On Friday morning, Harry's dream was driven from his mind by the appearance on his schedule of an unnamed new class for which he hadn't signed up. He puzzled over it as he made his way to the West Tower with Ron and Hermione.
"It's very odd," Hermione said. "The class selection sheet specifically said we were to choose our classes and I got this instead of Advanced Ancient Runes."
"Yeah. Well, never mind, Hermione. At least you got to choose most of your classes." Harry answered. "I didn't choose anything at all. And I got put back in Divination when I definitely flunked my O.W.L. on it and I wanted to drop it anyway. So explain that, if you can."
"It's obvious, Harry," Ron said. "Dumbledore put you in it so you'd have an easy class to make up for all the extra work you've got to do to learn Occlumency."
"I'd rather take nothing at all than have to drink stuff that gives you dreams and then let Trelawny interpret them." Hermione looked at Harry sideways and started to say something, but seemed to think better of it.
"What?" he asked. But he forgot that, too, when they entered the classroom identified on their schedule. Dumbledore was waiting for them in front of an enormous, roaring fire. On the wall were all kinds of metal instruments, piles of metal ingots, flasks filled with powders and colored liquids and vapors. Harry felt as if he were in his dream, the one with the old, old man imprisoned in a cellar of his own making. Harry looked around. Aside from himself and Ron and Hermione, the only other students in the class were Neville, Ernie Macmillan, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott. They were also looking rather confused, but as Dumbledore was the one at the head of the class, no one spoke or felt comfortable to ask a question.
Dumbledore smiled and said, "Welcome to Alchemy. This is a pleasure indeed, a very great pleasure. Yours is the first Alchemy class at Hogwarts for since the last one I taught, and that was seventy-five years ago."
The others were all as astonished as Harry, but it was Hermione's hand that shot into the air for the first question.
Dumbledore inlcined his head and said, "Miss Granger."
"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione asked, "This class wasn't on our selection sheet this summer. And why were we chosen to take it?"
"Excellent questions, Miss Granger." Dumbledore surveyed the group happily and said, "This class was not on the selection sheet because it is not strictly speaking an elective. In fact, it is not offically in the Hogwarts curriculum at all. Ordinarily, Alchemy is an area of magic that requires many years of prior magical learning and therefore we don't offer it here. But, it is also a magical subject which few know and fewer have been learning every year. So I have been waiting for a number of years to find a class whom I felt were capable of learning this subject at so young an age. I have decided it is important for me to pass on my knowledge now, and I have chosen you, for each of you possesses some talent that is necessary for the study of this very arcane subject."
Dumbledore surveyed the students with pride and added, "And, I believe that you all have given proof that you can be trusted with secrets. The Ministry does not know that you will be studying Alchemy. It will not show up on your records and I must ask each of you to undertake to keep this matter secret. If you feel you cannot, you may leave now, and I will make sure your memory of this brief time here is quite erased."
Dumbledore waited, but no one got up or asked to leave."Alchemy encompasses the study of many branches of magic. But it is principally concerned with the transmutation of elements and metals by certain hermetic principles from one state into another. In this respect, some of you will find it resembles Transfiguration."
"Now," Dumbledore said, "I believe there are some of you who can tell me what the ultimate end of many Alchemists has been."
Hermione raised her hand once again and answered, "The making of the Philospher's Stone, which can change base metals into gold."
"Very good, Miss Granger." Dumbledore continued, "However, we will not come anywhere near to attempting such a thing. This class will begin, as every new subject ought, with the basic principles and foundations necessary to the craft. Therefore, before we even begin our study of the base elements, you must learn the fine art of creating and controlling the magical fires in which all may be purified and transformed." Dumbledore waved his wand, and the fire which had burned merrily in the enormous fireplace winked out. Each student was directed to start with one of the simplest spells for making fire, the Incendio Spell. Hermione made hers with a single economical wave of her wand, earning another "very good" from Dumbledore. Each of them followed suit, and Harry was impressed by how easily Neville was able to make his fire.
"It's my new wand," Neville said. "Everything works so great with it." On the second round, they were asked to increase the intesity of an already existing fire, and on the third, they had to diminish it.
"Excellent," Dumbledore said. "This was undoubtedly one of my more intelligent ideas." He considered each of them in turn and said, "I will see you all on Friday next. There will be no homework as this is an entirely practical class. You will notice that it does not even show up on your schedules until each Friday morning as I want it kept secret," he concluded with a twinkle. As the others filed out of class, Dumbledore motioned to Harry to stay.
"Professor Trelawny tells me you have the makings of a Seer," the elderly wizard said with some amusement.
"Oh, yeah?" Harry said.
"She thinks you have been dreaming of yourself as an old man," Dumbledore remarked.
"Well, that'll be a first," Harry said. "Up until now, she's insisted I'm going to die young. Like every year." He asked more seriously, "Professor Dumbledore, do you think those dreams, of the trapped old man...do you think they're a trick again of Voldemort's? Or could they be real?"
The thing that had troubled him, that weighed on him came out with a rush. "Do you think that Voldemort is really holding someone prisoner and ...and torturing him to make him do something, or tell him something?" Dumbledore shook his head.
"I am not certain, Harry." The blue eyes met his and Harry was afraid again, afraid that Voldemort could see through him. He waited for Dumbledore to go on. "I think, I fear, that Voldemort is trying to trick you again. To play on your heart as he did with Sirius, only this time his object may be much simpler. Instead of the prophecy, he simply wants you."
The trouble constricting his heart did not ease. "Professor," he asked, "If it is real? If there really is someone...Voldemort is torturing him."
Dumbleodre sighed. "If by some chance, Harry, it is real, if you really are tapping into his thoughts again, then you must still not be drawn into attempting his rescue. Ultimately, you know what Voldemort wants. If it is so, and I have several people in the Order working on it, if it is real, it is not your job to rescue this person. You must, you absolutely must leave this to those who are trained to do it." Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "You must work on your Occlumency and learn to block him out completely. I will expect you tomorrow morning promptly at ten o'clock." He added, "And don't forget to take your Revitalizing Potion. The stronger you are, the easier everything will be."
"Yes, sir," Harry said. He went out and caught up with the others at lunch.
Hermione was glowing. She whispered, "That was the most amazing lesson we've ever had. Ever!"
Neville nodded his head in agreement and whispered even more softly, "Don't talk about it, unless we know for certain no one could possibly hear."
Ron nodded and Harry added even more softly, "It's really funny. You'd think he would have wanted to teach that to Fred and George. I bet
they would have taken to it amazingly. Just think of those wild fireworks they made last year."
"I dunno," Ron said. "Maybe something made him change. Made him decide it was more urgent. And besides," he said, "Fred and George aren't really...very responsible, are they? I've a feeling this is something that requires...responsibility. Like knowing where to draw the line. And as far as Fred and George are concerned, there is no line. There's only what they want."
Fortunately for Harry, Friday afternoon was the easiest class of all-Care of Magical Creatures. He was delighted to find that Malfoy and his cronies had dropped the class, and he enjoyed Hagrid's introduction of a new creature, the graphorn. He was not thrilled though, when Hagrid pulled him aside to lecture him.
"Yeh aren' takin' care of yerself, Harry. I can see it," Hagrid said.
"I'm not? Look at you," Harry answered, "you're the one that brought back a full grown giant and kept getting beat up by him."
"Tha's diff'rent," Hagrid said. "I'm not a growing kid, an' Grawp didn' really unnerstand." Hagrid's beady eyes were grave as he looked at Harry carefully. The giant sighed and said, "If you was one of my creatures, Harry, I'd be putting yeh in the stable and feedin' yeh up with lotsa food an' extra potions."
"Well, I'm fine, Hagrid," he answered. Somehow, it was harder to keep from Hagrid that he thought his trouble was related to Voldemort and his dreams, rather than to something as ordinary as growing pains. He added, "I'm taking Revitalizing Potion. Madam Pomfrey gave me some."
"That's good," Hagrid said. "Just be sure yeh take it, okay?" The graphorn trumpeted loudly and Hagrid went to lecture the students who had been attempting to feed it.
Harry downed his morning dose of Revitalizing Potion and looked up to find Neville solemnly watching him. He casually capped the bottle and said, "Morning, Neville."
"What's that you're taking, Harry," Neville inquired.
"Nothing really. Just Revitalizing Potion," he answered. Seeing Neville was still looking at him doubtfully, he added, "For growing pains. Madam Pomfrey reckons I'm growing real fast and it makes my bones and muscles hurt sometimes."
Neville's face cleared and he said sympathetically, "Growing pains really hurt. I had them last year a bit. But I didn't have to take anything as powerful as that." Harry relaxed.
"You had them, too?" he asked. He was relieved to know he wasn't the only one to have them.
"Yeah," Neville said. "But I thought Revitalizing Potion was used more for serious stuff. Maybe she wants you to gain weight, too. You look awful thin. Much thinner than you were last year, and you were never very heavy to begin with."
"I've always been skinny," he answered. It was getting annoying, everyone telling him how thin he looked. He'd started avoiding the mirror. He thought dismally, that he must look like a scarecrow with black straw sticking up for his hair.Despite Neville's comments and Hagrid's yesterday, Harry wasn't very hungry that morning. The thought of the upcoming Occlumency lesson took his appetite away. He picked nervously at his bacon, and ended up abandoning it in favor of more scalding hot coffee. He cooled it off with a dollop of milk and a large tablespoon of sugar sweetened it. He sipped it slowly and tried to put himself in the right frame of mind for the morning's effort.
At ten o'clock, Harry stood at the foot of the stairs to Dumbledore's office. He was about to give the password when Snape strode up to him and asked, "What are you doing here?"
"Dumbledore asked for me," he said calmly.
"And why would the Headmaster asked for you, Potter? The headmaster is a busy man. He doesn't have time for every schoolboy prank or drama," Snape said.
Harry didn't know why, but he didn't want to tell Snape that he was there for Occlumency lessons. The lessons Snape had given him had ended so disastrously that Harry just didn't want to even mention the word. The stairs opened without the password. Dumbledore was there.
The old wizard said, "Harry. I was waiting for you." Harry nodded and walked up the stairs behind Dumbledore. He turned his back on Snape and said nothing further. Dumbledore gave him one glance of inspection and said, "Let's begin."
Once more, Harry was on his knees and his mind was a sieve through which the old man drew out his memories. He was crouching by the lake and a hundred dementors were swooping down on him. The policeman had slammed him up against the wall and was holding his wand. They were turning out his trunk and looking at everything he owned. Dudley and his friends advanced on him and there were five of them hitting him. Wormtail had dragged him to a headstone and when he struggled, the wizard hit him. There were ropes binding him and the gag in his mouth silenced his screams when Voldemort hit him with the Cruciatus curse.
He was curled up in a ball on the floor in Dumbledore's office.
"Harry?"... "Harry?" It came to him that Dumbledore was talking to him, asking if he was okay. He wanted to say, of course I'm not okay. I've never been okay.
He uncurled and said, "Yeah, I'm fine." He sat in the chair with Dumbledore's help and tried to control the trembling in his muscles. This was so much worse than it had been with Snape. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth.
When he looked again, Dumbledore said, "You're not even trying to stop me. You must try to block me out." The old man's blue eyes were unreadable, almost cold. Harry felt resentment stir.
"I am trying," he said. "But obviously, I'm not very good, am I?"
The old man merely said, "Try again."
He was down in the dark again. A voice cried, "Lily, take Harry and run!" The other voice said, "Step aside, you foolish girl," but the girl pleaded, "Not Harry! Please, not Harry!" A green light flashed. Cedric was dead and his vacant grey eyes stared up. A green light flashed and Harry cried out, "Expelliarmus!"
Something exploded. Something was on fire. His head was on fire. Someone was helping him sit up and a drink was held to his lips. Automatically, he swallowed and nearly choked at the taste. A fiery liquid burned his throat. His head cleared and his eyes watered.
Dumbledore helped him back into the chair and Harry noticed there was the smell of something burned and wet. There was a heap of wet ashes sitting on Dubmledore's desk and Harry saw that the Headmaster's hat was missing. He shook his head to clear it further, but that was a mistake. His head swam again and he had to swallow back down the nausea that threatened to spill over.
After a moment, he felt things settle and he said to Dumbledore with anxious embarrassment, "I'm sorry, sir."
"You have nothing to be sorry about," Dumbledore answered. The Headmaster regarded him thoughtfully. Harry felt as if Dumbledore could tell his thoughts even though he knew that the old wizard wasn't trying to just now. The Headmaster's mouth twitched and his blue eyes held a small glimmer of amusement.
"You are, however, very hard on the furnishings." Harry looked at the heap of wet ashes and gulped.
"What was that?"
"My hat," the Headmaster replied.
"Your hat? I don't understand," Harry said, "How could I have...burned your hat?"
Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfuly and said, "I believe you actually attempted the disarming spell as you were reliving that last memory. Unfortunately, it was I who was actually here with you, not Voldemort." Harry stared at Dumbledore all his fears rising anew.
"But, I could have hurt you! I could have..." He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to do this anymore. The whole thing was too awful.
"You cannot be worried about harming Voldemort if you are going to survive him," Dumbleodre said.
"I'm not worried about harming Voldemort," Harry answered. He gestured at the heap of ashes and said, "Obviously."
"But you are concerned about harming me?" Dumbledore asked softly.
"I don't know about this, Professor," Harry said. "This whole thing, it just seems more dangerous than it's worth. If you were harmed, if Voldemort did something to you through me..." He added, "I see now why you wanted Snape to teach me this."
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore said. But his blue gazed was distant. He sighed and said, "I will not repeat last year's mistakes in this regard. However, it may be that we need a different approach." He seemed to be thinking some more and Harry tried to see without being too obvious whether he had damaged more than the Headmaster's hat.
"Let us try things from the opposite direction," Dumbledore said. "This time, you will be the one who attempts the Legilimency spell and I will be the one who blocks it. Do you understand?" Harry stared at Dumbledore.
"Do you think that's wise?" he blurted out.
"Rest assured, you will not do me harm this way." the Headmaster considered him gravely. "It is much more of a risk that I will do you harm. But this must be endured. You must learn this. You must learn to block Voldemort from your mind and thoughts. I see no other course."
"Now," Dumbledore said, "draw your wand and try the spell."
Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Dumbledore. A moment passed, less than a moment. But the seconds seemed to stretch out interminably and he just didn't have the nerve to do this. Did he really want to look into the Headmaster's thoughts? The tiny voice of insatiable curiosity said, yes.
Perhaps it was the hestitation that threw the old man off his guard. Later, he thought it was more likely that Dumbledore must have allowed him in on purpose, to show how to throw a person out. A curtain drew back and Harry could see into a deep well of anxiety and sorrow. A huge weight burdened the old man--he had failed: Harry was lying on the ground clutching the Triwizard trophy and Cedric's dead body; Barty Crouch, Jr. was an empty husk, a body dying without its mind; Harry was shouting at him, all rage and grief and horror, and throwing every object in sight, and he deserved it; Voldemort was his, he had only to hold him down and the devil would die, be finished, but the terror restrained him, terror that Harry would also die...he had failed, he had failed, he had failed...
The curtain snapped shut. Harry was flung to the floor. He curled up into a ball. He would simply stay that way. He would not think. He would not see. He would not feel. He would not let anyone touch him. No one would get in. And he would not come out. Nothing mattered. It could have been over. Voldemort could have been finished, but he had not been. Dumbledore had left Voldemort to kill. He had left Voldemort for Harry to kill.
Harry was floating in the air. There was a soft, silken cushion under his face, but he couldn't open his eyes. A soft whisper, "Dormir"...a tingle of magic...he was falling down into a deep pool of calm and silence. He slept. He woke. His wand was missing from his hand and his glasses weren't on his face. He panicked and rolled over abruptly to his feet. The fuzzy outlines of Dumbledore's office reminded him where he had been.
"Ah, you're awake," Dumbledore said. Harry turned his head toward the voice and was relieved when Dumbledore handed him his glasses. The afternoon sun was slanting in through the window, the rosy red of the setting sun.
"I've been sleeping all day?" Harry asked. Dumbledore inclined his head. "But, what about ...I had quidditch practice. I missed my practice!" He was outraged. "Why'd you let me sleep like that?"
"You needed it," Dumbledore answered. His face was grave and calm, but his blue eyes had recovered their twinkle.
"One forgets, at my age, how youth bounces back," the Headmaster added. Harry remembered then what had gone before. It made quidditch games seem like foolishness.
He said abruptly, "You should have killed him. You shouldn't have let him go." The twinkle died back out of the blue eyes. They darkened, almost to black.
Dumbledore shook his head. "I am not God," he said at last. "Who am I to judge that one life surrendered in the cause of justice is worth the price of ending the other's?"
"You don't know that for sure, that killing Voldemort would have killed me. You shouldn't have let him go. Even if it did kill me, you shouldn't have let him go." Dumbledore held his gaze. The blue eyes were so penetrating, piercing. They seemed to climb through his mind; raking through it so swiftly that Harry could not follow where they delved.
After barely a moment, Dumbledore asked, "If it were up to you, and you had the chance to kill him, but you were almost certain that you would also kill another...Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger...could you?" The blue eyes weighed him, measured his horror, his rejection of that thought.
The old man's thin shoulder's lifted fractionally. "You see, Harry," He added, "Sometimes, you make the best decision you can at the time. You do what is right, what you believe is right, though you know it may cause other pain later." He sighed and said, "As you did, when you went to rescue Sirius last summer."
***
"WHERE WERE YOU," Ron shouted furiously as Harry entered the common room. "YOU MISSED PRACTICE. HOW COULD YOU MISS OUR FIRST PRACTICE OF THE YEAR? I'VE A MIND TO..."
"Shut up," Harry hissed, and he ran up the stairs to their dormitory to escape the fascinated gaze of everyone there. Ron bounded up the stairs straight behind him. Harry turned and yanked Ron by the collar of his robes. He made sure there was no one else there before letting go again and shoving his friend back away.
"Dumbledore knocked me out," he snarled. "I couldn't help missing the game, as it's a little difficult to recall the time when you're unconscious." Ron stumbled back and sat down on the bed behind him involuntarily. His freckly face gawped in astonishment and anger and offense, and then chagrin.
"What? Dumbledore? He knocked you out?" Ron stared at him and then said, "Are you all right? Are you hurt? How could he do that?"
Harry rubbed his scar and felt the fury drain out of him. He sighed and said, "Well, it's these lessons. They're not going very well."
Ron said, "Oh," at the same time that Hermione had poked her head into the room and said, "You're not fighting are you?"
"No," they said together.
Hermione came into the room and said, "How aren't they going well? What happened?"
Harry frowned at her. "I'm not sure how to explain it. First he made me try to block him out, and it's impossible. Then after I messed up a couple of times, he had me try it the other way, on him, and he, well, he knocked me quite flat." Harry rubbed his scar some more and pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Then, I dunno, I think he did some kind of spell that put me to sleep, 'cause I slept all afternoon."
"That's a good thing, though, isn't it?" Hermione said.
"But he missed practice," Ron said.
Hermione rounded on him and said, "Get a grip, Ron. It's far more important for Harry to learn to block out Voldemort than it is for him to be at every single quidditch practice. Harry could play better than anyone on the other teams with no practice at all."
"But that's just..." Ron sputtered a bit and Harry added, "I can't miss every practice! And I don't see what good this is doing," he added in frustration.
"Harry," Hermione said, "if Dumbledore thinks you need to learn this, you do. You need to block out these dreams. That's why you're so tired all the time. You're not sleeping properly and the dreams you get from the connection with Voldemort are probably preventing you from having normal dreams. The kind that you need to feel properly rested. It's why you're so thin, probably, too. They interfere with everything."
"How do you know I'm not sleeping properly?" Harry asked.
Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and Hermione responded, "It's obvious just by looking at you. Not to mention that you're the last one left in the common room almost every night. Except when you go up straight after dinner and collapse." There didn't seem to be any answer to that.
Harry shrugged and said dispiritedly, "I suppose I ought to do some homework. I don't want to think what Snape will say if I come in with another essay that he can't read or that doesn't meet his expectations." He added, "I bet he'd think whatever I did was bad, even it was the same thing you did, Hermione." For once, Hermione didn't disagree with him.
She said, "Forget your homework for a bit."
Harry stared at her. "Have had a personality transplant? Since when have you ever thought we shouldn't do homework now?"
"Don't be a git, Harry," Ron answered. "It's dinner time, and I don't know about you, but I'm starving. We can do our Potions essay after dinner, okay?" They both stared at him anxiously again.
He shrugged and said, "I suppose."
"Aren't you hungry?" Hermione asked. "You missed lunch." She looked like she was going to start checking his forehead and pulse like Madam Pomfrey.
Harry stood up quickly and said, "Yeah, I'm hungry. Let's go." He didn't wait for them, but once again ran down the stairs in the lead. The rest of the people still left in the common room stopped talking the moment he appeared. He didn't care if they were talking about him for once and went out the portrait door without a word to anyone.
The Potions essay took the entire night on Saturday to finish. Harry did the best he could although he frequently lost his place and had to re-read the page he had already read in search of information on the latest antidote. It didn't help that the conundrum Dumbledore had posed to him kept intruding on his thoughts. Would he kill Voldemort if it meant another person might get harmed, too? What if it were someone he didn't know? More scary was the question, could he bring himself to actually kill Voldemort at all? Did he want to be a killer, even if it meant ridding the world of Voldemort's evil? And always, why me? Why couldn't it have been someone else? Someone smarter? Someone stronger? And was the prophecy really true?
Harry put his quill down at last and saw that Ron and Hermione had finished their work and were huddled over a big, fat library book. He went over to take a closer look at what they were reading. The outside of the book said, "A History of European Magic," but inside, he saw, they had another slimmer volume by someone called Paracelsus.
He tried to rack his brains to remember who that was. Hermione put her finger to her lips and whispered, "Alchemy." Harry peered over her shoulder and saw an incomprehensible tract about purification of base metals.
"Do you understand that?" he asked.
"No," Ron said immediately.
"I need to take it out," Hermione said.
"You'd better not," Ron advised. "You don't want anyone guessing that you're learning that." Hermione contrived to look frustrated and longing both at the same time.
"Go on, Hermione," Harry said. "Put it back. No one else in the world would be remotely interested in reading something as impossible as that anyway." He considered her disappointed face and added, "But you could, erm, hide it in another book you know no one would ever read. Just so you know it'll be here next time." She whispered waspishly,
"And just what do you think is a book no one else would read?"
"How about The Autobiography of Gilderoy Lockhart?" Ron suggested.
Hermione smacked him right in the arm and Harry had to snicker under his breath because Madame Pince was looking their way.
Harry decided he needed a new approach to sleeping. Despite his resistance to it, Dumbledore's urgency that he must learn Occlumency had impressed itself on him. He tried to put aside all of the nagging worries and think about what normally made him sleepy. Maybe, he thought with amusement, he ought to invite Professor Binns to come in and lecture him before he went to sleep. He had never managed to stay awake the entire lesson in History yet. Or maybe, he should burn some of that incense Professor Trelawny used that stupefied his wits and made him long for sleep. He suspected that the others would throw him out of the dormitory altogether if he tried that. Or perhaps, he should bring his Potions textbook to bed and try reading ahead. But, he thought, dwelling on venoms and antidotes weren't going to relieve his mind of the anxiety and anger that seemed to work their way to his consciousness at night, poisioning his thoughts and blanketing his mind with dread and rage.
He got back out of bed and padded to the bathroom to sink into a hot bath. He tried to let his mind float along with his body and only got out when the water had gotten too cold to be relaxing. He went back to bed and lay down and tried to focus on a single thought, like Nora had done last summer. Was it only a few weeks ago, really? He tried to remember a time when he had felt warm and sheltered and content. When he had first come to Hogwarts? When he had visited the Burrow before second year? When Sirius had given him permission to go to Hogsmeade weekends?
He focused on one thought. Sirius, I hope you're at peace, wherever you are. He tried to imagine that... Sirius happy, the haunting gone from his face. He had a picture of him like that, Harry thought. He went to his trunk and found the album of pictures Hagrid had given him. There was the picture of his Mum and Dad on their wedding day. And there, waving happily beside them, was Sirius, his face young and happy and handsome and full of life.
They were all so young, he thought with a shock. Not very much older than he was himself now. And they were all dead. Everyone of them. Instead of calm, he lay in bed and thought about how much he hated Voldemort. How much had Voldemort done to destroy and to wreak havoc on everyone's lives. A thought worked its way into his consciousness: revenge. If that was his fate, to kill or be killed, perhaps he should take the chance fate offered; perhaps that was his answer. Vengeance, he thought. He hugged that thought to him and slept.
Something of the evening's grim thoughts remained with Harry in the morning. After breakfast, he dragged Ron and Hermione to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and made them practice aiming spells at him so he could leap aside over and over again. They didn't mind that part so much, but both of them rebelled when Harry wanted to start aiming spells at them, to see if he could get them before they could jump aside in their turn.
"I think it's time for lunch," Ron said even thought it was barely eleven o'clock in the morning. "You have to eat more you know, Harry. You have to build yourself back up." He said this with all the solemnity of a learned doctor advising his patient on some life threatening disease.
Harry thought, well I've got a life threatening disease--it's called Voldemort. He said nothing of this thoughts, though. But when Hermione reminded him they had essays still to write for Defense class and for Charms and for Transfiguration and Ron reminded him of their star chart assignment, he gave in for the time being. But he wasn't letting them get away with that forever.
"How are you going to pass this class if you don't practice?" he asked.
"I think we need to spend just as much time on counter-spells," Hermione said.
"I'm sure we will, Hermione," Harry said. "But this stuff is important, too. What about the Unforgiveables?" he reminded them. "There is no counter spell for those. A shield spell isn't going to block the Killing Curse, you know. It goes right through everything."
"Well, Harry," Ron joked, "we'll just have to remember to duck behind you. After all, you're a kind of living shield, being the only one who survived it."
"Ron Weasley!" Hermione said, "how could you joke about something like that?"
"I'm not angry, Hermione," Harry said. He added thoughtfully, "but if something like that happens, it could be the best idea."
"Are you crazy, mate?" This time it was Ron who was upset.
"Really, Harry!" Hermione said, "You aren't immune anymore. Not after, well, you know." Her voice faltered as she mentioned the disastrous rebirth of Voldemort, when he had taken Harry's own blood to complete the spell and Harry's immmunity with it.
Harry merely said calmly, "Yes, I know. But it's quite possible that it would kill Voldemort along with me, you know. It might be worth it, to get rid of him."
"That's not funny," Ron said.
"I wasn't trying to be funny," he answered and walked out of the Defense classroom leaving them with their mouths hanging open.
