10

Blast it, I'm sorry, guys. I got this chapter messed up when I originally posted it. I've hopefully mitigated the damage, but... well.

TRAINING SEQUENCE!

"What purpose could you have to study anatomy?"

"Are you kidding? This stuff is amazing! It's one thing to know some little titbits of how our bodies work, but knowing it all is... fascinating!" Harry's eyes shone with unholy glee. Sirius shuddered.

"A-ha. You know, you scare me sometimes, kid."

"I know. I scare myself when I'm thinking about what exactly I'm going to do with this," Harry lifted the anatomy book, "and that book about body enhancement and tissue manipulation I've got from the library. Ooooh, so many IDEAS!"

"I just wanted to help," Sirius grumbled, opening his flask of calming potion and knocking it down quickly. "I didn't mean to create a monster."

Chapter 10: The Vigilant and the Sadistic

The next morning saw Harry down in the kitchens as usual. The elves, it seemed, had gotten used to him cooking for himself and no longer pestered him. Sometimes their behaviour when around Harry indicated that they thought of him not as a master, but as an equal. Of course, if they noticed it, they would become incredibly flustered and start apologizing and/or bashing their heads with the crockery. When he waved off the apologies they would look at him weirdly and carry on. Maybe I'm starting to rub off on them. Merlin knows I'm slowly getting to like the little guys. Not that I trust them; that is still a very, very far prospective, considering the fact that I still believe them to be functionally insane.

Harry sat at the table directly under where the Gryffindor table was in the Great Hall, raining genocide on the eggs and obliterating the toasts, while slowly and methodically eradicating the coffee reserves in his proximity. Hermione and Ron were sitting across of him, both opting to go with house-elf prepared food. Hermione has long since abandoned her quest for elf freedom, but still occasionally indulged in cooking. The whole SPEW business got thrown out of the window when Harry, who got rather tired of his friend's enthusiasm, found a book in the library that stated that the so-called house elves were not elves at all – the actual elves have left the magical world. Guess Tolkien got some of his facts right. Where they were now, no one knew – and those who did kept silent. The house elves were in fact enslaved minor demons that lived on the isles long before humans came here. They had a large population and an ability to sync and unite their power to accomplish large-scale feats, enormous-scale feats of magic, if the book was to be believed. To make it all a problem, they were extremely mischievous and aggressive beings that enjoyed pranking people to death. So, when the first wizards – the Celtic druids – appeared in Britain, they didn't take long before declaring an all-out war with the imps. The little shits had been winning up until the Romans came to the isles, bringing the joys of civilization, pillaging, rapes, mass executions and most importantly, the concept of wands. Wands were much more precise than the primitive staves the druids used while not losing in power, and in a couple of decades the imps were all but exterminated. The pathetic remains of their once flourishing people were all enslaved by an ancient Roman curse that bound their magic to that of a wizard, utilizing their ability to sync their cores with others. Insidious and positively brilliant, Harry had to say, even if very immoral (Hermione hit him with that book when he told her that). Therefore, the imps were forced to do the bidding of their masters. After about ten generations the severe losses in that war started to show their consequences, and the inbreeding was what finally snapped the collective spine of a once proud race. Harry remembered thinking grim thoughts about parallels between the used-to-be-imps and their magical masters. One only had to look at Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Bulstrode... hell, about 40% of the Slytherin and 10% of the purebloods from the other houses actually looked inbred. The magical world was swiftly going to hell in a hand basket. I wonder if other countries have the same problem.

The quietly eating trio was approached by Dropsy, the elf that was second-in-command of the kitchens (he was extremely clumsy, so the other elves trained him to be a good manager so that he would be helping out without actually working). He coughed and gave them all a sheepish look.

"Miss Makgonal wantses you all to comes to her after breackefaste."

Merlin, I can't quite discern if the elves' accents are adorable enough to give me diabetes or annoying the crap out of me.

"Fine, we'll come. Thank you, Dropsy," he nodded to him. The little bugger beamed at the boy proudly and left skipping.

"What'd you reckon this is about?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged and scooped up the last toast.

"Our schedules, I expect. But there must be something more to it. Otherwise she would have just given them to Dropsy."

Hermione nodded and reached for a napkin. Harry rose and stretched a bit.

"Damn, I'm full. Let's go find out what McGonagall wants, shall we?"

Ten minutes later they stood in front of their Head of House.

"There you three are. Here are your schedules. Please note that you don't have anything for today due to the Transfiguration lessons being put on hold. That spectral delinquent Peeves has annihilated all the materials and freed the animals in the castle. Insufferable pest."

Harry carefully controlled his face, not allowing his amusement at the vexed look McGonagall was wearing to show. It was the first time he heard McGonagall call anyone names. The professor shook her head, as if warding away thoughts about a certain mischievous spirit, and continued in her usual brisk tone:

"Let me congratulate you for your impressive results in the last year's exams. Mr. Weasley, you impressed me. It is rare that such a drastic change in a student's attitude happens. Carry on."

Ron puffed up with pride. True, it was mostly Hermione who forced him to do his homework, but these days she only had to remind him to do something. Once he started working, he didn't need additional stimuli, as long as his friends were also doing something and not glaringly lazing about in his vicinity (not that it happened often).

"That will be all for now. Mister Potter, we have one more topic to discuss," she dismissed Ron and Hermione and summoned two thick files from a shelf near her desk. After the duo left, throwing curious glances at Harry and the professor, she smiled that tight-lipped smile slightly wider than she usually did and said:

"The reason I wanted to talk to you was the tutoring I promised to you last year. As you had new classes to adapt to, I had to shelve the idea. Now, however, I believe you will be able to handle it, if you are still willing, of course."

Harry frowned, trying to recall the details of the promised lessons, but for the life of him he couldn't remember anything of the sort.

"I'm always up for some individual work, of course, but I have forgotten what exactly we were talking about."

She looked vaguely amused at his words.

"Well, as it was I who tutored you to use transfiguration as an instrument of a duel, it is time for professor Flitwick to teach you."

How could I forget this?! Private lessons with Flitwick equalled duelling. This is huge. Harry couldn't help but grin and nod.

Quickly.

Many times.

When he finally exited the room, excited beyond belief, and was set upon by a curious Hermione, he couldn't get his thoughts together to answer her questions for a while.

The same day, 7 pm, the office of Filius Flitwick

"Good evening, Mr. Potter," professor Flitwick squeaked, jumping off his chair.

"Good evening, professor. Rumour has it that the former duelling champion is not opposed to teaching a couple of tricks to a humble student," Harry replied, smiling slightly.

"Oh, indeed. Minerva told me of your interest, and Merlin knows she never shuts up about your prowess during the weekly meetings," the half-goblin said, walking briskly to the door in the back of his office. The boy blinked. McGonagall was bragging about me?

I guess I now know why Snape is even more snappish than usual. Heh.

Following the tiny professor, he entered a big hall, bare but for a low podium. It was clearly a duelling chamber.

"Well, Mr. Potter, let us start from the beginning. How would you go about fighting in a duel?" Professor asked, shrugging off his robes and turning to him. Harry shrugged.

"Play it by ear, may… Merlin!" he barely dodged a silver spell that raced the space between them as quick as lightning. The next second he had to jump back so to ensure that a pink stream of light didn't hit him. The following pulse of light, orange in colour, forced him to duck. Harry took out his wand and pointed it in the general direction of his professor while rolling to the side.

"Depulso!"

A grey, almost completely translucent half-dome rose between them, blocking the Banisher and two follow-up jinxes with a melodic tinkling. Harry frowned. Is this a test?

The shield dissolved in a second, allowing for three spells to come at the boy in a quick progression, and evasion was growing much more difficult by the minute. I have to end this quickly without implementing anything fatal from my arsenal. Flitwick wouldn't be very pleased if I threw flames at him, would he? Well, okay, in the best case, he would be. Harry jumped over a bright green jet and swished his wand, pushing his strength into the spell in his mind.

"Expulso!"

A telekinetic bubble formed on the tip of his wand. Just as he launched it, however, he blacked out while seeing red light.

When he came to his senses, he was lying in a heap on the floor, and Flitwick stood above him, frowning and holding his wand slightly to the side.

"Mr. Potter. Please explain your strategy and why it didn't work."

Harry jerked his neck, receiving a loud crack at the motion, and sat on the floor.

"As such, there wasn't a plan. I was caught unawares and forced to come up with something on the spot. My main strength currently is Transfiguration, but there was nothing here to transfigure. I can conjure small objects, but my conjurations tend to be slow and I need to really concentrate for them to work. Therefore, you would easily be able to get me while I try to make anything from the air. So, I had to stick with direct magic. The only non-lethal curse that I know besides the usual school yard jinxes that would be suitable in a duel is the exploding charm. Besides the time needed to incant the spell, it requires a second to power up, but it compensates for it with its stopping force. Of course, it wouldn't be a good trade off in case when your opponent stuns you mid-cast, as was the occasion here," Harry grimaced. Flitwick regarded him thoughtfully, his wand twirling in the tiny hands.

"Well, I'm afraid that in a duel such magic is more of a dead weight, Mr. Potter. Do you know the first rule of magical engagement?"

The boy shook his head. The professor hummed and gestured for him to rise before conjuring himself a table that sprang up right from under him, lifting him to Harry's eye-level. Then he intoned slowly and clearly:

"First rule of the duelling by Filius Flitwick – be faster than your enemy in everything."

Harry nodded slowly, seeing the truth in his words.

"So long incantations and spells requiring power-up time are a no-go?"

Flitwick frowned and jerked his wand. Harry felt as if somebody knocked him on the temple.

"Tell me now in which circumstances the use of long incantations would be permitted while not being a sitting duck."

Harry started pacing.

"Well, I suppose it would be acceptable if I used it while my opponent is in no condition to retaliate – but then, I would have an arsenal of quicker spells that would do just as well. Also, it could be used in a sneak attack if I threw up a silencing ward as to not alert the bad guy…" Harry stopped and turned to the professor. "Lastly, it could be my attack of desperation. That is all I can think of right now."

He nodded.

"I would recommend its usage in surprise attacks. Magical fighting is divided in two categories: duelling and actual fighting. The first is… civilized, let's say, and ordered. It has rules. The real fighting is at the same time much simpler and more complex. We will be working with the basic concepts of the second type of engagement. I sincerely doubt you entertain a dream of becoming a professional duellist like yours truly."

Harry shook his head thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure about what I will do in the future – I have only some vague wishes, nothing more."

"As is to be expected," the diminutive professor tisked. "Now, what I will be teaching you is not just some fancy spells and curses to throw at your future enemies. Not to say that it won't be a part of what I've prepared for you."

Harry suddenly felt a bit wary at his grin – it was a bit too much like the goblins' at that moment. Only then did he realize with a frightening clarity that Flitwick was, in fact, a half-goblin.

"What I will try to teach you is how to think in the heat of battle. Mr. Potter, from what I have seen in you, you have the gift to be a very, very good tactician, and by Merlin I will do my utmost to nurture it," the grin became even wider, growing slightly manic. "But today, we will work on what you already have. After all, I have to assess your level."

I'm doomed.

Next day, 8.30 am, the kitchens

"Harry?"

"Uhrm... what?"

The boy was nursing a cup of tea and a tremendous headache.

"Why aren't you eating?" Hermione asked. Harry raised a dull gaze to her and shifted it to the elf which stopped by just then, seemingly worried about him.

"Hey, Thunky..."

"It's Sunkey, young master," the little critter interrupted.

"Right. Sunkey, could you please give me something to eat? I really can't force myself to cook anything right now..."

The grin on the elf's face was positively luminescent. With an excited "right-away, master!" he skipped over to the other elves. Harry curved his lips into a slight smile and propped his elbow on the table while resting his head on the hand.

"Damn... I'm sooo knackered."

"Harry, what happened yesterday? Did the lesson go well? We stayed up late, but we didn't see you!" Hermione was looking at him with worry. The boy groaned in remembrance.

"Well, I was with Flitwick. He taught me, all right."

"Duelling?" Hermione asked, remembering what she knew about the half-blood professor. Harry tsked.

"Not... exactly. Yesterday, he just told me to improvise while he threw spells at me for a couple of hours," he shivered. "Let me tell you this: he has a sadistic streak that would rival a full goblin. I thought I'd die when I was walking to the tower. In fact, I nearly collapsed halfway there."

"Really?" Hermione inhaled. "That's horrible!"

"Yep. I had to pause for a minute and walk slowly," Harry lied through his teeth. No way in hell would he tell anyone what really happened. He wouldn't be able to live this down as it is. Hopefully, the girl wouldn't talk about it.

Fat chance of that, though. She seemed far too amused at the situation.

11.30, the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom

The trio were amongst the first to enter the class and quickly made to the front row. Harry looked around in curiosity, appreciating the things that the new teacher had hung on the walls – an assortment of posters with various Dark creatures, a stand with cut-off Prophet articles, some pictures of what seemed to be Death Eaters and a couple of mannequins. Students were trickling inside the room, taking their seats and casting wary glances around. For some reason, few of them talked. The atmosphere of anticipation combined with the scary exterior of their new professor and the wild rumours that spread about him across the castle had managed to intimidate many of them.

Five minutes after the last student arrived, the door banged open again, allowing the twisted figure of their new professor inside.

"These years," he rasped, walking to the board, his wooden leg clacking on the floor and his fake magical eye swirling around, pausing now and then on different faces, "the quality of education in this castle has become disturbingly low when it comes to the subject I've been asked to teach. In the last ten years, there were only two more or less competent teachers. Two! And then the ministry wonders why there are less Aurors on the field."

He whirled around and started writing on the board with furious speed.

"Now, Lupin got you up to speed when it comes to the Dark Creatures. But you don't know a thing about fighting a wizard besides some joke hexes. I will correct that!"

He stomped over to his chair.

"Now, who knows what the Viggnir's classification is? You," he pointed at Hermione, who got her hand up in the air nearly before he finished asking the question.

"The Viggnir's classification regards all combat spells of direct effect, breaking..."

"Meaning?" Moody growled. Hermione blinked.

"Sorry?"

"Define 'direct effect'!" he asked impatiently.

"The direct effect spells are active combat spells that target living beings."

"True enough. It means that the curse is thrown right at your face and can be deflected with some sort of shield, provided that you have enough power to pull it off. The only exception to this rule is the Killing Curse, but it is a topic for a later lesson," Moody nodded to Hermione. "Very well, five points to Gryffindor. What's your name, lass?"

"Hermione Granger."

Moody's magical eye scanned the attendance sheet while his normal one studied the girl's face.

"So you're the one that Minerva won't shut up about," he grumbled, causing the girl to smile in elation. "Now, can anyone else tell me what Viggnir based his classification on?" Harry raised his hand and after Moody pointed at him, answered.

"He basically divided all direct spells into jinxes, hexes and curses. Jinxes are the spells that are designed to discomfort, trap, immobilise and obstruct the enemy. Hexes are meant to affect the senses and to a minor degree, the mind as well, and range from tickling and confusing spells to stunners. Curses, in their turn, have the potential to cause bodily harm or even kill their targets. Blasting curses, cutting curses, entrails-expelling curses..."

"True. Another five points to Gryffindor. You're Potter? Another one who McGonagall keeps talking about. Now, what about the spells that do not suit this classification but nevertheless are called ether jinx, hex or curse? Does anyone know them?"

This time, Susan Bones answered the question.

"The Anti-Apparition Jinx."

"That's one. Bones, right? Five points to Hufflepuff."

"The Curse of the Finikians."

"Right, there were some arguments about whether it should still be classified as a curse or be called a jinx. It summons a fog that is an absolute pain to dispel, so even if it's not a direct spell, it was thus considered a jinx. But, as it usually happens, tradition won and it is still known as a curse. What's your name?"

"Padma Patil."

"Five points to Ravenclaw. Who else?"

And so it continued. After the ideas ran out, Moody told them of the classification of engagements and the main principles of self-defence. Finally, the lesson ended.

"I want you all to bring me a study of the changes in spell classification over the times with your commentary. Next lesson, we'll look through them and compare the results during the class. Now, off with you lot! Potter, you stay. We have something to discuss."

After the students left, murmuring excitedly, Harry turned towards the old ex-Auror with a frown.

"Do you have lessons now, Potter?"

Harry shook his head.

"No, I'm done for today."

"Good. I have a free period now, so come along."

They exited the class and Moody shut the door closed and muttered a couple of incantations under his nose, tapping the lock and the door frame. They walked outside without any idle talk, as Moody didn't show any willingness to engage in such and Harry was far too awkward and nervous to start it. Finally, when they reached the middle of the bridge, he finally stopped and leaned on the parapet.

"Potter, I've heard you have killed this summer," the grizzled former Auror said bluntly.

Harry started. He didn't expect the talk to be about this of all things.

"Yes."

The retired Auror grumbled something under his breath and scrutinised the boy before him.

"Nasty business. I always took it as a rule to debrief my men who had to kill on mission. What are your thoughts on this, lad? And don't lie, I smell bullshit as well as a niffler smells gold."

Harry shrugged and looked at the mountains, barely visible behind the constant fog.

"Honestly – I don't know. I feel conflicted. On one hand, the life of a sentient being is the most precious thing in the world, but on the other – they were scum that could kill somebody in the future if I didn't put them down."

"Could, would – it doesn't matter, kid," Moody rumbled. "If you can spare someone without risking your life – do it. There are few people who really should be killed – those who are able to escape Azkaban."

"I didn't choose to kill them," Harry argued, turning to his professor. "I just... reacted. I would have settled for knocking them out, believe me, and I certainly didn't throw anything dark or explicitly lethal at them!"

"I believe you, lad, now stop yelling like Ragnarok has come and Fenrir has bitten you in the arse," Moody snorted. "I know you had little choice on the matter. I know you just used simple spells. And that, I believe, is the reason beyond your relative calmness regarding these events. And you did not do as bad as most of your generation would have. But if you were prepared, you would do much, much better."

"Prepared?" Harry looked at him with curiosity.

"Yes, prepared. And I don't mean that you should have been encased in dragon-hide armour and had an escape Portkey or two primed – though that is always handy. I mean your mind-set," he touched his forehead, swirling his magical eye wildly for the effect.

That thing is seriously freaky.

"You must be on guard," Moody continued to rumble, "You enter a room, you look for escape routes and easily defensible positions. You must practise CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Harry jumped, his ears ringing and his heart making little loop-de-loops in his chest at the sudden shock.

"And that reminds me of another topic I've wanted to talk to you about. You met Black last year, right? Tell me everything."

The tale took another ten minutes, after which Moody was wearing a heavy frown that made his face look even scarier.

"So he basically told you he'd return? Good. That makes it easier. He ran last year to lick his wounds and recover. I knew him when I gave him and your father fighting lessons – he's not the patient sort. He will come back as soon as he can to finish what he had started. That means, kid that we can expect him to resurface in the near future. For now – keep your eyes open and be VIGILANT! If you see anything that can be related to him – tell me, and then call the Aurors," he waited for Harry's acknowledgement, and then muttered: "He's an Animagus... That may be how he's escaped in the first place. I'll need to warn Amelia about a hole in Azkaban wards..."

With that, the slightly unsettling man slowly walked away, his wooden leg clanking on the wood of the bridge. Harry watched him vanish in the distance. Something that the ex-Auror said caught the boy's attention and was slowly turning into an embryo of an Idea which will one day flourish.

"Prepared..."

Las Vegas, sometime between morning and 3pm

Sirius opened his bleary eyes and barely withheld a groan. His head felt like it had dwarves mining for gold with industrial level equipment in there. When he cautiously opened his right eye and assured himself that the lighting was as bearable as it could get (the twilight that was created by closed blinders was rather pleasing for his hangover-induced light allergy) he forced himself to sit on the bed. Or tried to.

He was obstructed by someone's head lying on his stomach. When he glanced at the head, he was rather relieved to see that the head was a) obviously belonging to a female; b) was very beautiful; c) was drooling on his unmentionables.

Seeing that his predicament couldn't be escaped – or shouldn't be escaped by any hot-blooded male – he closed his eyes contentedly and started to remember the previous night.

The neon lamps in the casino were becoming more and more fascinating with every drink he had. Sirius grinned; as he heavily disliked Muggle cocktails (mostly because of the name – not that he would admit it), he managed to bring a couple of bottles of firewhisky with him and was slowly drinking himself into a stupor.

Fortunately, he was an extremely coherent drunk, which kept most of the people around from guessing his condition. But what was even more important – to him, at least – was the fact that he was very, very lucky when he was drunk. He didn't even have to resort to cheating: the money was flowing to him as it is.

After a certain amount of time, he was joined by a very, very hot woman. As addled as he was, he didn't question her presence – and when he suggested going for a drink, she immediately agreed, saying that in any drinking games, she's always won, and challenged Sirius a drinking game, much to his glee.

A simple truth that he knew from his experiences and common knowledge was that when a muggle is confronted with a glass of firewhisky they are done. It doesn't matter how high his alcohol tolerance is: one glass was enough to make anyone sway and slur like a sailor on a shore leave.

The woman wasn't an exception, and after a glass of the drink and some drunken shenanigans that cost Sirius a half of his that day's winnings, they finally went to bed.

And that was the best thing that happened to Sirius since Azkaban. Well, besides meeting his godson, but that is in another category entirely.

When Sirius woke up in the second time, the pressure on his lower stomach was noticeably absent. After fully waking up, he got up and walked to the kitchen to see where were his winnings and his new woman-for-the-night.

Both, as he found out to his surprise, were gone.

When he ran to the safe to see the state of the remains of the money he won in the last few months, he saw the metal box opened with a glaring void inside.

On the safe there was a note.

Sorry, sugar, but work is work. I must admit, I enjoyed last night, so I left some of the money under the pillow. You're lucky, so you're not going to be in trouble for not paying for the room.

Ciao, handsome.

"Well bugger me sideways. Damn it, Sirius, you've been had by one of the oldest tricks in the book. I'd say I'm losing it, but it was worth it."

Crumbling the note and walking to the bed to check the promised leftovers, Sirius decided that enough was enough.

It was time to look into returning to Britain.

19pm, 4th of September, Saturday

The second meeting with Flitwick was dedicated to shields.

"I assume that after last lesson you understand that there is more to defence than just dodging. There are four ways of avoiding being hexed. The first is simply not being there when the spell hits – but it is, as we have proven, not the panacea some people believe it to be," on this, the little demented bastard had the gall to smirk at Harry.

"After the Cup I did dodge the Death Eater's curses for a couple of minutes," the boy argued half-heartedly. This only caused Flitwick to raise his brow.

"Mr. Potter, just how far were you from each other?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought.

"Twenty-five, thirty meters – something like that."

"Well, there you have it. Most magical engagement happens at the top range of twenty meters. More than that, and most people start having trouble with their aim, especially if they're inebriated, as I suspect was the case. But at the range of ten meters even the most sharp of reflexes will not protect you," he pointed at the boy with his finger in a mentor-ish fashion. "The second way is to find cover. For obvious reasons, it is not a very good method. The third is using counter-spells. A highly complex technique, it requires that you figure out the spell that your enemy uses and counter it before he finishes the incantation. Nearly useless in an actual battle under most circumstances, but nevertheless it works when all else fails. The fourth and the most reliable way of evading whatever grisly fate your enemy cooked up for you is using shields," Flitwick tapped his table for emphasis. "Now, the best beginner level spell of that nature is Contego."

What followed seemed less of a lesson and more of a crash-test. If the previous time Harry was forced to jump around the room, nearly doing cartwheels and barrel rolls to evade the giggling sadist's spells, now he was doing the same against the ever-increasing barrage of jinxes and hexes, occasionally shielding when it was possible – Flitwick didn't give him a second of respite, and judging by the occasional cackles from the little maniac, he was having the time of his life.

Harry was starting to understand the little man's primary strategy in the duels – overwhelm the opponent with a ridiculous amount of spells. He was going at it for half an hour already without any sign of stopping any time soon – hell, he didn't even break a sweat!

Gradually, as fatigue began to settle in, Harry started managing to shield more and more, getting used to the pace and learning to anticipate the time he needed to cast a shield. If he wasn't slightly panting from exhaustion and glaring at the professor, he would be grinning.

Finally, Flitwick lowered his wand.

"Good, you're getting the hang of it. Now, the next shield is what is called flash-type. Unlike Contego and the rest of the sustain-type shields, it works for a short while, but it is somewhat more resilient. To use it, you need good timing and experience, which will come, he, he, in time. The incantation is Aegis, and the wand movement is like so..."

Now, the charm master again was throwing spells at Harry randomly, leaving it for him to figure out which shield to use. To "aid" him in this, Flitwick started voicing the incantations.

Unfortunately, this exercise was much more difficult than the previous one due to the need to use the brain while the body was in its "fight or flight" mode, and Harry quickly accumulated a nifty amount of detrimental effects. In the end of a short, but rather humiliating session, the professor dispelled everything and sent the boy off with words:

"On the next session, we will add even more shields in your arsenal. Practise quickly casting what you have already learned. I personally recommend tongue twisters and working on the basic wand movements. The former you need to work on since today, the latter is as of yet not very important. Off you trot, we'll meet again tomorrow."

Harry nodded and left the room, not allowing a relieved sigh to escape his lips until he was far enough from the door.

"Lil' Workaholic, you again?"

The boy jumped and turned sharply at the voice that sounded behind him. Just as he thought, there was that Auror girl with hair of tear-my-eyes-out pink.

"It's you again," he grumbled, annoyed at the smirk on her lips. "It's rude to startle people like that."

"No, it's fun. Besides, now that you had the strength to jump, I know that you're not completely exhausted and I will not have to drag you to the Gryffindor tower."

Harry went red and glared at her.

"You know, you're cute when you're glaring like that," the young woman commented. This commentary didn't illicit the reaction she was hoping for. Harry forgot about his annoyance and adopted a thoughtful frown.

"How cute, exactly?"

"Very. But in a childish way," she answered, nonplussed at the question. The boy sighed.

"Drat."

"Why did you ask?"

"Well, there's this Hufflepuff I quite like..."

"Say no more. Hufflepuff has always had the best girls!" the Auror struck a pose and grinned. "Or maybe it's a guy?"

Harry snorted, refusing to react to this provocation.

"No, Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not batting for the home team. Anyway, I'm off," he turned around with a wave, but after a few steps did a one hundred and eighty. "By the way, before I forget: please don't mention the dragging to the tower bit to anyone. OK?"

The Auror nodded with a smirk.

"Fine, kid. I won't tell."

Harry's face fell.

"Oh bloody hell, you've already told someone, haven't you?"

"Yep. Sorry," she answered in a bright tone that indicated that she wasn't sorry at all. Harry face-palmed with a groan.

"You do know that I will get you back for that?" he asked slowly, not rising his head. The girl with pink hair stared at him.

"Treat it as a prank. And besides, kid, I've dragged your sorry ass to your tower. You should be thanking me."

"I know," he grumbled. "I did thank you, if you don't remember. Three times. But now, since it's going to become public knowledge, I lose man points, and this sucks."

"Man points?" the girl guffawed. "You know, you're a pretty funny kid."

"Nah. By the way, what is your name? You didn't tell me last time, and I was too out of it to ask."

"It's Tonks."

"Harry Potter."

"You are, aren't you?"

"Evidently. Well, I'll see you around."

"Bye, kid."

There was only one thought on Harry's mind while he was dragging himself across the castle towards the siren's call of his bed.

How do you prank an Auror?