hated. Severus Snape had initially hated Harry Potter for bringing James Potter into Slytherin House. Severus Snape had grown to respect and maybe even like Harry Potter once he’d stopped looking at him as James Potter reincarnate.

Harry Potter disliked Severus Snape as a person. Harry Potter thought Severus Snape was cruel, vindictive, cold, and never forgot a grudge. Harry Potter thought Severus Snape’s behavior toward him for the better part of two years had been simply deplorable. Harry Potter respected Severus Snape as an expert Potions Master, a skilled duelist, and a man well-versed in the Dark Arts and the Dark Lord himself.

Daphne Dressler was Harry Potter’s guardian and surrogate mother. Daphne Dressler loved Lily Evans. Daphne Dressler hated James Potter before his 7th year. Daphne Dressler had suffered great, traumatic losses as a teenager. Around the same time, James Potter had become a better person. Daphne Dressler did not like talk about her experiences at Hogwarts or beyond, because they made her think of what she had lost. Daphne Dressler hated Severus Snape because he had attacked Lily Evans and joined the Death Eaters.

Sirius Black hated Dark Magic. Sirius Black hated his parents and brother, and associated Dark Magic with them. Daphne Dressler used Dark Magic. Harry Potter had begun to learn Dark Magic. Sirius Black had loved James and Lily Potter. Sirius Black felt responsible for Harry Potter, their son. Sirius Black disliked Daphne Dressler for encouraging Harry Potter’s study of the Dark Arts. Sirius Black hated Slytherins. Sirius Black was unhappy that his godson, Harry Potter, was a proud and established Slytherin.

Remus Lupin had loved James and Lily Potter, and been close friends with Sirius Black. Remus Lupin also felt an obligation to Harry Potter. Remus Lupin was a far more cerebral man than Sirius Black. Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Remus Lupin disliked what the Marauders had done as young teenagers. Remus Lupin seemed to understand Harry Potter’s feelings of loneliness during his First Year. Remus Lupin distrusted Daphne Dressler because he thought she was unbalanced.

So where does this leave me? Who can I really trust? Everyone has an agenda, a bias. The thoughts and actions of every person are affected by past experiences.

But Remus had still struck a chord deep within him. He hadn’t given his father’s memory the chance that it deserved. He understood that by speaking so poorly of James, he was indirectly antagonizing Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, even McGonagall.

Harry scanned the letter again. Remus couldn’t be lying to him. It would be completely against the man’s character. He was showing Harry a side of his father he’d never known. Remus had finally backed up all of the praise with concrete examples, real-life anecdotes from the past. He’d shown that Harry’s father was human, but a good man nonetheless. Somehow, that was a tremendous relief to him. It was natural for a boy to want to be proud of his biological parents. Now, maybe he could be. And maybe, based on what Remus had said about his parents’ ability to see things differently, to accept or a least not condemn what seemed alien to them, he could assume that they would be proud of what he had become, of what he would become.

His glasses slipped off the bridge of his nose. He made a mental note to have Daphne reinforce the Charms she’d been casting on them over a decade, most recently just before the First Task. The first piece of magic was an Unbreakable Charm. Harry’s imperfect eyesight could be a serious problem if his glasses were to break at an inopportune moment. The second was a Removable Permanent Sticking Charm. The name itself was, of course, a contradiction. The spell wasn’t. It was a remarkable feat of spell-work, a Charm that had been invented by none other than Lily Potter herself, who had developed it her 7th year for the benefit of her boyfriend and future husband, James Potter. It was complex and required extreme precision to cast, which was why he left it to Daphne. When used correctly, it would firmly secure the glasses to the wearer’s nose. They would stay in place until the charm was nullified by the touch of the castor or the wearer. That way, Harry could take his glasses off so that he could sleep normally, but he wouldn’t lose them, and by consequence his eyesight, in the middle of a duel, Quidditch match, or any other vigorous activity. Hermione had been fascinated by the very idea of creating a new spell. Flitwick had told him privately (and in a subdued tone) that had Lily Potter survived, it wouldn’t have been the last original spell she would have invented.

“Why do you keep asking me?” Harry asked. Hermione was off finishing an extra-credit assignment on the history of the Summoning and Banishing Charms for Flitwick, and Ginny was in Herbology.

“You heard what Professor Snape said,” Harry reminded him.

“Yeah, but considering how angry he was with me, I’m not sure I trust the accuracy of his conclusions.”

“And I’ve already explained it a few times myself.”

“In terms no more specific than the ones he used…minus the invectives, of course. Why are we even brewing these bloody antidotes anyway?”

Harry stopped walking. “Because the Blackthorn Poison is one of the most dangerous in existence? Didn’t you hear about the part where it imitates the common cold, but slowly shuts down the respiratory system? It was a favorite of assassins, because no one recognized that the target had been poisoned until it was too late to do anything.”

“And that’s a good reason for 14-year olds to be brewing the antidote? In case we just happen to be visiting some royalty and they happened to be poisoned with Blackthorn and they just happen to be crazy enough to let a teenager brew the antidote? Give me a break, Harry! The odds that we’ll ever use 80 percent of what we’ve learned from Snape are virtually nil, unless one of us becomes a Potions Master. And from what you’ve said, you probably aren’t going to be that person.”

Harry couldn’t really argue with Blaise’s logic. If truth be told, he questioned a great deal about the methods and philosophy of magical education at Hogwarts. For the average student, memorization was emphasized. More advanced students could let their curiosity lead them into independent study, which was encouraged by the faculty. But it wasn’t required, or even expected. Some classes, such as Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, gave students extremely practical knowledge. Professor McGonagall had made a conscious effort to help her pupils understand the significance of what they were doing, as well as how the magic worked. But for most students, Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Astronomy were more about memorizing the material and regurgitating it when required than understanding the nature of the magic itself. Harry and Elisha, as advanced students, were expected to do more than just memorize. Snape wanted them to understand how each ingredient interacted with another, and how they affected the whole. But the regular students, like Blaise and Hermione, were merely asked to follow instructions and learn background information.

“Fine. Can you please explain to me what I did wrong? It’s not that I don’t understand I did do something wrong, it’s just that I’d like to know what it was so that I don’t do it again. I really don’t like it when I mess up, Harry,” Blaise said.

Harry sighed, and recalled the details of the instructions. “Alright. First, you didn’t do a good job regulating the temperature of the water in the cauldron before you started adding ingredients. Even if you hadn’t blown up the damn thing, the resulting antidote wouldn’t have been at all effective. Second, you lost track of time. You had five minutes to let the ground Doxy dropping dissolve — you waited seven. Then, when Tracey saw the antidote was brown and not auburn, you glanced at the instructions, looked to the wrong place, and grabbed a handful of ground Wormwood — compounding the problem by tripling the recommended amount — and just tossed it in there. The Wormwood reacted with the mixture of Doxy Droppings and Flobberworm Mucus. Lots of oxygen bubbles started forming. The antidote boiled out of control, overflowed the cauldron, and splashed you and Davis with superheated, acidic liquid. You jumped away before you were hit with the worst of it. Tracey didn’t realize what was happening straightaway and almost fell over backwards. That is what happened,” Harry finished. He supposed that Hermione would be proud.

Harry pulled back his fist to punch his new friend again. “You’d better have been listening,” he warned.

“Don’t worry, I was,” Blaise assured him. “Just yanking your chain…no need to cause me physical harm.”

“Perhaps,” Harry granted. “You do see why Snape was so angry with you, right?”

“Yeah, suppose so. Surprised he didn’t take points, really.”

Harry flashed him a bitter smile. “Only Slytherin he ever takes points from is me.”

“I remember that. I felt sorry for you. You weren’t doing much to deserve it,” Blaise said.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Harry asked. “Why did it take you so long to decide you wanted to be my friend?”

Blaise looked pained. “Honestly Harry, I came to Hogwarts just not knowing what to expect. I hadn’t spent much time with other children my age, and I really wasn’t sure who I was or what I was supposed to do. I’m sorry, but I just decided that I’d remain in the background while I tried to answer those questions.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Harry told him. “I understand. When you are trying to learn to fit in, allying with the least liked boy in the House isn’t going to help your cause. You didn’t know me, either, so I could hardly expect you to join me for those reasons.”

“I tried not to give you a hard time,” Blaise said. “I ignored you, mostly.”

“I know, I remember. But that’s in the past. We all have things we aren’t proud of. Maybe that’s just one of yours. It’s a part of being human,” Harry told him. He hadn’t intended to upset his friend, just gain a little new information. He realized that in hindsight asking the question the way he did hadn’t been the best idea. There was no doubt that Blaise was going to feel guilty about answering it honestly.

“Well, then I guess I’ll just try to make it up to you,” Blaise said.

“Do what you feel is necessary, Blaise. If that helps you feel better about yourself, and helps me in the process, all the more power to you. You are your own person, and I really don’t like the idea that being my friend is some sort of privilege. That’s absurd.”

They rounded a corner, and Harry was about to ask Blaise how his Transfiguration essay was coming along, when they came upon a curious sight. Two of their classmates stood near the opposite wall, speaking in hushed tones. Harry recognized them instantly as Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode. They stopped speaking as Harry and Blaise came into view.

Millicent turned away from Nott to face them. Millicent was, to put it politely, heavy-set. Her body type was like that of Ginny’s friend and Slytherin’s ace Beater, Anne Grunitch. Taller than Harry’s teammate, her brown eyes seemed to sink back into her face, and she often looked like she was squinting suspiciously. Her small mouth and thin lips completed her perpetually unhappy expression. Her dark brown hair was cut fairly short, flowing back over and in front of her broad shoulders. She was quiet, almost giving the impression that she was shy, but carried herself with a confidence born of a proper pureblood upbringing. The only people she seemed particularly close to were Tracey Davis and a 5th Year Slytherin boy named Max Fielder, who seemed to be an old family friend.

As they approached, she whispered one last thing in Nott’s ear, and he nodded in agreement. Then she moved to leave, but not before glancing briefly at both of them. “Potter. Zabini.” They nodded back, and she was gone.

“What was that about?” Blaise asked.

“Nothing that concerns you,” Theodore Nott replied in a haughty, dismissive tone.

Nott, next to Giselle Reisor, might have been the most enigmatic of Harry’s classmates. Tall and lanky, Nott had a narrow face with beady brown eyes hidden behind wire-frame glasses. His brown hair was worn very short, contrasting with his bushy eyebrows. The effect was that when he looked at him, Harry’s eyes were drawn to his. It was slightly unnerving, and Theodore knew it. He was a very student, but with a dark and sarcastic sense of humor. He liked to play games with people, to manipulate them so that he had the advantage. He’d never been Harry’s friend, but he hadn’t been an enemy either. They’d spoken briefly in the past, but with the understanding that their interaction stopped there. He was also extremely arrogant, and possessed a barely hidden disdain for Muggleborns, Hermione in particular.

“You can’t blame us for asking,” Harry said. “Millicent rarely talks to anyone, and you keep mostly to yourself. When two of the most secretive members of our class are speaking in hushed whispers, we take note.”

Nott shrugged. Then he changed the subject. “And how are you doing, Potter? Still celebrating your defeat of Malfoy?”

“I have to admit the thought still brings a smile to my face, but I’ve moved past it a bit. After all, I’ve had some other, more important things on my mind,” Harry replied, his tone even. He couldn’t be sure if Nott was mocking him or merely satisfying his own curiosity.

“Your tactics were quite impressive, more so than the spells you actually used,” Nott admitted. “You definitely knew what Malfoy wanted, and you gave it to him. He wanted to see you on the ground, beneath him, at his mercy. You wouldn’t have taken the chance you did unless you were certain it would work.”

“Perhaps,” Nott said. “But I’d recommend you learn a few new ones. The Compression Curse, the Severing Curse, the Demolition Curse, just to name a few. You’re pretty powerful, Potter, but you don’t show it with the spells you chose. I even remember a few Stinging Hexes thrown in there. Fine for First Years fooling around, but hardly the weapons of a real duelist.”

“You do realize that two of the three curses you just named are highly illegal, right? Especially for underage wizards?” Blaise asked.

Nott didn’t even blink. “Your point?” he retorted, a hard edge to his voice. “What the Ministry tells us not to do and what they’ll let us get away with are two very different things. Surely your family bends the rules a bit. We all do. Just because they’d throw you into Azkaban if you used them on a Ministry Official doesn’t mean you shouldn’t learn them.”

“Regardless of the way you did it, you certainly didn’t pull any punches in humiliating him,” Nott said. “Have to admit, I didn’t expect you to be so open in that bit about the Mudblood.”

Harry’s initial reaction was to become angered by the insult. But he quickly determined that Nott was testing him. Though he considered purebloods to be superior, Nott rarely used crude language. “I’d think everyone would understand my feelings about Muggleborns, given my best friend.”

“Granted,” Nott said. “Still, you won a victory, Potter. The younger students practically worship you now, and you got the others to notice you. You are making a name for yourself. Not necessarily a good one, mind, but you are drawing the attention of others. I suppose that was what you wanted.”

“It was,” Harry said. “And I wanted to send a message.”

“Believe me, you did. Nobody in their right mind is going to mess with Granger again. Or Weasley. I’m also pretty impressed at how you manipulated the law to fit your situation. I suppose that was Granger’s work?”

“Partially,” Harry said. “I told her what I wanted to do, and she helped make it possible. She got revenge by facilitating mine.”

“Is there something you want?” Blaise broke in to the conversation, sounding angry. Harry felt a brief flash of irritation, until he considered that he might be missing something. Blaise seemed to actively dislike Theodore, and there might well be a good reason. “Given your surname, it seems a bit surprising that you’d be interested in casual conversation with Harry.”

There was a Nott incarcerated in Azkaban. Harry wasn’t sure of the relation. Perhaps his father?

“My uncle,” Theodore said, answering Harry’s mental question. “Alexander. My father, Richard, was not a follower of the Dark Lord. He felt his methods were far too extreme. He’s always believed in working through the system already in place. He felt creating chaos was counter-productive. He was right. In the end, Dark purebloods were set back by the Dark Lord’s defeat.”

Yeah, I read that part of him correctly. Pureblood supremacist all the way.

“He’s uncertain, as is most of the pureblood community, on both sides. You have shown power, but you have also shown weakness and vulnerability. You were possessed by some shade of the Dark Lord two years ago, and so on. And winning this Tournament won’t prove anything. Though by surviving as you have, you’ve opened a few eyes. This whole thing has been rather hazardous to your health, hasn’t it, Potter? A bit more than it has been for the other Champions? Any guesses as to why that might be?”

“Plenty,” Harry said, smiling. “None that I’m prepared to share with you, of course.”

“We must all have our secrets,” Nott said, shrugging. “I’m afraid that as much as I’ve enjoyed this little chat, I need to be going.” He nodded to both of them, and then disappeared into the darkness of the dungeons.

“I really, really don’t like him,” Blaise growled.

“No, I knew the details. There’s something…fake about him. He’s not like Greengrass. She’s unflappable by nature. Nott seems like he’s just playing a role. There appeared to be a good dynamic between you two,” he said, sounding suspicious.

“You should. Remember that Boggart?”

Harry frowned at that. A disintegrating Inferius was hardly something the average wizard would consider to be amusing. “That was strange, I’ll admit. But it doesn’t mean he’s evil or anything.”

“Still, you shouldn’t be so comfortable around him. His father has a reputation as a master of deception. Wouldn’t surprise me if the master had an apprentice.”

“Like you and your father?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Blaise sighed. “Yeah, dad’s taught me a few things. But you can’t just choose to be an Illusionist. That kind of magic is innate. A lot of it is about personality. You have to want to disappear. I’ve always though that was why Mother chose him. He admired her from afar, didn’t try to win her favor with extravagant flattery like her other suitors. It was she who proposed they marry. Guess she got bored of waiting six other times.”

Blaise grinned. “Yeah. Didn’t quite get down on one knee, but she asked him if he loved her, which he did, and if he wanted to spend the rest of his life by her side.

“He agreed?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” Blaise asked. “Mother is a very interesting woman.”

“Believe me, I know,” Harry said, remembering meeting her for the first time. “She’s intoxicating, almost like a Veela…not in that way, don’t be daft,” he snapped when Blaise mimicked vomiting. “People are just drawn to her. It’s a weird feeling.”

“I guess you’d be immune to it,” Harry reasoned.

“Speaking of Veela, you like that Delacour girl, don’t you? Don’t you already have a girlfriend?” Blaise asked teasingly.

“Is it that obvious?” Harry wasn’t pleased that his friend had caught on to it.

“It can be at times,” Blaise admitted.

“I know,” Blaise said. “I noticed because I didn’t expect you to be so entranced by her. And yeah, she’s beautiful, no denying that. Pity about her sister.”

Harry tried to push back those memories. “Yeah, pity. No one that young deserves to die.”

They were once again in McGonagall’s private quarters in the Gryffindor Dormitory. Hermione’s held her wand a few centimeters away from the roaring fire, slightly afraid that the tip might ignite, which would merely complicated her already difficult situation.

“Are we even certain that I’ll be able to exert any control over the flames, Professor?” Hermione asked without turning around.

McGonagall made an impatient noise. “Miss Granger, you must understand that while they are many occurrences of wizards and witches displaying abnormal amounts of power with certain types of spells, every case is different. So I don’t know what to expect in your case. Now, please, try again.”

Hermione sighed and took a deep breath. Then she pushed at the flames, trying to channel the magic through her long vine and dragon-heartstring wand. A small crackle of energy coursed through her, but the flames were unmoved.

Frustration rapidly progressed to anger. Hermione was angry with herself for being unable to make progress when she normally excelled, angry for embarrassing herself in front of Professor McGonagall, angry with her magic for tormenting her with flashes of great potential, but giving her no control of the results, angry with the fire for failing to cooperate…

A burst of white-hot flame erupted from the tip of her wand, burning and blackening the stone fireplace. She jumped back with a yelp, and the fire vanished. “I’m sorry!” she blurted. “I just got…I lost control,” she said, turning to face her Head of House. “I won’t let it happen again.”

“What were you feeling at that moment?” the older woman asked.

“Anger,” Hermione replied. “I was angry.”

“Interesting. The first time your abilities manifested, you were angry with Mr. Potter, weren’t you?”

Hermione fought back her memories of the moment when she’d nearly reduced her best friend to a blackened crisp, and silently nodded.

McGonagall’s brow furrowed in concentration. Then she seemed to make a decision. “Miss Granger, please put away your wand.”

“Professor?” Hermione asked. “I thought you said you didn’t think I could do wandless magic?”

“I’m not sure about that, Miss Granger. Now, please, do as I ask.”

Hermione did, then looked at her expectantly.

“Please reach your right hand into the fire.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me, Miss Granger,” McGonagall said, her expression unyielding. Indeed she had. She wasn’t sure if she believed it, though. Taking a deep breath, she slowly reached a bare hand out into the flames. She braced herself for the searing pain, for the smell of burnt flesh…but she felt nothing.

She reached farther into the flames, letting them creep up her arm, even reaching the sleeves of her robes. But her robes did not ignite, and her arm remained unharmed. She turned to face her Head of House.

“Interesting. Look closely at the flames, Miss Granger. Look closely at your arm, and tell me what you see.”

She did. And then she saw it. “There’s a gap between the flames and my skin. It’s like I’m pushing the fire back. And I don’t feel the heat either.” Hermione frowned. “Could that be explained as just an incidence of accidental magic? My body’s just protecting itself.”

“Accidental magic, as you are no doubt aware, is unique in that the user has little or no control of it. It is activated by strong emotions, be they anger or fear. No, this reaction is far too controlled to be explained that way,” McGonagall said. “I must admit I was a bit hesitant to ask you to do that. It was possible you’d be badly burned, though I found it unlikely. You see, Miss Granger, one thing that I have never had the slightest success doing is Transfiguring myself. I am an Animagus, of course, and can take another form, but that is a full-body change. I could change your arms into wings if I wished, but I cannot do the same to myself.”

“You think that your magic has a built-in safeguard, so that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself?” Hermione asked.

“Exactly. And I suspected the same with you. I would never hurt you intentionally, Hermione. It makes sense that if you were able to wield fire, you would somehow be able to protect yourself from harm by it.” McGonagall looked puzzled. “Miss Granger, I wouldn’t normally do this, but I’d like you to imagine that you were involved in a life-or-death struggle, a combat situation. Considering your friendship with Mister Potter, it seems logical that you will face one sooner or later.” A bit of strain showed in the elderly woman’s face as she said this. “How could you use your abilities to your advantage?”

“Professor, it’d be rather difficult if I couldn’t control when I used them. And I don’t know what I’m capable of. Is it simply that my Burning Hexes might be more powerful than average? Or it is something else?” Hermione asked.

“You have a tendency to over think things, Miss Granger,” McGonagall reminded her.

“With all due respect, I can’t really answer that question, Professor,” Hermione said. “Is there any literature on the uses of fire in duels that I might be able to read? Maybe I could find some ideas there.”

“I will try to locate some for you,” McGonagall said. “But I wonder if perhaps I was wrong about your use of wandless magic…Miss Granger, one of the first spells that you learned as a wizard was the Bluebell Fire Charm, correct?”

She nodded.

“It’s a rather creative piece of magic, developed by one of Professor Flitwick’s predecessors. It creates an undying magical flame that, although limited in scope, can be used to light a lantern or create a portable heat source.”

Hermione nodded again. “I read about it towards the end of our First Year Charms text. We never got to study it in class, but it was one of the first things I attempted when I got to Hogwarts. It was also the first spell I ever used correctly.” She remembered that moment, alone in the Gryffindor Common Room two nights after her Sorting, realizing for the first time that this was no dream, that she really was a witch, and that she really could do magic. It had been a tremendous boon to her self-confidence.

“I’d like you to hold out your hand and try to use that spell.”

“Wandlessly?” Hermione asked, nervously.

“Wandlessly,” McGonagall repeated.

Hermione closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, and focused on an image of the Bluebell Flames dancing on her palm. The knowledge that they couldn’t harm her was quite reassuring. She opened her eyes, ready to speak the words…and stared in amazement at her hand. A blue-tinged flame sat on her open palm, radiating a gentle heat. It seemed to hover a centimeter above her flesh. She again closer her eyes, and imagined it doubling in size. When she opened them, it had done just that. Her flesh remained unharmed. She turned her hand over, and the flames flicked a bit, but now sat above the back of her hand. “Wow,” she managed.

McGonagall was smiling. “It seems you’ve had a breakthrough.”

“I hadn’t even thought I’d cast the spell,” Hermione said. I was just preparing myself, and I thought about what to do and then…it happened. Is this normal?”

Her question caused a very unusual event to transpire: McGonagall laughed. “Of course not, Miss Granger,” she said finally. “But in the Wizarding world, what is normal? Can you make the flames go away? Keep your eyes open this time.”

Hermione did, staring at the flames, which had taken the shape of the flower from which the spell got its name. In her mind, she saw the flames shrink and fade. At the same time, her eyes witnessed the same event. In seconds her hand was once again naked to the air. She grinned widely. “Is that it, then? Is the key wandless magic?”

“Perhaps,” McGonagall said. “It’s a start, nonetheless. I think we’ll leave it at that. I will try to find some reading material for you, and we can experiment to see what kinds of limits exist on your power. I hope that I don’t need to drag you in here again. Would you agree to come on your own next week?”

Hermione nodded. The progress she’d made give her renewed hope that she’d yet uncover the secret to her abilities. “Thank you, Professor.”

“You’re very welcome, Miss Granger. Now go on, I’m sure your friends will want to hear all about what you’ve learned.”

Harry stared out over the Quidditch Pitch…well, what used to be the Quidditch Pitch. Instead, the huge arena had been converted into some sort of massive magical hedge maze. Harry, Cedric, Fleur, and Krum had assembled on a hill overlooking the pitch, and were now waiting for further instruction. He was about to turn to Cedric to say something when Bagman came huffing into view, his round face red with exertion. “Good evening to all of you!” he said brightly. “So, by now you’ve all seen what we’ve done with the Pitch, and your challenge should be quite clear. You are to brave the perils of the maze to reach the center, where the Tri-Wizard Cup will be placed. The first of you to reach the Cup will be the winner of the Tournament!”

Bagman’s enthusiasm wasn’t exactly matched by the four young people he addressed. Harry was focused on his preparations. Cedric looked to be examining the maze in more detail. Fleur seemed to somewhere else entirely, and her melancholy demeanor illustrated exactly where that was. Krum looked distracted as well.

“At the moment,” Bagman continued, “The standings are as follows. Cedric Diggory leads with 17 points, Harry Potter is next with 16 points, Viktor Krum is in third with 10 points, and Fleur Delacour is fourth with 8 points. The first of you to touch the Cup will get the full 10 points, and, because of the scoring situation, win the Tournament.”

“So there are no points for finishing second?” Cedric asked.

Bagman shook his head. “Normally, there would be, but we want to ensure that every champion has a chance to win…especially given the tragic events of the Second Task.” Fleur didn’t even blink. While she was physically present, she might as well have not been there. “This Tournament was conceived as a vessel of international magical cooperation, and as an enjoyable learning experience for students.”

There were no objections. Although the altered scoring rules essentially rendered their previous trials almost meaningless, Harry had to admit that not only would the champions be motivated, but the students from each school would all have something to cheer for. Bagman and the other judges had probably done the right thing. Cedric wasn’t happy, and it was perfectly understandable. Given his lead, with regular scoring rules, he might have been able to finish second or even third and still win the Cup, and with it bring long-awaited glory to Hufflepuff House. Now, he’d have to reach the Cup first, or he would go home empty-handed. Cedric had been the most consistent of them thus far, earning good marks on both of the first two tasks. Harry had been penalized for the failure of his original strategy in the first task, and the fact that he returned outside the hour time limit in the second. His performance had been salvaged both times because the judges had been impressed with his simple ability to stay alive. Krum and Fleur had each failed to complete one of the tasks, though Fleur had lost a lot more than points that day. Krum’s excellent showing in the Second Task had put him ahead of the Delacour girl, who had met the challenge of the First Task, but hardly done so in an impressive faction. She’d nearly been incinerated. Again, though, Harry suspected that far more lasting things were on her mind. Like the fact that her baby sister wasn’t going to be there to cheer her on.

Content with their response, Bagman quickly departed. The man seemed somewhat hurried of late, glancing over his shoulder at odd times, as if he was running from something…or someone. Bagman had a reputation as a gambler, so perhaps that explained his behavior. He’d also been the most generous in his scoring of Harry. From the ratings alone, one might conclude that Bagman was close to him, rather than Daphne, who had graded him harshly, as he’d expected. The Tournament wasn’t all that important for either of them. Daphne was concerned about her reputation as well as with keeping her ward’s ego in check, and Harry just wanted to survive and maybe impress a few people along the way. He wasn’t sure if he’d accomplished the latter or not.

Fleur was the first to leave, slowly wandering back toward the field where the Beauxbatons carriage waited. Cedric followed her, taking several more glances back at the transformed Quidditch Pitch. He nodded at Harry as he left, and Harry returned it. Once he was gone, The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Bulgarian Seeker were left alone on the hill. Krum finally broke the silence. “How is your girlfriend?”

“She’s fine, I guess,” Harry replied. “She’s healed physically, although she’s still a little weak.”

“I have trouble believing the ease with which this Death Eater impersonated a professor,” Krum said, sounding a bit angry. “He is dead?”

Harry nodded. “Some sort of fail-safe toxin in his system. Professor Snape explained it to me in brief. He said that the poison was bound with some extremely complicated Dark magic. It had two triggers, which had to both be activated at the same time. First, Crouch had to be under a great deal of stress. Second, someone had to say the words ‘Tom Riddle.’ That activated the toxin.”

“There was nothing Snape could do?”

“No. The poison was a corrosive agent that spread rapidly through the bloodstream. It burst blood vessels, dissolved the brain tissue…really, really nasty stuff,” Harry concluded. Snape had given him the full run-down in graphic detail. Harry had gotten the sense that he was impressed by the poison’s lethality. The toxin acted so fast and attacked so many parts of the body that there was no way to stop it, even if Snape had had an enormous store of antidotes and Healing Potions at his disposal.

“Indeed,” Krum grunted. “The Dark Lord is not kind to those that fail him.”

“It’s too bad, really,” Harry said. “We could have gleaned a lot of information from him. Now we’re blind again.” Well, that wasn’t exactly true, but Krum didn’t need to know that. He sympathized with him, liked him, maybe even trusted him, but he was not best mates with the older boy. There was a limit to what he would share. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That the Dark Lord has returned? Perhaps,” Krum said. “I would need to see more evidence. As I’ve told you, his downfall was celebrated, even in Bulgaria. It is difficult to accept that we were all wrong and that thirteen years later he has returned. I mean no offense, of course.”

“None taken,” Harry assured him. Krum’s skepticism was to be expected. He was intelligent, shrewd, and a fast learner, but living so far away from Voldemort’s old stomping grounds, the Dark Lord’s reign must have felt to him like some kind of story made up to scare children. The First Wizarding War, as Harry now called it, had not touched much of Eastern Europe. This time, that might change. Voldemort was also a quick learner, a cunning magical genius that learned from his mistakes. Failing to recruit on the continent had been one of them. And from what Daphne had told him, Voldemort would have found many eager volunteers. “You don’t seem quite as intimidated by the possibility as others, especially those from Britain, might be.”

Krum’s answer all but confirmed Harry’s hypothesis. “The Dark Lord is hardly a threat to my country, my people. His interests lie in Britain. There are many powerful Dark families in Bulgaria and the rest of the Balkans. Dark wizards that are accustomed to autonomy. He would not be wise to interfere there.”

“Do you really believe he’ll stop with Wizarding Britain?” Harry asked, incredulous. “The man’s a psychopath, a power-hungry maniac who happens to be a magical genius. He wants power, he wants control. If he knocks out our Ministry, I see no reason he wouldn’t reach into the continent. Perhaps even to Bulgaria.”

“Perhaps,” Krum replied again. Harry had to conceal his irritation. Either Krum was being deliberately noncommittal, or he truly believed that Voldemort was not his problem.

“So you wouldn’t help us if we asked for it? If we needed you?” Harry asked. “You’d abandon us because he isn’t your problem?”

“Is it wise to become involved in a conflict that you don’t need to fight? To draw unnecessary attention to yourself?” Krum asked. “If we are threatened, we will fight. We will not submit. But we will not stick our necks out so that our heads may be cut off.” Krum’s English was quite good, despite the heavy accent. Clearly, he was more comfortable in this conversation than he had been in their earlier encounters. Considering how fast a learner he was, that he’d picked up the nuances of the English language so quickly shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

“You’re wrong,” Harry warned. “This is going to be bigger, more destructive. If you don’t help us stop him here, you will pay the price.”

“Potter, I have yet to see evidence that the Dark Lord has truly returned,” Krum protested. “I cannot commit myself, my family, or my family’s allies to a fight that may not actually happen, against an enemy who may or may not exist. This conversation is purely academic.”

Harry wanted to say something, but refrained. As much as he thought Krum was being foolish and stubborn, angering him or insulting him would not improve the situation. “Very well. But don’t let the memory of Gabrielle’s death fade from your memory. She was merely the first of many.”

“We shall see,” Krum said. With that, he left, leaving Harry standing alone. The enormity of his task had just become terribly apparent. It was easy enough convincing those who wanted to fight to join him. But what about those that preferred to stand pat?

Sparks and chips of stone flew as Harry’s curses ripped into a series of dummies provided by the room of requirement. Slicing Curses, Blasting Hexes, Burning Hexes, Striking Hexes, Bludgeoning Curses…Harry was throwing his entire repertoire at the endless supply of targets. Jets and flashes of colored light arced through the air, a kaleidoscope of bright colors.

Harry was just working with what he already knew. He was fully aware that he needed to learn more, to take Nott’s advice and explore some of the “illegal” curses. What good was his power if he stuck to basic dueling spells? He’d had difficulty overcoming Draco, and had proven unable to overpower him. Winning with shrewd tactics against an inexperienced opponent was all well and good, but he’d be ill-prepared to confront a more skilled enemy.

That said, his Slicing Curse was a legitimate weapon. It carried the physical impact of a strong Striking Curse in addition to a fierce cutting action. He’d have Daphne teach him the Severing Curse over the summer, if he hadn’t already mastered it in time for the Third Task. Maybe he’d even ask Snape about the Slashing Curse that the man had invented and used to great effect as a Death Eater. It would be an interesting test to see how far the man’s loyalty and faith in him went. Tonks’ favorite, the Fire Whip Curse, would be an entirely different kind of weapon for him. And he could probably progress beyond basic defensive spells, and move on to the energy-absorbing Servos Shield.

Harry turned and took four steps toward the back of the room. Then he pivoted, drew his wand back toward his chest, and flicked it at the target. “Confrigo!”

The target exploded, shattering into thousands of small pieces of stone. He grinned, panting heavily. It had been his first attempt at the Demolition Curse, and it hadn’t been a bad one at that. Twice or three times as powerful as the Reductor Blasting Hex, the Demolition Curse didn’t knock holes in things — it simply blew them to pieces. Used against a human, it would shatter bones. It could even kill if aimed at the head or chest.

It was one of many Darker versions of spells he was already quite familiar with. He was proficient with the Bone-Breaking Hex, for example. Next up was the far more devastating and powerful Bone-Shattering Curse, which left flesh unharmed but had the same effect on bones as the Demolition curse he’d just used to obliterate the target statue.

There was one other thing he needed to work on: silent spell-casting. And that was one area where he’d had little success. Draco had nearly beaten him in the duel because Harry hadn’t been able to anticipate the boy’s curses in time to throw up a shield. Harry had used silent curses in the Lake to fend off the merpeople, but he’d had adrenaline flowing through his system, his emotions feeding the power of his magic. It was also possible the Gillyweed compensated for the inability to speak underwater by boosting the power of silent spells. As Neville had explained many times, Gillyweed was a magical plant that in some ways remained a mystery to Herbologists. How it worked, exactly what it did, what kind of magic it possessed — these things were the subject of much debate and conjecture.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.” The familiar voice came from behind him. Once again, she’d managed to slip in without him noticing.

He turned to face his girlfriend. Ginny gave him a puzzled look, surveying the devastation. “Angry about something?”

“Lots of things,” Harry said. He realized that he was breathing heavily. The last burst of curses had taken a lot out of him, although he still felt capable of doing it again. That was good; it meant his endurance was improving.

Ginny came closer. She wore her fire-red hair down today, letting it fall over her shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “I’d rather not think about it at all.”

Ginny seemed to make the decision not to push him. “Well, the least you can do is give the poor Room of Requirement a chance to repair all the damage you’ve done.”

Harry grinned at that. “Yeah, maybe I ought to take a break.” A thought later, a comfortable green armchair had appeared a short distance away. Harry sat down, and called Ginny over to him. She sat on his lap, leaning against his shoulder, sighing contently.

“Got full marks on my last essay for McGonagall. Thanks for the help on that,” Ginny said.

“Hermione should get credit too. She figured out how to put my ideas into coherent sentences. And you came up with quite a bit on your own.”

“I know,” Ginny said. “Mum’s really proud of how well I’ve been doing.”

“Well, you are quite brilliant, you know?” Harry told her.

“Maybe that’s a stretch,” Ginny said.

“You work hard, you think outside the box, and you know when to seek help. You also don’t let us do the work for you. Hermione and I are just like a couple of extra textbooks.”

Ginny chuckled. “Well, in that case, I don’t think I’ve ever had a textbook that was also such a good pillow.” She turned her head to look up at him, the smile on her face fading a bit. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“Krum.”

“That’s specific.” Typical Ginny. “Hermione?”

Harry shook his head. “Krum seems to actually believe that Voldemort might be on the verge of returning, but he doesn’t think it’s his problem. He’s damn near convinced that the war isn’t his problem. He’s wrong.”

“Is he? Bulgaria’s pretty far away. And You-Know-Who didn’t really do that much in Eastern Europe last time, did he?” Ginny asked. Though she’d long since stopped shuddering at the name of the Dark Lord, her own use of the name was inconsistent.

“That’s basically what he said.”

“And you think he’s wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Why? ”

Harry sighed. “Because Voldemort learns from his mistakes. He’s no idiot, Ginny. Maybe he’s mad; maybe he’s power hungry, maybe he’s inhuman and cruel. But he’s a brilliant and powerful wizard. A master of psychological warfare, for one.”

“So? I’m not saying that isn’t true, but did he really have the resources to fight on the continent last time? And even if he does this time, which I assume you think is the case, why would extending his operations into the continent, never mind as far as Bulgaria, be of any real benefit for him?”

“You know, you understand this whole thing a lot more than anybody else understands,” Harry said. Maybe she was wrong about a few things, but he was fairly certain her parents and brothers wouldn’t be pleased to hear the contents of this conversation. Molly Weasley would be appalled.

She shrugged against him, smiling. Their faces were centimeters from each other, but this kind of physical closeness that might have been horribly embarrassing for both of them in years past had become natural. Harry had yet to find a person that understood the way he thought better than Ginny. He wasn’t sure he ever would. He trusted her absolutely. The latter could also be said of Hermione, but not the former. Hermione seemed to have difficulty reconciling her more positive view of view of human nature, authority, and society that she’d held before coming to Hogwarts with Harry’s political realism and cynicism. They’d always have differences on certain philosophical issues. But Ginny thought the way he did. She didn’t always agree with him, but that was healthy. She could play Devil’s advocate when she needed to, but back him up when he was right. He’d been a fool to believe that this relationship might be an unneeded distraction. He’d gained more than he could have possibly imagined.

They’d set limits, yes. Both recognized that given the situation, they couldn’t afford to make certain mistakes. Besides, they were both still quite young. Physical closeness didn’t have to involve constant snogging. The mere presence of the other was often enough. What they were doing at the moment, with Ginny relaxing against his muscled chest, was more than enough. There was a certain innocence to their relationship that seemed to fly in the face of both of their personalities. Of course he thought about other things, but…

Did he love Ginny? He didn’t know. He certainly didn’t want to tell her that when he wasn’t certain what love really felt like. They both agreed that this relationship couldn’t be allowed to destroy their friendship if it went bad. If it wasn’t working, they’d break it off. They’d stop before they did too much damage. Maybe there would be some awkwardness, but they could still enjoy each other’s company.

“Harry?”

“Yeah? ”

Ginny’s face was set and determined. She wanted him to listen, and to take what she was saying with the seriousness it deserved. “There’s only so much you can do at this point. You’ve made some progress with Aiden Greengrass and this Ivanov family, you’ve impressed all of the younger Slytherins and caught the attention of the older ones, and you’ve made some inroads with Cedric…that’s quite a bit accomplished in less than a year, especially considering that you’ve also had this little Triwizard Tournament hanging over your head. Relax, Harry. Things may well start to happen on their own. It’s just up to you to recognize when it’s happening and take advantage of it.” She paused, thinking. “It’s like…it’s like trying to push a big boulder that’s stuck in the ground instead of just trying to change the direction of a boulder that’s already moving. I guess…you wait for your boulders to start moving, and then you act.”

“You think that up all on your own?”

“No. I took it verbatim from a book on philosophy in the Library.”

“I always knew you were a no-good cheater.”

Ginny scowled at him. “Just kidding, Ginny.”

She smiled lazily. “I know. Seriously, though I guess…I guess that was a bit of wisdom from Dad, Mum, and maybe my own intuition just folded into one package.”

“You are brilliant, you know.”

“Stop it.”

“Why should I stop speaking the truth?”

“Because…because we’re Slytherins, and we never tell the whole truth.”

“Get that from Snape?”

“Shut up."