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Harry smiled as he read an owl-delivered letter at breakfast. To be sure, he had been smiling all morning, even through the rigors of the workout. Hermione’s nights with Harry may not have been as energetic and inventive as Daphne’s, but they were tender and sweet and Hermione had come to look forward to them.

“Good news, I take it?”

“The Black inheritance finally cleared. Van Leuven came through for us. The money issues haven’t been settled yet because of taxes and stuff, but the house is mine. That means the library is mine. Do you want to go take a look this evening?”

“Oh, Harry, you do know how to sweet-talk a girl, don’t you? Will Daphne be upset if I steal you away from her two evenings in a row?”

“Why would she be? But we can bring Daph and Stori if they want to come.”

And, speaking of Astoria, she was approaching the Head Table, Crabbe dutifully trailing her.

“Professor McGonagall, may I speak to you this morning? It’s important and rather urgent.”

“I will be departing the castle directly after breakfast, Miss Greengrass. I’m afraid that here and now is my only available time until tomorrow evening. Could it wait or can you talk to your head of house?”

“No! Professor Snape is what I have to talk to you about.”

Hermione, from her vantage point near the Head Table, where she and Harry had taken to eavesdropping on the professors, saw Astoria brace herself.

“Deputy Headmistress, I have to make a complaint about Professor Snape. All of my underthings went missing two days ago. I thought it was a prank but no one gave them back or teased me about it. Last night I asked the housekeeping elf if she knew what happened. She found that they’re all in Professor Snape’s quarters and that she cannot retrieve them.”

Hermione was very surprised. Less by Snape’s being a creepy stalker --- there were rumors, and she’d heard stories from Harry about his mother’s youth, and Snape just looked and acted like a creepy stalker --- than by one of Babblemouth Brown’s rumors being almost true. Just yesterday, after Parvati had lost her position as prefect for grievous abuse of authority, Lavender had commiserated with her by sharing the latest gossip. Gossip about Snape and his obsession with Daphne Greengrass. “It totally makes sense! Snape’s been giving her detention after detention, making her work hard so she’ll get sweaty. You just know he’s perving on her.”

McGonagall frowned and waved Snape over. She then noticed Hermione and Harry watching intently, frowned again, and put up a silencing charm. Hermione couldn’t hear the words but could see vehement accusations, finger pointing and arm waving, and the beginning of a temper tantrum. That was just Snape. For her part, Astoria didn’t show any signs of anger. Maybe Mrs Greengrass had taught both daughters the techniques which became Daphne’s Ice Queen mask.

Dumbledore arrived and entered the bubble and things visibly went worse for Astoria. Hermione was expecting it, so she could read “full faith in Professor Snape” when it came to Dumbledore’s lips.

She got Crabbe’s attention. He had been standing patiently. “Here, have a seat. You might as well eat. It looks like a long argument.”

Luckily, Daphne came in before Astoria could be fully browbeaten by at least two of the adults talking to her. And “luck” it was. Hermione needed to make more coins like last year so that any of their group of friends could call Harry or Hermione for help. It was sloppy of her not to have thought of it before.

Daphne walked into the bubble McGonagall had erected, standing in for her parents when her underage sister was being browbeaten by adults in positions of authority. Harry accompanied her up and stood just outside it, thinking of propriety for once, but glaring at Snape and Dumbledore. Hermione had no doubt he had pierced the silence with just a thought and was following every part of the discussion.

After a bit more gesticulating, McGonagall waved Sprout over, then hurried toward the castle exit. Snape, Sprout, and the Greengrasses left the Great Hall together, Crabbe rushing to catch them. Dumbledore, for his part, sat tiredly at the table and ate one-handedly.

“What was that all about?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun, if Dumbledore doesn’t interfere.”

DADA classes were cancelled for the day. Hermione was just as glad. She was familiar with the duelling styles and tricks of all of her classmates and had not learned anything in class in at least a month. She could put her time to better use in the library.

As it happened, Hermione spent the canceled class time in her bed.

“Hey, Sleeping Cutie! Wake up! Transfiguration is in ten minutes.”

“Oh! Thank you, Harry. I’ve been so tired lately, and someone kept me awake half of last night. And what are you doing in the girls’ dorm during the day? Go on, shoo!”

Astoria came storming over to the Gryffindor table at dinner, grabbing Harry by the collar and attempting to lift him away from the table. Of course, the slight girl didn’t have the physical strength to actually pick him up and Goyle was understandably reluctant, but Harry went along with her physically-expressed request. Hermione was tempted to stay in the Great Hall for the joy of watching Snape while the students whispered and laughed and covertly looked at him, but she grabbed her book bag and followed. It was mostly from curiosity about what Astoria was up to but she also wanted to make sure Harry wasn’t murdered. She’d never seen Astoria look so close to angry before. She, Goyle, and Daphne trailed along behind as Harry was dragged to an available room.

“Harry, you owe me a shopping trip. Now!”

“I do? Is this for some reason a male mind could comprehend or is it because I took you shopping once before?”

“I’m not joking! I haven’t had any underthings to wear for days. Even now that I got them back from Snape, I can’t wear them. He might have touched them or my underthings might have touched his. Ewww! I have to burn them.”

“You poor girl. Walking around in a skirt and robe in this cold, drafty castle in the Scottish winter. You must be feeling a bit of a breeze down there. Ouch! Why do you keep hitting me, Hermione?”

“I smack you because it’s the only way to knock any sensitivity into your head.”

“I finally deduced that it must have been you, not Snape, who stole my clothes and hid them in Snape’s rooms. And you know I don’t have the money to buy new! So now you owe me a shopping trip.”

“OK, OK, you caught me. You have to admit, it was only fair. You stuck my wand in Snape’s dirty drawers. Bleh! I had to teach you a lesson. Let’s make a deal: no matter what we do to or with each other, from now on we’ll leave the underwear out of it.”

“Agreed.”

Daphne raised an eyebrow. “Stori, have you just fired me as your stunt double? You do realize that you just agreed that anytime you have anything to do with Harry, you’ll do it without underthings?”

“What? No, I didn’t! Ah, I’m distracted. It doesn’t count.”

“Coach Hermione, Daph, does everyone agree I beat Stori in this round? Daph, would you care to come congratulate me? Congratulate me twice, because I pranked Snape at the same time.”

“No! Shopping! I’m cold and uncomfortable and it’s your fault. You have to fix it.”

“If you’re taking my little sister shopping, I need to go as a chaperone. Besides, you owe me a date.”

“If you’re taking the two of them, I could use a few things, too.” Hermione had outgrown her brassieres. Harry had noticed and approved the growth, theorized that it had been caused by fondling during their occasional nights together, and offered to aid her in additional growth. Hermione had swatted his arm but hadn’t declined the offer. With magic, you never knew.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine. Could you ask Luna if she wants to go? I know those idiots are still stealing her clothes even though I keep smacking them down.”

And so it was that Hermione and three other teenage girls wearing skirts and blouses and somewhat old-fashioned travelling cloaks travelled to London with Harry. If no one objected to their going on a weekday evening, they weren’t going to worry about it. And if only Harry’s overpowered Notice Me Not prevented the nominally responsible adults from objecting, no one was going to worry about that, either. However, Harry provided a portkey to London, so perhaps their expedition wasn’t as unsanctioned as Hermione thought.

“Oh, we’ve been to Harrods before, but we couldn’t buy anything because Father didn’t have any ordinary money.” Astoria’s cool demeanor was surely an act. Her eyes were flicking everywhere. Luna, by contrast, made no attempt to disguise her wonderment. What few sensible comments she made suggested that she’d never been in a large city before and had never seen such a variety and quantity of merchandise.

The pretty clerk in the lingerie department smiled at Harry when she sized up the situation. “I assume you’ve been coerced into paying? May I ask the budget?” And then they all swept away, leaving Harry to try to catch up on some sleep as he sat in a chair offered by a sympathetic male clerk.

Hermione had one important announcement. “Ah, Ladies? Before you disrobe to try on your selections, I should inform you that I’m sexually attracted to women. If you prefer, I’ll use the other changing room.”

“Oh, we knew, didn’t we, Stori? You certainly dropped enough hints.”

Luna looked closely at her, big, grey eyes intent. “That can’t be true, Hermione, or not the entire truth. The days on which you are most cheerful at breakfast, you smell quite clearly of boy.”

Hermione was mortified! It only became worse when her stammered denials and explanations were met with unanimous laughter.

None of the other girls seemed uneasy with Hermione’s presence, so she shrugged her shoulders and shrugged out of her blouse. The eye candy would be nice, if nothing else.

“Good Heavens, Daphne! I knew you had a good figure, but that is just sickening. How can any normal girl compete?”

Daphne looked up from her experimentation of how to put on the piece she was holding. “You compete well enough. Either you look better than you think you do or looks aren’t everything. I know what I look like and believe me, Harry appreciates what you’ve been staring at, but he’ll spend the night with you anytime you ask.”

Hermione, struck by the truth Daphne had brought to her attention, didn’t notice the slow smile growing on her face, nor the slightly annoyed expressions on Daphne’s and Astoria’s faces.

“Once we get back to school, we need to discuss our arrangement again. Stori has been keeping up her end of the deal and I’m not willing to be shortchanged on my end. I won’t go back to the likes of Draco Malfoy now that I’ve had better.”

Luna frowned. “I don’t blame you. Though I must say, Draco Malfoy has been much more agreeable, this past month.”

Trust Luna to disrupt an impending argument. Once again Hermione wondered if the girl was crazy, or crazy like a fox.

“Yes. We’ll all discuss it later. For now, let’s pick out the nicest looking pieces of what Harry is kind enough to buy us.”

The girls all hugged Harry as he paid for their purchases. They hadn’t gone much over the limit he’d told the clerk and hadn’t taken much longer than expected.

Luna took her turn in the hug queue. Hermione noticed that she seemed awkward, unused to the gesture.

“Does this mean we’re all engaged, Harry? I never expected a man other than my father or husband to buy me underclothes, and my father never bought me anything half so lacy.”

And maybe there was a reason not many boys were interested in getting close to her.

Replacement clothing securely in hand (plus one set in use), Astoria was much more relaxed. On the way from Hogwarts to Harrods she had been a woman on a mission, dragging Harry with one hand and holding her skirt tight to her legs with the other. Now she was her usual pleasant self, claiming one of Harry’s arms and chatting as the group took in the sights before portkeying back.

“Oh, it was no problem to get the rumors started. We’ve got Lavender Brown in our tower and our classes, yah? That one evening patrol that she did, before McGonagall took back the prefect’s pin --”

“You know why that was, don’t you?” Hermione interjected. “She was caught the next night entertaining a group of male students. I just happened to be in the common room when McGonagall dragged Lavender in and they just happened to think the room was empty so McGonagall lit into her.”

“Just happened?”

“Of course. Surely you don’t think I would have used disillusionment and listening charms to eavesdrop? Now if I may continue without interruption, McGonagall told her that the staff normally would turn a blind eye toward ‘private activities’ between established couples, Miss Brown, but there is no way to paper over finding one witch with four wizards and none of you with a stitch of clothing.”

“Interesting. She never was caught so, ah, flagrantly before. And then Parvati kept the badge for, what, three days? I wonder if you really did curse the position.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Astoria was two years behind Hermione in devouring advanced magical books, but she’d grown up in the culture. She knew things that Hermione and Harry had never picked up. “Magic is directed by intent and put into effect by power. Hermione has a huge amount of power and intent was practically flowing off her that night. If she cursed the position, it might well be difficult to dispel by conventional means.”

“I’m so proud. Hermione’s cursing the school just like You-Know-Who. /Ouch/!”

“That’s not funny, Harry. The last thing I need is rumors making me worse than I am. The professors are already coming down on me, since Dumbledore took away my position.”

“I don’t think you have to worry. Lavender is nowhere near. Anyway, to get back to my story, I acted like I was making a floo call in the common room when she came back. A green coloring spell and a flame-freezing charm and /voila/! A fake floo. I stuck my head in and talked like I was asking Remus -- that’s Remus Lupin, the Defense professor three years ago -- for advice on dealing with Snape when he was after one of my friends. Lavender thought I didn’t notice her creeping closer and closer but of course I did.

“I had planned to push the rumor a few more times, like by asking McGonagall what to do about a professor who isn’t keeping his distance from the students, but I didn’t need to. Lavender took what she heard and ran with it and built it up bigger and better and faster than I’d ever planned.”

“I’m impressed, Harry. That is similar to how I would have done it if I didn’t simply pay others to spread the word.”

“I know. I watched you when I could for a few days a while ago. It was when rumors were going around that I don’t like girls and was just using Daph as a cover.”

“I never spread that rumor. If nothing else, it would have affected Daphne’s reputation.”

“Yah, I found out right away that it wasn’t you. It was Ron Weasley, in fact. I’ve been too busy to pay him back, but he’s on my list.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that, any part of it. “Keep Harry from becoming a monster” moved up a slot on her mental to-do list.

Astoria didn’t like what Harry said, either. “Just where were you watching me? It wasn’t when I was alone, was it?”

“Don’t worry. It was just in the Slytherin common room and a classroom or two. I was checking whether you were spreading the rumors and you couldn’t do that when you were alone, could you? /Ouch/!”

“That’s for secretly spying on a young woman,” Hermione informed him firmly. “I haven’t been coaching you in useful and unusual skills just so you can perv on pretty girls.”

Back in the castle, after a last round of thank-you kisses, hugs, and gropes had been delivered as appropriate to the deliverer, Hermione pulled Luna and Harry aside after they’d escorted Daphne and Astoria to the Slytherin dorms -- more accurately, after they’d delivered Astoria into the keeping of the evening’s bodyguard.

“We have a few more minutes before curfew. Luna, if you don’t have a huge backlog of homework, let Harry put some anti-theft charms on your new clothes. Harry, the books you loaned me are extremely useful when it comes to practical spells. I believe that a powerful wizard casting a few charms will deter the, ah, gremlins or whatever has been inconveniencing Luna.”

“I’m almost certain that other girls in the Ravenclaw dorm are taking my clothes as a prank, Hermione. Why would you think imaginary creatures had been doing it?”

Hermione was at a loss for words, her jaw working silently until she saw Harry smirking at her. “Not. One. Word.”

Theft-proofing Luna’s new underthings proceeded with only one problem: “I think you over-powered that spell, Harry. The smell of ozone coming from my privates is unlikely to promote dorm room comity or lead to a successful seduction should I be so inclined.’ --- two questions: “With the charms in place, will the house elves be able to take my clothes to launder them? For that matter, will any hypothetical suitors be able to remove them from me?” --- an observation: “You’ve handled my new frillies more than I have, Harry. I find this vicarious intimacy rather unsatisfying. Do let me know if you would like to eliminate the middleman, as it were.” -- and another question: “How will you handle the set I’m wearing? Do you want to handle them on my body or shall I remove them for you?”

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to make of Luna’s almost-blatant come-ons. On the one hand, she did feel sorry for the persecuted blonde. On the other hand, she herself wanted more time with Harry, and Daphne was already taking many of his nights. On the one hand, Harry was his own person and entitled to make his own decisions. On the other hand, Harry was a teenage boy and, faced with another girl offering clothing-free recreation, would surely make the wrong decision. On the one hand, Harry already had Daphne but Daphne said he’d go to Hermione whenever she wanted... Hermione had nothing to fear.

“I think it’s an excellent idea for you two to spend more time together. Harry, why don’t you escort Luna. I’ll see you tonight or tomorrow, as usual.”

Hermione went to her bed not at all upset about it being lonely and cold. She couldn’t even feel any guilt about manipulating Harry again because it wasn’t really manipulation, just a bit of encouragement toward something they wanted to do already. The feeling of satisfaction of a good deed well done would keep her warm tonight.

And with a start, Hermione realized she’d forgotten something: she was a lesbian. She should be looking for girls to share her bed, not fantasizing about Harry. Statistically, there should be a handful of girls in the castle who shared her tastes. The problem was that there was no disapproval-free way of identifying girls who were interested in an unconventional relationship. She’d think about ways of spotting potential partners.

...ooo000ooo...

Hermione accompanied Harry to his unnameable house on Grimmauld Place the next afternoon. The impromptu shopping trip the night before had run too late for them stop by after returning Luna and the Greengrasses to Hogwarts. Harry could have popped by himself while the girls were in the changing room, but Daphne had asked him to stay so she could get his opinion on her selections. Alas, her schemes came to naught because the sales clerk, seeing that all of the students were under eighteen, wouldn’t allow the girls out of the changing room unless fully dressed.

“Fidelius is still in place, I see.” Harry had tried to invite Astoria to see his house but had been unable to say it. However, methods other than a Fidelius charm, such as a compulsion charm, could achieve the same effect. “Well, let’s make sure I can get in. I should have done this by myself, so you wouldn’t be wasting your time if I can’t.”

They made it through the front door harmlessly enough and Kreacher met them in the front hall.

“Filthy half blood master comes at last. Kreacher is dying of shame.”

“Shut up, Kreacher. Speak politely or not at all. Now show me or tell me what I need to do to take charge of the house and the wards.”

Taking charge of the house was both less and more complicated than expected. Both Hermione and Harry had heard many tales of placing blood on the central ward stone, writing names in a master registry, and even being judged for worthiness by the spirits of the House’s founders.

None of that was the case. Harry had to bring down the house’s wards and recast them all (or have someone else recast them) with himself as the owner.

“That’s going to be quite a job, Harry. Might I suggest waiting until you have several days free?”

“Yah, I was thinking the same thing. Kreacher brought me a list of the wards on the house. I don’t know if I can trust it, though. The Blacks were supposed to be really paranoid, so it makes sense that they left the nastiest stuff off the list just in case someone got hold of it. I’m going to have to check everything myself.”

“That’s a reasonable concern. On the other hand, the head of the family wouldn’t want to kill his relatives in case he died before passing on the secrets. The list may be complete after all.”

“Unless he told his heir about whatever wasn’t on the list. So the list may not be complete.”

“Unless the head didn’t trust the heir because he was concerned about being murdered by him, a serious concern in many of the blacker families, no pun intended. I’m afraid you’re going to have to check all of the wards yourself.”

“Unless... Hey! How did you end up with my side of the argument?”

“It’s because I’m always right. In a relationship, the woman is always right. You’re involved with several women and you haven’t learned that yet? I see I’ll have to schedule a few more lessons to make certain you are fit to join normal society.”

“Hmmph. To return to the subject, like you always say, I’ll have to take down what’s on the list first and then do my own checks. Except that I’ll have to make sure that there aren’t any booby-traps first. It’ll be quite a job, like you said. Have I told you lately, thank you for having me learn ward detection and breaking and stuff?”

“Not lately concerning ward detection. However, we are standing mere feet away from a library just filled with deep, dark, secret tomes. I wonder if you can think of a way to thank me?”

Before Harry began to drop the house’s wards he needed to get in some practice raising new wards. “I should practice on something worthless first. Number 12 isn’t worth much but it’s almost livable. I wouldn’t want to ruin it, ruin it more, I mean, just because I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You could make a start by warding a fallen tree, I would think. You could apply fire proofing and protection against magical attacks. I’ll join you. I need the practice as well. We have a few hours unscheduled this Sunday afternoon. Or were you planning on spending time with one of your many ladies?”

“You’re one of my many ladies, aren’t you? So I can do both at once.”

Finally! Finally Hermione found a magical technique which Harry did not learn with insulting rapidity and ease. Warding required a great deal of theory as well as detailed knowledge of the particular wards used. Manual precision in carving or drawing runes was essential. Warding was not amenable to Harry’s usual intent-and-power approach. He was fumbling more and achieving less than Hermione had when she carved her first warming rune.

Hermione called herself a spiteful bitch and redoubled her efforts to teach Harry what she knew.

“No, Harry, you can’t simply trace your rune and then carve it. You have to hold the image of the rune in your mind’s eye and then carve or draw until the real one looks like the mental image. Ideally you hold the entire rune pattern in your mind at once, but few warders can do that.”

After hours’ practice, Harry was able, fumblingly, to carve a three-rune fireproofing ward which somewhat worked.

During those same few hours, Hermione was able to both coach Harry and carve her own wards on the log. She was surprised to learn that she was able to hold a seven-rune ward in her mind. She hadn’t been able to do that the previous year, the last time she had tried. Her fireproofing ward worked so well that even Harry’s full power, unleashed to vent the afternoon’s frustration, couldn’t set the log afire.

“Miss Granger, would you be interested in a warding job? I don’t know how much it pays. Going rate, whatever that is.”

Harry’s plans to take full control of his house suffered another obstacle.

“I had an hour free this morning, so I went to my house to take a look at the wards. There’s only so much you can see from inside the wards, so I went out to the street to look at them from the outside. The problem was, in order to see the house at all I had to concentrate on the secret, but if I was concentrating on the secret I couldn’t concentrate on looking at the wards. There must be a way to do it. Voldemort was able to break into my parents’ house after he was told the secret and they must’ve had some wards up, right?

“But I could do something Voldemort couldn’t do. I asked Dumbledore to take the Fidelius off the house because I’d inherited it and wanted to start fixing it up. He said he couldn’t do it because he’s much too busy and I don’t need to worry about it for now because I’m in school and then will spend the summer with the Dursleys and so I have a couple of years before I even need to think about it. He took three times as many words to say it, of course. And then he asked, would I consider letting the Order resume meeting at my house because they haven’t had a good place for almost a year.”

“The gall of the man is unbelievable. Did you laugh in his face or did you simply tell him no?”

“Neither. I told him I would think about it. What I didn’t tell him was that if I let him use it I would have Kreacher spy on them. And he would have to give me everything I need to bring down the Fidelius and any other charms and wards he put on the house, and return all of the Black property that anyone other than Sirius took from the house.”

“I’m impressed, Harry. Very impressed. Shall I inform Astoria and Daphne that you have another victory deserving of congratulations?”

“Ah, actually Luna asked me out on a date. Sort of a date. We’re going looking for a long-trunked cleft prober. I think that means she’s going to seduce me. I hope that’s what it means. She’s gotten a lot better with the crazy talk and the imaginary creatures, ever since we all went to London. I hope she’s not backsliding.”

Hermione smiled at Harry’s implied priorities. “You’re a wonderful friend, Harry. Go have fun. I hope you’re right. She can use a friend. If you’re wrong, however, and she is really looking for some imaginary long-trunked whatever, you can come see me tonight. Or if you prefer, I can tell Daphne she owes you one. Assuming she doesn’t pounce on you for her own reasons.”

“I hope I’m right, too. Not just to have sex with another girl but because I really hope she’s really getting better. If I’m wrong, I’ll come see you and cry on your shoulder and you can console me and I’ll help you take your shirt off because it’s all wet from the tears.”

Hermione smacked his shoulder, not too hard. “Go on, you. Have fun on your date.”

She didn’t really need Harry tonight. He had brought her three new books to keep her busy. Rather, three old books from the Black, now Potter, library. Powerful Blood Rituals might be dark magic and might not, but was guaranteed to be fascinating. Improved Detail in Transfiguration and Conjuration was obvious. On the Role of the Black Family in History promised to combine the worst of hagiography and vanity press but it sounded entertaining, at least, and it might contain kernels of truth.

Hermione had, of necessity, become much more practical and results driven, but at her core was still the quiet girl whose greatest delight was a new book. She planned to break into her secret stash of chocolate and curl up with her three new friends.

...ooo000ooo...

School continued. It was difficult for Hermione to tolerate. The useful school material had long since been mastered. Literally, in some cases. Hermione was fairly sure she qualified for masteries in Charms and Runes. She could easily pass NEWTs in the other wand subjects, Potions, and Arithmancy. Her other classes received little time or attention. They were simply a waste of time, time which Hermione could be using in more productive ways. The professors were knowledgeable, for the most part, but they were stretched too thin and didn’t have the time or inclination to give individualized attention. And, in any event, Hermione was not much interested in talking to them. She had lost the last vestiges of respect for the adults in a boarding school who couldn’t be bothered to watch out for children who were away from their parents.

Snape had been leading the pack in losing respect this year. All year had been a bastard in class. Of course, this year he was a bastard as the DADA professor rather than as the Potions professor. This was harming Harry’s effectiveness and therefore Hermione’s safety. Potions was an interesting class for the theoretically-minded, like Hermione, and a practical class for those too poor to buy ready-made potions, but it was essentially useless for an Auror or a private individual doing the Aurors’ jobs. By contrast, Defense Against the Dark Arts was very important to those fighting dark wizards.

The most infuriating aspect was that Snape clearly knew the material. Whether or not he could teach it was unknown because he chose to be a petty bastard in class. Hermione was just about ready to set a challenge in Harry’s training regimen. “Ambush and defeat a marked Death Eater” should keep him busy for as much as a few days

Down in the dueling pit, Harry had just pounded Zabini flat. Despite the unrealistic restrictions Snape put on Harry to make a “fair” match, Harry had an unbroken string of victories to his credit. That, of course, merely led the bitter child to take more points from Harry. “This is not a dance class, Potter. Five points for not standing and shielding the hex.” “Are your feet stuck to the floor, Potter? Five points for not dodging.” “Ten points for being unnecessarily aggressive, Potter.”

“Is that it? Is that the best anyone can do? Pathetic! I can beat anyone in this room one-on-one!”

What was Harry doing? This wasn’t like him. Despite Snape’s constant claims, he wasn’t a braggart.

“Pathetic, I tell you! Is there something in the school rules that says DADA professors have to be incompetent? We ought to demand a refund. The DADA teachers not only can’t teach, they can’t even do what they’re supposed to teach us.”

“Potter! Fifteen points for disrupting class and a detention for insulting a professor.”

“Nope, sorry, Snape. You’re no professor, not one I’ll recognize. You’re just as bad as Umbridge, just a fake pretending to be a professor.”

“My knowledge of the dark arts dwarfs anything your tiny mind could ever hold, /Potter/. If we were to enter the dueling area you would have to be carried out in pieces.”

“Challenge accepted! Let’s see what you got, Death Eater. Remember, I’m not a ten-year-old girl you can Imperius and rape before you AK her. You’ll have to use a spell that’s not an Unforgivable.”

Hermione now had an idea of what Harry was doing. She was rather annoyed that he hadn’t cleared his plan with her first, but she had to admire the way he’d gotten Snape to fight him -- for she had no illusion that this would be as polite and constrained as a “duel” -- and seemingly had gotten Snape angry enough to be careless in the fight. Though of course that wasn’t very difficult. For all the man’s alleged self-control and mastery of occlumency, it all went out the window where Harry was concerned.

Predictably, Snape didn’t wait for a Go signal before he started casting. Harry dodged while extending his left hand toward his opponent.

The effect was immediate. Snape dropped like a puppet with its strings cut as an almost-visible stream of magic flowed from his left arm to Harry. Harry was glowing within seconds.

Only now did Harry draw his wand. Hermione started at the realization. Harry had beaten Snape in two seconds without a wand! This was the first time she had seen with her own eyes the results of his training put to use.

After crushing Zabini, who thought to get a little revenge while his erstwhile opponent wasn’t looking, Harry touched his finger to Snape’s left arm. Even unconscious the man jerked and screamed.

“Hey, does anyone know if there’s a bounty on Death Eaters? Hermione? Anyone? Oh, well, I guess I can just cut off his arm as a souvenir.”

“You can’t do that!” came from several voices.

“They’re right, Harry.” Hermione had little concern for Snape but needed to keep Harry out of trouble. “If you cut off Snape’s arm then there’ll be no proof that he was a Death Eater, and then you just know you’ll be charged with maiming him with no justification.”

“I think I could beat that rap just by calling in character witnesses who’ve taken his classes, but okay, fine, I’ll do it your way.”

Just to be sure, Hermione used a minor charm to whisper into his ear from across the room, “Witnesses, Harry. You have to be careful not to kill anyone when people can see it.”

A few students came down to take Snape to the infirmary. “What did you do, Potter,” Parkinson yelled, “attack a man when he was unconscious?” Their professor had no bones in his forearms and shins. Harry ignored the shouted questions as he joined the rest of the DADA class in drifting out.

Hermione latched onto Harry’s arm and dragged him to a quiet section of corridor with no portraits. She wanted a word with him before he was, inevitably, forced to defend his actions before Dumbledore and McGonagall and, likely enough, the DMLE. “What was all that?” she demanded.

“When I took down Malfoy -- Draco Malfoy, that is -- I found that I could pull magic and energy through the dark mark. That’s why Draco was crushed: I cast a banisher strong enough to go through his shield, but I pulled on his energy and pulled down his shield before it hit. I have to be pretty close to make it work. I bet Voldemort can do it from anywhere. And then I used Snape’s mark to call a Death Eater meeting. I figured that would get Voldy just a little ticked off at the greasy bastard. I vanished Snape’s bones so he couldn’t go. It’ll take a couple of days to re-grow them so he can answer Voldemort’s summons. That should get him a lot ticked off at the greasy bastard, and maybe he’ll torture him a bit. Or a lot. It’s all good.”

“You should have checked with me first, Harry. Aren’t we working together? How can I form optimal strategies unless you tell me everything you can do?”

“I have to be able to fight on my own, Hermione. But you’re right. I should have run this by you first. I just realized I made a big mistake by calling the Death Eater assembly in the classroom in Hogwarts. They can’t apparate there and it’s not likely Voldemort would have called them to there. I should have carried Snape out to the Forbidden Forest and then done the summoning. I could have picked off the other Death Eaters as they arrived. And now maybe I’ve lost my chance. Voldemort may change the mark or tell everyone to ignore it if he figures out that I can use it.”

Hermione tuned out Harry’s rambling as she thought. “He had to go. He was starting to really come down on Daph for being friendly with me. Stori, too. He kept giving them detentions for nothing, as humiliating as he could make them. The only good thing is, the other Slytherins were scared to do anything to her after a few of them got warnings.” Hermione was familiar with those “warnings”. She had to give Harry credit. His warnings had gained subtlety while losing most of the characteristic “felonious assault with deadly force” which had the professors pulling Harry in for interrogation at all hours. The suit of armor clumping up to Eddie Carmichael at breakfast a few days before was a case in point. True, a sausage floating to the armor’s crotch, only to be nibbled by rats which appeared from crevices in the armor, wasn’t exactly subtle but it wasn’t nearly as blatant as the broken bones which awaited anyone who harassed Daphne back in November.

Most impressively, the armor had not been enchanted. Harry had controlled it with focused levitation, banishing, and summoning charms, all wandlessly while eating his own breakfast. His progress was amazing, far beyond anything she’d imagined. She’d have to work harder to make sure he didn’t become a loose canon. He was becoming too dangerous to walk around without a plan. And, as today showed, Harry was still no good at planning.

...ooo000ooo...

“Harry, we need to find out more about this ‘pulling power’ power of yours. It could be crucial in defeating Voldemort.”

“You’re the boss, Boss Lady. What do you want to do?”

“I’d like you to capture a Death Eater. Several, if you can. But before that we need a secure place to hold them so we can do long-term experiments. I have no ideas there.”

“I do, but will have to get outside the castle to ask about it.”

Out of sight behind the green houses, Harry called, “Kreacher! Kreacher, I am going to need places to keep several dangerous prisoners. Does my house on Grimmauld Place have any cells in the basement?”

“Half-blood master should know there are no cells in Kreacher’s dear mistress’s home. Kitchen and laundry is in basement. No room for anything else.”

“Do you know of any other property I own or control, which might have a dungeon?”

“Kreacher is a simple house elf. Ask the wizards what you own. Now if half-blood master is done wasting Kreacher’s time with foolish questions?” The elf popped out without waiting for permission.

“Don’t even think about it, Harry. He was abused longer than you’ve been alive. He needs sympathy more than you need to get vengeance on him.”

Harry frowned. “He’s still a wretched toe rag. I was thinking I might have inherited some property from the Black family which wasn’t listed in the ministry’s records. And I noticed that he didn’t actually answer my question. I’ll look into it later, directly order Kreacher if I have to. Right now I have another idea, one we can use right away. I’m tired of delay delay delay, never getting anything done because I always have to do something else first.”

The Shrieking Shack was almost perfect as an illicit detention facility. It was remote and avoided by all normal, right-thinking wizards. (If “normal”, “right-thinking”, and “wizard” could be used together in a sentence.) Any screams which were overheard would simply add to the Shack’s notoriety and cause wizards to stay even farther away. The only downside was that its true nature was known to several people, conspicuously Dumbledore. It was worth the risk. It didn’t appear that anyone had been inside the building in months or years and Harry couldn’t find any notification wards.

“Good, Harry. How readily can you capture Death Eaters? Can you pop right out and bring one back directly or is it a weekend project?”

“A weekend project, I think. I have an idea of how to track them through their Dark Marks but even if it works at all it will take me a while to do it.”

And so it was that Hermione found herself doing Harry’s homework after breakfast Saturday while he went off to kidnap Death Eaters. Oh, the sacrifices she made for the cause!

Harry wasn’t seen from breakfast Saturday until lunch Sunday. He stopped briefly to tell Hermione, “It’s okay. It was harder than I thought and I ran into a few problems but it worked out okay. We’ll talk in a bit.” He then walked over to the Slytherin table. “Mr Crabbe, I need to speak with you privately. Could you meet me after lunch?”

Later, on the way through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack, Harry told Hermione that he was, in fact, able to detect the Dark Mark at a distance. However, he learned, only a group of Dark Marks would be picked up at a distance. He’d been cautious approaching the large house on the outskirts of the town but still found himself in a pitched fight against six Death Eaters. Pulling magic took all of his concentration and worked on only one enemy at a time so Harry found himself having to fight and kill most of his enemies. He took two prisoners but Crabbe Senior was not one of them.

“Crabbe, the son, took it pretty well. He said his dad died the way he would have wanted to, fighting. He said he doesn’t hold it against me and he’ll keep working for Astoria. I don’t know. I’ll talk to her about it, let her decide. It’s her life. Literally, maybe.”

Hermione didn’t want to remember the “experiments” in the Shrieking Shack. Harry had repeatedly drawn on their magic, practicing until he could do it quickly while still being able to move. He meditated on the feel of their Dark Marks until he could detect the pair of them from a mile away. The entire time they were awake, the Death Eaters screamed at being turned into muggles. They begged and offered their wives and daughters, anything to avoid that fate worse than death.

The subjects were vile, repulsive. They would surely destroy her and everything she valued if given a chance. Their morals and history arguably made them subhuman. And she and Harry needed the knowledge.

No doubt Dr Mengele told himself the same.

As evening wore on, Harry looked at Hermione seriously. “I’m done here. They’re Death Eaters. You know what I’m going to do. Go back to the castle. You don’t have to see this.”

Hermione gratefully took his offer. It didn’t lessen her guilt. It might let her sleep.

Harry was injured in training the next morning. More accurately, he received a new injury because a half-healed injury interfered with his dodging.

Hermione gasped and called a halt to the attacks by a simulated dozen enemies. “What happened? Did you get this last night?” Harry’s entire left side, arm, and thigh showed signs of skin and flesh having been removed and partially re-grown. Potions could do only so much by themselves.

“Yah, last night. I apparated those two to England and then did a Death Eater call with one of their marks. I killed six more as they came, but then Voldemort came. He wasn’t playing around like every time before. I already had a portkey in my hand and that’s the only reason I got away.”

“Are you going to be all right? Should I take you to Madame Pomphrey or even St. Mungo’s?”

“I’ll live. I wouldn’t say No if you want to end training early today, though.”

Harry must be really hurt to say anything other than “I’m fine.” Hermione would keep an eye on him today. “We’ll end training, but after you shower and change I have something even worse for you.” Hermione grinned evilly at Harry’s questioning look. “I did your homework for you Saturday while you were out looking. If you work quickly enough, you’ll be able to copy each paper in your own handwriting before the class in which it is due.”

Something occurred to Hermione later that day. “Harry, did you tell me that you killed twelve Death Eaters yesterday?”

“That’s right. Four and two and then six.”

“That’s remarkable. I don’t believe twelve Death Eaters were ever killed in a single day before. I’m not sure twelve were ever killed in a single month before. During the first war the ministry aurors used the same approach that they do now: stunners unless they are desperate.”

Harry shrugged. “We already knew the aurors and the ministry and Dumbledore were useless. That’s why you started training me back in September.”

“True, but it’s startling to see it set forth so starkly. Well done, Harry.”

Hermione and Harry began working on healing charms in the morning. Hermione had touched on the topic briefly, months before, but it seemed to have fallen in the cracks in the press of everything else to learn.

They ran into a problem. Harry was unable to practice the charms.

Healing charms worked on injuries. That much was obvious in the name.

The problem was that only the most trivial injuries could be self-healed by the caster. Healing charms worked by encouraging the patient’s own magic to do the healing. The healer was a guide, not a power source. A wizard couldn’t heal himself because he’d be focusing and directing his magic to pull up his own magic. It simply didn’t work.

Healer apprentices practiced by injuring and then healing each other.

The real problem was that Harry flatly, categorically, and unshakeably refused to hurt Hermione. He wouldn’t let her hurt herself. At least Hermione was able to practice repairing a broken bone when he stuck his arm between her wand and her own arm.

“Honestly, Harry! You make things so difficult sometimes.”

“Sorry.” No, he wasn’t. “I tried to stay back and let you cast that bone breaker but I couldn’t. I told you, lots of times, that I’d keep you safe if I could. Maybe I cast a compulsion on myself.”

“We can heal each other in the mornings when we get hurt in fight training, rather than have Winky do it. It won’t be as effective as structured practice, but it’s probably the best we can do.”

“I’m glad you haven’t suggested capturing Death Eaters and hurting and healing them. I don’t think I could do it. Kill them, sure. They’re enemies. But I don’t think I could torture them even for a good cause. It was bad enough when those two thought I was torturing them.”

“We’re agreed. We don’t stoop to their level. Dumbledore takes it too far, but there has to be some distinction between our enemies and us.”

Hermione wondered if there was room for philosophy and ethics in their lessons. They’d been focusing on practical skills. Maybe it was time to start thinking about what made them different from their enemies, both the Death Eaters and Dumbledore.

...ooo000ooo...

Hermione pulled Harry into an unused classroom after breakfast late in February and put up all the privacy charms she could. When he saw what she was doing, Harry helped.

“I saw in the morning’s Prophet that Dolores Umbridge was killed two days ago. There were no witnesses and no evidence and no suspects. Is there anything you would care to share with me, Harry?”

“I killed her, if that’s what you’re asking. I wasn’t keeping it from you, just didn’t tell you yet. I was going to tell you yesterday after our morning training but I was so exhausted, remember? And then, with one thing and another, I didn’t have a chance to talk all day yesterday.”

“One thing and another” was Daphne and Luna. Daphne must have been in heat yesterday, to judge by the way she’d pounced on Harry as he left the Great Hall after lunch. Luna had commented on the technique’s efficiency and then had done it herself after dinner. Hermione felt a frisson of resentment. She was getting up well before dawn every day, training Harry and developing her own skills and working to keep Harry and the entire wizarding world alive and sleeping alone every night, and other girls came swooping in and gaining the benefit of Harry’s new emotional maturity and physical endurance. And Harry! Flash him some skin and he’d lose sight of what was important.

“Harry,” Hermione said between her teeth, drawing on every bit of patience she could pull up, “I can see three things wrong with that statement. First, you shouldn’t have murdered Umbridge. It’s a very slippery slope from killing in self defense, to killing Death Eaters and other people who are a direct threat to you, to killing people out of simple revenge. Second, at the very least you should have told me what you were planning, so I could fit it into the campaign plan and decide on the targets that best fit the broader strategy. And finally, you are not spending your time in the most productive manner. I’m working so hard to guide your training. You have so much to learn and there’s no time to waste. Do you really think an afternoon groping your pseudo-girlfriend is more important than training to fight or doing your homework?”

“Are you seriously complaining about me spending time with Daphne? After you threw us together?”

In a cooler moment, Hermione would have seen just how shaky were the grounds for her grievance. Here, this afternoon, worried about Harry turning into a casual murderer and worried about him being caught and worried about being in danger if Harry didn’t train enough to vanquish Voldemort and frustrated about sleeping alone every night, was not a cooler moment. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! We’re all depending on you, Harry. If all you do is think with your crotch, then you’ll never win and we’ll all die and then neither of us will be able to sleep with Daphne. You don’t realize that sometimes you have to sacrifice for everyone’s good. That’s why I have to guide you, because you don’t make the right decisions by yourself.”

Harry shot Hermione a look of loathing that cut through her self-righteous tantrum. “I’m no one’s puppet, Miss Dumbledore.” Then he shimmered and was gone before her own words struck her.

Hermione spent a bad night, logic and self-righteous indignation and concern for her friend’s good opinion and horror at the path she was following and physical fear all roiling through her brain. She was right, she was sure of it! But Harry was right, too. She wasn’t Harry’s mother or employer or even girlfriend. She had no right to demand that he report to her and follow her orders.

This kept up until it was time to get up for morning training. Hermione trudged up to the seventh floor, hoping that Harry would be there this morning. Hoping their friendship would overcome their disagreement.

Harry was there already, looking as if he, too, had spent a sleepless night. They rushed to each other with hugs and “You’re right. I’m sorry.” blending together.

“So we’re good?”

“As friends, yes. As training partners, yes. For vanquishing Voldemort, yes. We have to find out if we can work together after that.”

“Even if we can’t, I’ll always be your friend, Hermione.”

“And I’ll always be yours.

“Now what are you doing, just standing around? You think you’re going to get stronger, just standing around with your finger in your nose? Move it, Potter! Burn your way through that concrete wall. Burn, I said, not blast. I’ll set up for the next exercise.”

After a practice which had them working very closely together and which left them both sweaty and drained -- magically drained, that is -- Harry cut into their shower time by bringing up the sore topic from the day before. “I need to tell you about Umbridge. She was demoted from Senior Undersecretary after Fudge was booted. Some genius put her in charge of relations with the families of Muggle-born wizards and witches.”

“That’s ridiculous! It would take a phenomenally stupid department head to put Umbridge there. Or a pureblood supremacist hoping to keep the muggle-born away.”

“That’s about what I figured, too. I heard a couple of firsties talking about it about a week ago, saying how Umbridge’s letters were very insulting and how she had sent them by owl and they made their deliveries in the middle of the day, right in front of co-workers or whoever. I spent two afternoons in the ministry lobby, waiting for her to pass by or use the public floos, and lucked out. I put a locator charm on her as she was flooing somewhere, then late that night apparated to where she was. She didn’t have any security at all on her house. That was a little surprising, considering how quote-quote-important she was before. Oh, and the ministry lobby doesn’t have any security to speak of. Nothing to detect invisibility or notice-me-not and no alarms when I cast the locator. And the guard didn’t even look up when I came down from the telephone booth and walked past him.”

“That’s good to know, in case we ever need it. Continue with your after-action report, Harry.”

“So I got into Umbridge’s house. Found her, surprised her, captured her, interrogated her. She was just as much of a bigot as she was last year, no surprise, and wanted to keep Muggle-born away. She didn’t plan on murdering anyone but did think it would be better if all the Muggle-born and their families were dead. She had some plans to publish the addresses of all the Muggle relatives of witches and wizards. She hadn’t done that yet, though. She didn’t know anything useful, like any Death Eaters working in the ministry, none that we didn’t already suspect, anyway.

“So at the end I wasn’t sure what to do. I could kill her in cold blood if I needed to but didn’t want to. It’s like you said, slippery slope. While I was thinking, I realized that she had recognized me and of course would tell about it as soon as I let her go. I’d forgotten to put on any disguise; big screw-up there. I tried obliviating her, but it didn’t work, naturally. I need practice but don’t know how to get it unless I start practicing on people I don’t care about. My obliviation didn’t make her a vegetable or anything, it just didn’t do anything. An Obliviate Potion would have been useful, but I’m glad it doesn’t exist. We’d have to be totally paranoid about what we ate or drank.”

“Even more than we are now. I agree, it would be easily abused. What did you do about Umbridge?”

“I killed her. I grabbed a pillow and smothered her. Murdered her in cold blood. Now that I’ve thought about what you said last night, I think you’re really right about the slippery slope. I don’t feel any guilt at all about it. Umbridge would have gladly watched you and your parents die, and me, too, and she tortured me last year and was a disgusting person. But that’s all just justifying it. I killed her and don’t feel guilty about it. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t want to become a monster like Voldemort. If I let you, or anyone, make the decision about who I should kill, then I’m just a weapon. I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t, either. But I’ll stay beside you to the end, no matter what. I love you and won’t let you fall.”

That evening, Hermione gave Harry the best advice she could for him to avoid the Scylla and Charybdis of being a puppet and being an amoral, loose cannon.

“Make your own guidelines for when you’re willing to kill or anything else. Think through how much you value the lives of people who are dangerous and people who are completely innocent and people who are simply foolish. Think of exceptions to the main rules ahead of time so you don’t have to decide under pressure. Then live by them. If someone doesn’t meet the criteria for dying, don’t kill him. Keep your guidelines secret so that no one can manipulate you through them.

“My only other suggestion is confession, the way Catholics do it. It doesn’t have to be a priest, simply someone you trust to be discreet and who has good judgment and who has no power over you. I can’t think of anyone to suggest. My father, perhaps, except that he’s of course too close to me and I’m part of the problem. This is why I first suggested writing your own guidelines. You’ve never had many people in your life you could rely on, don’t have many now, and really can rely only on yourself to work on your behalf.”

“Myself and you, Hermione. I’ve always been able to rely on you. I’ll make the rules for myself like you said but I’ll have to show it to someone for a second opinion. I don’t trust my own judgment where you’re involved.”

“What? Whatever do you mean?”

“Dumbledore. I haven’t forgotten that he trapped you here in order to keep me here. You told me not to kill him and maybe you’re right because maybe Voldemort stays away from Hogwarts because of him, but I’m not taking orders anymore, not even from you. Your life is the most important thing to me. I guess mine is next and then Daph’s and Stori’s and Luna’s. No one else is close. Dumbledore’s life isn’t even on the list. I’ll torture him to death if he pulls something like those blood wards again. I don’t trust my judgment, so I’ll wait until I can find someone to talk to.”

Hermione sniffled. “I love you, too, Harry. Don’t do anything rash even if Dumbledore does something. I can wait until you can get it settled.”

...ooo000ooo...

Sitting in the library with her usual cohort, Hermione flipped through a few books which did not come from the Hogwarts library. She had continued to go through the books from the Black library as time allowed, which included time spent sitting with her friends, ready to help on homework as needed. Few of them were of any direct use in classes. Some had good theory or background, which normally she would have devoured, but now she needed ways to vanquish enemies.

Will and Power sounded like a wizarding version of Nietzsche but actually concerned magical theory. One section covered manifesting an aura and the uses to which a magical aura might be put. Hermione was about to flag it as interesting but useless. Harry needed to kill his enemies, not intimidate them. But then one passage struck her. With practice, a sufficiently powerful Wizard may impose his Will upon his Fellowes. This effect is produced by mere Will and magical Might and not by explicated Spell. As a consequence, the effect is subtle and insidious, persuasive rather than commanding. The Wizard’s Fellowes may be induced to act against their better judgment or their self interest in favor of the Wizard’s.

Dumbledore had power. Dumbledore had had a century to learn and to practice arcane magics.

Dumbledore believed in unlimited second chances for unrepentant offenders. Dumbledore wanted to keep the illusion of peace in his school regardless of the cost to innocents.

The teachers at Hogwarts all exhibited a criminal level of negligence toward the children in their care.

Dumbledore was arguably insane.

The Hogwarts staff was little better.

It was possible that Dumbledore had selected and groomed the Hogwarts staff over the decades to surround himself with like-minded negligent fools. That was plausible, considering the level of foolishness on daily exhibition in the Wizard world.

It was just as plausible that Dumbledore was subtly influencing the professors, encouraging them to see things his way.

And if that meant coddling Snape and other bullies at the expense of Harry and Luna and other students ... it was all for the Greater Good.

Hermione had to show this book to Harry and Astoria. With luck, Harry could emit a Responsibility field to counteract Dumbledore’s Insanity field.

...ooo000ooo...

“I think that concludes the planning portion of our meeting.” Hermione and the Greengrasses met semi-regularly to discuss the previous week’s and the next week’s training and nemesis schedules and to plan how they could best reach their shared goals. In theory Harry should have been included in the planning sessions and in theory Daphne wasn’t needed for discussing Hermione’s and Astoria’s plans, but the planning portion of the meeting usually took about ten minutes and was followed by an hour of the two single girls grilling Daphne for every detail of the past week’s victory/consolation sessions. Not that harsh interrogation techniques were needed. Whether because of a slightly malicious desire to rub in their faces just what she was getting or because of a wholly benevolent desire to share her happiness, Daphne needed just the slightest prompting --- a raised eyebrow would do --- to spill her guts.

“Before we go into this week’s episode of The Amazing Snake Charmer, I need to talk to you, Stori. Hermione, you should hear this, too.

“Harry told me about your little trap on Tuesday, Stori. He didn’t tell me everything, but told me some of it because he was annoyed and because of, ah, moral qualms. Do you want me to repeat what he told me or do you want to tell it from your perspective?”

“I’ll tell. It’s only fair. You’ve been telling your stories for months.” Astoria’s face was bright red. Surely she hadn’t...?

“I trapped Harry in an old store room. And, ah, trapped myself in there as well.”

“Trapped yourself? That was rather careless. You normally don’t make mistakes like that.”

“Ah, no. I meant to trap us together.”

Hermione saw where this was going. “You did prepare ahead of time, correct? You saw Madame Pomphrey for a contraceptive potion?”

“Ah, I didn’t plan to go quite that far. But, ah, I did get a potion. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“So you trapped the two of you in a small room. I’m guessing there was just a single couch to sit on?”

“Yes. Let me tell the story my own way. The events are less important than the motivation.

“After the door closed, I told Harry, with my best evil cackle, that I’d trapped him and he was mine to do with as I wished, and that I wished for him to hug and kiss me. After a few very pleasant minutes I sat Harry down and told him that he had four young women interested in him and three of them were keeping him interested in them by sleeping with him. Yes, Hermione, I included you. Deny it all you wish, but you’re interested in him.

“He asked if I wanted to sleep with him, too, and said he probably wouldn’t because of my age and because of my sister. I told him No, because of my upbringing. Daphne rejected what our parents taught us but I haven’t. However, I wanted to let him know I was interested and to get him interested in me.”

“What does that mean? Non-contact nudity? I’d think that would be more frustrating than interesting. For both of you.”

“No. Not non-contact and not nudity. I’d written the pass-phrase to unlock the door on my body. I told Harry that the only way out was to remove enough of my clothing that he could read it. And Harry kissed me again and hugged me and fondled my bottom and I thought my plan was a success.

“And then he swatted my bottom and told me never to try to force him to do anything. And then he made the entire door disappear and then he disappeared without another word. I’ve never felt so humiliated.”

“As you should.” Hermione was not pleased. “Perhaps it is time to retire you as Harry’s nemesis.”

“No!”

“I’m not sure it’s accomplishing much, anymore, Harry and I have begun direct actions against You-Know-Who, and, frankly, I doubt your ability to remain impartial and to do what’s needed for his training.”

Astoria was not pleased. Nor was Daphne. “Is this because I’ve claimed him two of the past three nights?”

“No! While I’ll readily admit that I have trouble sleeping alone, that has nothing to do with it. Honestly, we’re even busier than in November and I’m not sure that fighting off Astoria’s various plots is doing us, him, any good. And please note that I said nothing about you sleeping with him, Daphne. Or you, for that matter, Astoria.”

Mollified, Daphne nodded. Astoria nodded thoughtfully. “Working against Harry has helped me in my attacks but not at all in defending myself. The only attacks against me were Snape’s detentions, and I couldn’t do anything about that because Dumbledore sanctified his actions, and Malfoy’s physical attack. I failed that miserably and only Harry saved me.”

“And you started crushing on him. Perfectly understandable, but deleterious to our work.”

Astoria sighed. “Yes. I’ll look for another partner, one who will counter-attack politically. I’ll arrange this as quickly as I can, while I still have Vin and Greg to protect me in case the conflict escalates. Will you still help me with my advanced studies?”

“Yes, of course, as time allows.”

“Speaking of ‘as time allows’, we’ve come back almost to where we started. How are we going to divide up private time with Harry? We could work him in shifts. We might work him to death, but he’d die happy.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, Daphne. Don’t forget our main goal, Harry’s and my main goal. All this was to prepare him to defeat You-Know-Who. We don’t want to do anything to interfere with that goal. As for your, ah, energetic time with him, aside from your and Harry’s own preferences in the matter, I’ve encouraged it so that he can let off pressure. He works very hard and should play very hard, so long as it doesn’t take too much time or energy or attention away from the mission.

“As for my asking him to sleep with me, I confess that is more for my needs than his, though he’s never hinted at a complaint. I’ve hinted before that some of the things I’ve had to do are preying on my conscience. Sleeping with Harry helps me to sleep.”

The other two digested that for a moment. “Do you want to alternate nights with him? What about you, Stori? Do you want us to schedule you in for some nights?”

Astoria blushed again. “No. A few evenings would be nice.”

Hermione sighed. “Don’t forget Harry’s preferences. Should we bring Luna in and work up a four-way schedule?”