23

Chapter XXIII: A Blessing and A Curse

(Michael P.O.V)

"Hold on," Michael said abruptly nearly rising from his chair in shock, "Moody, the Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody agreed to train you!" Michael had felt Tracey's hand smack him upside the head as she sent him a look that screamed, Quiet Down, something that Michael knew she'd been right on as the group had found themselves sitting around a roundtable.

Thankfully, he watched as just moments before his outburst, Harry had cast a minor silencing charm before tilting his head towards the portrait of Burdock Muldoon that hung right across from them in the library. All the portraits report to Dumbledore, huh? Michael thought to himself remembering his friend's words, It's quite the operation the old man has going on here, no wonder he always seems so well informed regarding the castle. "Still," He said now keeping his voice under control, "I wonder why he chose to train you? I mean, I know you're Harry Potter and all," He said waving his hands for dramatic effect, "But from what I've heard, Moody gave up training people a while ago after he was forced to step down as an Auror trainer for his 'brutal' methods."

"Moody choosing to train you is certainly intriguing," Michael heard the blonde snake princess whisper from beside his best friend, "But more disturbingly is the fact that he suspects that Dumbledore's been brainwashing you. I know he claims it's just a theory, but my father always used to say the Moody had become such a skilled Auror he could smell dark magic. If Moody thinks that, he's probably right."

"Which leads to an even more disturbing question," Neville mumbled aloud, "If we work under the assumption to Moody is right in his theory, then the question is, for how long have you been a pawn in Dumbledore's game?"

"I suspect all my life," Harry said with a scowl, "Dumbledore had been supposedly searching for me for all my life, the fact that he never truly gave up the search, and the fact that Sirius tried to hide me for so long in the first place means that Dumbledore's been shaky from the start. And whatever it is he wants with me, it's because it's something he believes only I can do."

Michael nodded, to an extent, he knew that what Harry was saying was true, he'd been piecing together the puzzle himself since he formally joined the Order, but there was something more, something that Harry knew, something that must have made everything make sense, and most unfortunately, it was something that Harry had wanted to keep hidden, even from him. However, as his mind raced, his eyes caught a glimpse of the gold from Harry's book bag, and as Harry laid the Golden Egg atop the table, Michael glared at it in hatred. From the time he was young, he'd always loved riddles and puzzles, what he didn't like were riddles and puzzles that put the whole wizarding world at stake if he couldn't solve it.

"Michael," Harry spoke in a serious tone, "I know it's not your responsibility, but I need your help. Moody plans to run me into the ground with training, and I won't have the time to solve this riddle even if I could. If I fail this next task, I'll lose my magic, and the war will come to an end before we even have a fighting chance."

"Really lay it on thick why don't you?" Michael said with a tired sigh that brought a smirk to his best friend's face, "I don't know what's got you in the mood for smirks, if I were you, I don't think I'd been feeling so optimistic."

"You'll solve it," Harry said confidently, "I know you will, I'd trust you with my life."

Michael nodded, a strange feeling of nervous pride erupted in the pit of his stomach as he ran his hand through his charmed-blue hair, "What a pain," he said with a sarcastic smirk, "If I knew hanging out with you would've meant all this work, I don't think I'd have done it again." Harry returned with a smirk of his own and Michael nodded, "I'll take care of it," He said wrapping his hand around Harry's egg, "I promise."

Michael watched as Harry then turned to Neville, "Nev," He started gaining the blonde boy's attention, "You're the best at following a schedule. Just because I'll be training with Moody doesn't mean that I want you all to stop training altogether. I want you all by my side when the time comes, and we all need to be ready. If I left Michael in charge of the training, he'd probably skip to avoid the extra work-"

"Guilty," Michael chimed in honestly as he shrugged, "I'm not exactly cut out to be a leader."

"You on the other hand," Harry said once again returning to Neville, "I trust you to work harder than anyone, you have a stake in this war that I understand won't let you rest until you see it through. I want you to lead the training from now on under the instructions that Remus and Sirius gave us when I'm not there."

"R-right," Neville stuttered out. Despite all the growth Michael had seen one of his closest friend's experience, he couldn't help but notice that Neville still had a slightly passive attitude, an attitude that still reeked of inferiority, an attitude that both he and Harry seemingly hope that placing him in a leadership chair would change.

"Finally," Harry said reaching once more into his bag and pulling out the most weathered journal that Michael had ever seen in his life, "It's certainly not the most romantic present I could give you for the Christmas season, but I need your help with this, Princess."

Slowly, Harry shifted, holding the journal as carefully as he could as it looked like it was being held together with all the strength of a toothpick and bubblegum structure before placing it in Daphne's hands, "What's this?" She asked hesitantly, her eyes squinting at the symbols that donned the front cover.

"A gift of sorts from Moody," Harry said cautiously, almost as if he was prepping the rest of them for bad news, "What you're holding right there, is the Journal of Gellert Grindelwald himself." It had appeared to Michael almost as if the Journal had suddenly become hot as fire as Daphne dropped it on the table, her eyes widening with shock as she looked down upon the dark artifact.

"How did Moody get this?" Daphne asked her voice trembling, "What does he want me to do with it?"

"I don't know where he got it," Harry replied honesty ringing in his voice, "To tell you the truth, the man doesn't even call me by my name let alone tell me secrets. As for what he wants you to do with it, that I do know." Harry paused for a moment, forcing Michael's eye upon him as his friend released a long-held breath, "Moody believes that if Dumbledore really did put something in my head, it isn't something a standard mind healer could detect, let alone remove. Moody believes that my only real hope, is something called a purging ritual, he says that the journal begins the explanation of the ritual on page sixty-two."

"Harry I-," Daphne said her voice sounding overwhelmed, "I can't read this, I don't even recognize these runes."

"You shouldn't," Harry replied, "According to Moody, their Babalyonian, ancient beyond belief, but thankfully, he's included a roughly translated lexicon for you to use."

Michael watched as Daphne reached for the folded paper, her brows furrowing as she scowled at the sheet, "Roughly translated is right, these runes aren't even conjugated. How am I supposed to translate such a complex ritual when I can't even-"

But Daphne's words came to a screeching halt as Harry's lips pressed against her creased forehead, relieving a certain amount of tension. "I know you can do it," Harry whispered, "You're the most amazing witch I know."

Michael watched Daphne's shoulders slumped back into a more relaxed position as beneath her breath she grumbled, "Why is it you only sweet talk me now when you need me to do the impossible," Something that while both he and Daphne both knew for a fact was untrue, did bring a chuckle of relief to the intense table.

"Alright," Harry said after a long sigh, "That's everything major that I needed to talk to you about. For the training tonight, you can continue using our secret room, Moody claims to have another area that I'm to meet him at tonight after dinner." A grim look crossed his best friend's face as he continued, "He told me to mostly have liquids, said it'll make the vomiting the training will cause me easier."

"Well," Michael said as he sent Harry a compassionate smile, "Good luck out there, Rook."

"Yeah," Harry said with a tired nod, "You too."

(Claire P.O.V)

Claire stared blankly out the window of her compartment within the enchanted carriage, her head resting tiredly in a book, a redness filling her eyes as her mind wandered back to the words she'd exchanged it Fleur. "You did what?!" She heard Fleur's outraged voice ring in her head, "Maybe Potter isn't a cheater, but he's still an opponent, and you agreed to go to the Yule Ball with his best friend! Are you completely out of your mind!"

"You're the one who told me to give him a chance!" Claire recalled shouting back at the Veela, "He's the boy I was telling you about! The one that wasn't affected by my allure! He even saw me in my Bird Form and didn't flinch! He even was kind to me when I told him about my past"

"He saw you!" Fleur shouted back her eyes nearly falling out of her head, "And you told him about your parents! Claire, what are you thinking?" She remembered the way that Fleur paced frantically around her room, "Forget my fear of him using you to get secrets our secrets regarding the Triwizard Tournament, don't you see that he now has information on you that the tabloids would pay a mint for! It's not like you're talking about someone like Potter who has money to spare, this Michael Boy, have you seen his clothes, he clearly doesn't come from money! All it would take is one news reporter discovering you two are close and paying him the smallest chunk of change and he'd sing all your secrets like a bird!"

"That's not true!" Claire shouted back anger filling her voice, "I don't care if he's rich or poor, he'd never sell out my secrets! That's not who he is!"

"Oh because you know him so well," Fleur scoffed, "I mean honestly, think about the boys at our school, I can think of at least ten that would be a better match for you than him. You're going to be in the public eye, whether you like it or not, anyone you choose to date is going to find themselves in it as well, the least you can do for yourself is find a man who cares about his image."

Claire clenched her jaw, anger filling her core as she glared at the girl that she'd looked upon as an elder sister for long, her mind stunned at the girl's open classism, "I'm going to talk to Madame Maxime about this whole situation and see if Dumbledore can get some Obliviators to this second-rate school to wipe that boy's memory so we can forget this whole thing ever-"

"You won't do that," Claire said firmly as she tightened her fist in defiance, "He asked me to the Yule Ball and I said yes, and I plan to keep to that commitment. If I find out that you or anyone involved with you so much as laid a finger on him, then our friendship is over."

"So you'd throw away all our years together over a boy you just met?" Fleur asked, her face red with anger and hurt.

"It's not the boy, it's the principle," Claire responded, "If you won't allow me to make my own decisions, then you're a dictator, not a friend. I don't want to lose you Fleur, but I don't want to be a caged bird forever."

"Fine," Fleur said in a cold and unamused voice, "If that's how it's going to be, then I don't think we have anything else to talk about. Just don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart." With those final words, Fleur had left her room, leaving her alone and sulking as she felt a final tear run along the bridge of her nose onto her now damp textbook.

I need to go for a walk, she thought numbly as she stared out into the sunset. The Black Lake always looks pretty at this hour, maybe I'll be able to get my mind right out there. Almost robotically, she rose from her chair, tucking it beneath her desk as she turned her attention to the front door, noticing the Ravenclaw's coat hanging from a plastered hook.

Though she had many coats of her own, her hands instinctively reached for it, taking it in her hand before slipping it on, the tropical scent of the Ravenclaw boy's cologne filling her lungs. She took one final glance at her compartment's standing mirror, adjusting her hair and tightening her scarf before without a second look, she left the carriage her eyes set on the Black Lake that rested along the horizon.

Was she right? Claire thought to herself blankly as her legs carried her closer to her destination, Was I a fool to trust him? But she shook her head vigorously against the thought, No, he saw me, for the first time in my life a boy saw me. Not just my breasts or my ass, he saw me and I can't let Fleur's paranoia get to me. She pulled the coat closer to her body as a chilling breeze rushed through the trees forcing her teeth to chatter, but as she looked up ahead towards the bay of the Black Lake, she was a face that brought a feeling of warmth to her chest.

She smiled as she saw the way his bunned-up blue hair swayed in the breeze, that blank expression that she had come to find so adorable donning his face, while his eyes seemed to gaze intently on something in the distance. As quietly as she could, she approached him trying hard not to make a sound, but even if her footsteps sounded like the ones of elephants, the boy seemed so transfixed upon whatever had caught his attention that he hadn't seemed to notice her arrival. "What's got you so focused, Slacker," She said in a teasing tone, "I could nearly see the steam rising from your ears a mile away."

"Ha Ha," Michael said plainly, though the boy still hadn't turned to face her, "What would you say the temperature is right now?"

"That's an odd question to ask," Claire said in a puzzled tone, "I mean, it's cold, but it's not like I walk around with a thermometer on me."

"It has to be near freezing," He said and Claire watched as the boy's eyes strained looking into the distance. Claire nodded her agreement, it was certainly colder than she'd have liked. "But if it really is that cold, then what the hell are those idiots for Durmstrang doing?"

Claire finally turned her focus from the blue-haired boy to the large vessel that resided in the center of the icy-lake. Her vision had always been good, but as she watched the burly Durmstrang boy that without mistake could only be Viktor Krum approach the side of the boat wearing nothing but a speedo, she was certain that maybe she was in need of glasses. She held her breath as she watched the Durmstrang Champion leap from the side of the boat, twirling in the air before entering the frosty waters with a splash. "What is he thinking! He's going to die of frostbite swimming in there! We got to go get help!"

Her focus shifted to the Castle as she braced herself to run, but before she could, she felt Michael's hand wrap gently around her wrist, his head softly shaking no. What do you mean no? Claire thought to herself, but almost as if the world was trying to convince her that she was going crazy, she watched as Krum broke the surface of the water and began swimming back to the ship, "He's been doing that for about thirty minutes now," Michael whispered his voice seemingly lost in a deep concentration, "At first he was doing hypoxia training, almost as if he was stress testing how long he could last without air, then he seemed to move on to brief swims as if he was trying to develop a cold tolerance."

"Why?" Claire asked, her own intrigued peaked.

"That's what I'd like to find out," Michael whispered as he turned to face her. She could almost the smirk rising to his face as she once again adjusted his coat around her, "That's a nice coat by the way, where'd you get it?"

She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she turned to face him, "If you want it back you can have it- I mean, I have other-"

"No," He said a smile forming on his lips, "I have other coats too, plus that one looks a lot better on you than it does on me. Although," He said in a teasing tone, "I guess that'd be about right for anything I own, I mean, you are a model after all."

"Shut up," She said bashfully a smile rising to her own face before a serious look grew once more on Michael's, his palm moving to cup her cheek.

"Your eyes are red," He whispered, "You were crying." Claire had momentarily felt unable to breathe from the tenderness she had heard in the boy's voice, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just-" Claire started, stopping herself for a moment before she changed her subject, "I'm rich, disgustingly so honestly." She watched as a confused look formed across Michael's face, "And I know that you grew up poor. Does it-," She started stumbling for words, "Does it bother you that I'm wealthy? Does the fact that I have money have anything to do with-"

"Why I asked you to the ball?" He finished for her, a look of sadness in his eyes. "Do you think it does?"

She shook her head desperately, "No," She blurted out, mentally cursing herself for even speaking, "No I'm sorry, I just- I let someone get into my head, one of my friends was trying to get me to believe that you only liked me because of my money. I've never even dated anyone before and I let my imagination get the better or me sometimes and-"

"So we're dating now?" Michael said with a smirk and instantly another crimson blush rose to her face as Michael placed his other hand on her cheek, "I've got to admit, you're cute when you get flustered." Claire's chest felt like it was beating a hundred miles an hour as Michael looked down on her, "To answer your question, yes, I did grow up poor. Yes, I'd like to have enough money to provide for a family if I ever choose to have one. But no, your money had nothing to do with my I asked you to the Yule Ball, and before you ask, neither did pity."

"You're not going to understand this, hell I honestly don't understand it either," Michael said and Claire watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, "I like you, I can't really explain it, but I do. You're troublesome and irritating and awfully demanding, and sometimes when you talk it reminds me of my mom nagging me to do homework. But you're also far smarter than you give yourself credit for, you're ambitious and tenacious, and you have this fire about you, a passion for wanting to be something more than just a pretty face that's almost inspiring." A smirk rose to Michael's face, "Not to mention you have a killer rack."

Claire rolled her eyes at the last remark, but she knew it was nothing more than a way for the boy to segway out of a path of uncomfortable emotions, and she couldn't help but smile at the words the boy had told her, even when calling her troublesome, she loved the way his voice sounded, the humor and honesty that somehow formed together lacing every word. "Did that answer your question?" Michael asked in a soft and caring tone. She nodded, unable to speak as Michael's grin grew wider, "I don't know about you," He said teasingly, "But this sexual tension is killing me, and if I'm being honest here, I'd really like to kiss-"

Before the boy could even finish his dumb thought, Claire pressed forward, pushing up on her toes as she caught Michael's lips with hers a feeling of a calming fire igniting in her body as she felt the boy's hands drop from her face and wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer to him as she wrapped her own arms around his neck. As they broke, Claire found her head resting in the crook of his neck, his tropical scent ensnaring her as she sighed happily and full of relief. "If somebody told me at the beginning of this year that my first kiss was going to be with a french model, I would've called them crazy-"

"I was your first kiss?" Claire asked, her eyes filled with surprise.

"Yeah," Michael said a bit of embarrassment in his tone, "Why? Was it bad?"

"No," Claire said with a chuckle as she shook her head, "It was perfect."

"So what you're saying is I have french male model lip action skills, Pretty Bird?" Michael said in a joking tone.

"Don't ruin the moment, Slacker Clown," She snipped back, enjoying the comfort of their embrace. However, knowing they couldn't stay stuck together forever, they slowly broke apart, and while Clare could have focused on the boy's lips for an hour, she forced her eyes elsewhere noticing a duffle bag of sorts slung over his back. "What's in the bag by the way?"

"Oh this," Michael said his voice clearly just breaking out of the post-kiss daze. He swung the bag around, opening the strap and pulling out the Golden Egg, "Harry gave me his egg, he's a bit behind on homework and I told him I'd hold on to it for a while. Plus, between you and me, I kinda want to solve this puzzle for myself."

"I feel the same way with Fleur's egg," Claire said her voice brimming with honesty, "I think the egg is trying to give off a clue, but I can't exactly figure out what language the voice is speaking, I mean, it has to mean something, there's no way they'd just give off some random noise."

Michael nodded in agreement as he looked down at the egg, his eyes widening, "That's it!" A great look of confusion filling her face at the boy's remark, "It's a language, which means the voice is coming from a species with not only their own language but one that is capable of being translated to English." He rubbed his temples and Claire watched the boy's mind work, "It's like you said, it's supposed to be a clue, meaning that the noise can't be random, rather, it requires a certain environment to be heard. Of creatures capable of speaking a discernable language, all of them live on the ground, all of them except for one-"

"Merpeople!" The two said in unison a smile rising to their face, with Claire taking the lead, "Of course, how could I be so stupid. I learned about that in my magical creatures class years ago! Let's go put that egg under some water, it's the only way to test the theory."

Quickly the two marched to the side of the lake and Claire watched as the boy removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, turning to her, "Don't let me fall in, okay?" Claire nodded as she watched the boy cast the bubblehead charm around his head plunging into the icy water with the egg in his hands. Please let us be right.

(Harry P.O.V)

Harry paced the left corridor of the seventh-floor repeatedly beneath his cloak, waiting under the cover of invisibility for Moody just as he was told. Despite the man claiming that he'd found a room for him and Harry to train, all Harry had found was a rather blank looking wall with no rooms outside of the standard classrooms in view, at least according to his father and friends' map. However, just as he was about to turn around to go and look for the man that had agreed to train him, he heard a voice call out, "Good, you follow directions well, that's a start at least."

"How could you see me?" Harry asked, pulling himself out from beneath the cloak finding himself face to face with the crippled man. Moody said nothing, simply pointing to his eye which only left Harry more stunned than before, Seriously? He thought to himself, Where can I get one of those? Harry cleared that thought from his mind looking back up at Moody, "Alright, I'm here, but I'm not seeing any room to train in."

"Alright, sir," Moody correct, "You will talk to me with respect and learn some much-needed discipline while under my instruction, is that clear, boy?"

"I have a name," Harry growled back.

"And will refer to you by it once you've earned my respect as a capable wizard," Moody snarled back, "Just as your elder sister did." Harry had never considered himself a prideful human being, but being talked down to in the way Moody was currently engaging him angered him intensely. "Calm yourself boy," Moody spoke, his back turned to Harry, "That anger will only get you killed in the line of duty, keep it under control, or you'll regret it."

Harry sighed, Is this some kind of test? Slowly, he let the tension fall from his fingers gathering his wits once more as he spoke, "Sorry, sir," He said emphasizing the honorific, "I'm just wondering where exactly this training room you were speaking off is?"

Without a word, Moody began pacing in front of the wall at a rapid speed, Harry's eyes following the man in confusion. Constantly the man marched from side to side before to his surprise, almost as if it had been conjured from nothing a door appeared in the center of the wall. "Woah," Harry whispered beneath his breath as Moody finally came to a stop before the door, "What is this place?"

"The Room of Requirement, otherwise known as the Come and Go Room," Moody said gruffly, "Maintaining close proximity with Dumbledore certainly has its perks, that man knows this castle inside and out." Moody turned to face him and Harry swallowed hard, "Alright boy, march!"

Though angered by the Auror's tone, he did as he was told, approaching the door, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor from what he saw. It was a large training room, at least four times as large as that of the secret base that he and his friends had formed. Unlike their base that was filled with 'borrowed' goods, the room came well equipped with training dummies, Dark Detectors, and bookshelves full of combat magic resources, it was a training room like no other he'd seen before. "How was this so well hidden?"

"The Room of Requirement does just that, provides what is required," Moody began, "It can become anything from the training room you see here, to a simple toilet depending on the needs of the user. For our purposes, this will do. Now go run some laps, stretch, and get warmed up. I don't want to have to drag you the hospital wing if I don't have to."

Harry nodded, dropping his cloak and revealing his work out clothes of sweats and a salmon tank top, before doing what he was told and beginning his jog around the room. As he ran, he felt the disturbing pressure of Moody's electric-blue eye following his every move shifting around the man's head in order to keep pace with him. "That's enough running boy!" Moody called after a few minutes, "Get to stretching and then get up here, it's time you learn something useful."

Harry growled as he stretched out his muscles, he didn't know what he was about to get into, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to be a walk in the park and the last thing he needed was to pull a muscle. He finished his routine as quickly as he could but ensuring that he hadn't compromised his efficiency as he slowly approached the maimed Auror. "Okay, sir," He corrected under Moody's glance, "I'm ready, what is it you wanted to teach me."

"What do you know about combat magic?" Moody asked plainly.

"That's a bit of a loaded question," Harry replied thinking to himself, "Well, I guess starting off simply, there are three types of combat magic, from most minor to serious there are jinxes, hexes, and curses, most of which having counter-spells that dismiss the effects of said spell. There are also charms that are commonly used during combat such as the disarming, stunning, and shielding charms which are used when taking up a non-lethal or more passive combat stance."

Moody nodded, "I see, it seems you aren't completely hopeless, boy," However, his face looked anything but pleased, "However, nobody has seemed to inform you about the most essential things regarding combat."

"The most essential?" Harry said his eyebrow cocked.

"Combat is more than just spells, to truly become efficient in combat, your style must be personalized." Harry's head tilted as he tried to follow the ex-auror's train of thought, "Take Nymphadora for example, she excels with a surprise focused combat style. Not only does her ability allow her to take any form she wishes, but she also is very unpredictable by nature. She lacks raw power, but she uses her spontaneous form of combat to render that problem negligible. You don't have to win a firefight if you already have a kill shot lined up."

Harry nodded, it was true that his sister had certainly developed a less than orthodox method of fighting, with clones, shapeshifting, and surprise attacks being centric in her style. "So boy," Moody said regaining Harry's attention, "What skill do you have, what is something that you can capitalize on that can make your combat your own?"

"I'm fast," Harry said, "And I don't lack spell power." However, it was clear that it wasn't exactly the answer that Moody wanted to hear.

"From what I understand, boy," Moody said, "Dumbledore claims you have a gift when it comes to legilimency, have you ever wondered just how that ability could be used in combat?"

"In combat?" Harry repeated, his mind racing.

"Passive Legilimency, you've heard of it I trust," Moody said in a low hiss. Harry nodded, he was familiar with the technique, though he had to admit to himself he'd never exactly tried it. "I'm also aware you've been training in wandless magic, yes?" Harry nodded once more, "Good that should help as you've already grown accustomed to learning how to channel magic within your own body. I want you to attempt to form a Passive Legilimency link with me right now?"

"Sir, I've never-"

"I said, now, boy," Moody spat with malicious intent. Harry gazed at the man's authentic eye. His own eyes focusing on it like a laser-guided scalpel. For a moment, he'd felt nothing until suddenly, a voice whispered in his head, Punch from the right. Instantly, Harry shifted his weight, his eyes expanding in surprise as the Auror's fist barely passed his nose leaving a gust of wind in its wake. "Good, you were able to read my mind just as I thought."

"What if I hadn't?" Harry asked a bit of outrage in his voice from the randomly provoked attack.

"It would've hurt," Moody replied with a shrug of indifference, "Now, tell me what you felt during the link."

"At first nothing," Harry answered after a pause to calm his spark of anger, "I assumed I hit an occlumency shield that I wasn't focusing enough magic into breaking, but then suddenly I heard your voice in my head telling me you were going to punch from the right and I dodged."

"Hm," Moody said with a grunt a smirk resting on his face, "It seems Dumbledore was right, you certainly are a prodigy when it comes to Legilimency. Establishing a Passive Link on the first try is certainly no small feat, but do you understand why it was you were able to read my attack?" Harry shook his head, honestly, he had no idea why his passive link had worked at all. "Combat," Moody began, "Is a primal drive, yes, there are strategies, but when a fight breaks out, instincts will take over, and instincts, even if you've mastered wordless magic, cannot be hidden using occlumency. In simpler terms, combat moves too quickly for even the most trained of Occlumens to cover their thoughts."

"Meaning that if I learn to perfect my Passive Legilimency," Harry began his mind nearly exploding at his realization, "I'd almost be able to see the future."

Moody nodded the smallest dash of pride evident on the man's heavily scarred face, "We'll start small, I want you to stand on the other end of the floor, we're going to duel." Harry swallowed hard, the idea of dueling someone with a magical aura as terrifying as Mad-Eye's wasn't exactly how he'd have liked to spend the evening, but then again, Harry thought to himself, Moody's is nothing compared to Voldemort. "Throughout this duel, I want you to keep that passive link established. You claim to be quick, it's time for you to prove it."

Harry had practiced combat for years, he lived and trained for one reason, to kill the man that had taken his parents from him, in its simplest terms, Harry was certainly no stranger with a wand. And yet, Harry felt nervous, his stomach making him feel like a boat lost in a storm. It was the way Moody looked at him, even more than the dementors he'd faced the year before, Moody resonated danger. Each step had required Harry to steel his nerves, but eventually, he'd found himself across the room from the former Auror, his wand in hand as he turned to face the grizzled man, his mind focusing hard on piercing the elderly man's thoughts.

"Curcio!" Moody bellowed a blood-red spark igniting from his staff. Internally blessing his Seeker's reflexes, Harry dove out of the way of the unforgivable streak, rolling quickly off the ground as he rose to his feet.

"What the hell was that!" Harry shouted enraged.

"A spell," Moody said with a shrug as if nothing had happened.

"An unforgivable one," Harry barked back, "If I hadn't dodged that-"

"Quit your bellyaching," Moody snapped back, "Do you think that the Death Eaters are going to play fair when they see you?" Harry's jaw clenched shut unable to challenge the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, "Of course they aren't, in fact, the torturing curse might be the most merciful one you get flung in your direction. Voldemort knows you're his target, his Death Eaters know that as well, they'd kill each other to bring you to their lord's feet, so if you think that they're going to go easy on you, I suggest you get that stupid thought out of your head."

"Honestly," Moody spat, "The fact you've never been fired upon with a curse like that is just proof of the inadequacies of your training. This isn't some children's game, this is a war, and in war, men become monsters. I'm not your friend, boy. I'm not your Godfather, or Uncle, or Sibling, I don't care about you as a person at all. What I care about is making you strong enough so I don't die for nothing! Understand?"

Harry grit his teeth and nodded, "Good," Moody scowled, "Now if you're done crying over how unfair the world is, get back into position, and don't drop your guard." Harry scowled at the man, wishing his eyes were daggers, And I thought Snape was bad, he thought to himself trying to re-establish his passive link. Before he could even continue down his train of thought, Moody's voice rang in his head, a bolt of fire leaving the man's staff. Instantly, Harry stuck his hand out, the teachings of his House Elf coming to mind as he conjured a magical shield in the palm of his hand.

The bolt of fire exploded against his palm, the flames momentarily impairing his vision as the heat brushed against his face, but while he certainly felt warm, he didn't feel pain. I did it, I stopped his attack, he thought to himself proudly as he lifted his wand, Now it's my turn. His wand steadied on Moody, finding the man with a look of sheer rapture on his face as Harry bellowed within his mind, Reducto! A jet of blue propelled itself at the man with a force so powerful, Harry had almost felt his shoulder dislocate, but a smile grew across his face as he thought, Right on target.

But almost as quickly as the smile had formed, it vanished as Moody rocked his staff, and Harry watched as the spell flew off course, passing cleanly over the ex-Auror's shoulder. "You certainly weren't wrong when you said you didn't lack power, I'll admit I even had to try a little to redirect that spell, but make no mistake, boy," Moody said with a smirk, "We're only getting started."

To the right, Harry thought to himself shifting his weight as the spell he heard in his head from his link with Moody rang out. He watched as a white light brushed past his cheek before exploding behind with a force strong enough to create a shockwave. As shocked as Harry was with the potency of the man's devastating magic, he had no time to gawk as he heard another forecast of Moody's attacks echoing in his mind from the link forcing him to move.

He rolled, cartwheeled, jumped, and ducked beneath waves and waves of spells, his lungs hurting from his inability to breathe in midst of the action. I can't keep this up forever, Harry thought, barely sidestepping an exploding hex that blew apart the stone floor. Think Harry, think. His eyes scanned the professor intently before he nodded, he had a plan, he just wasn't quite sure it was a good one. Focusing more than any time before on his passive link, he darted towards the Professor, a streak of blue racing towards his face as just barely, he managed to tilt his head away from the wall shattering curse that flew right past his ear as he leaped into the air, Lumos Maxima! He roared in his mind, a blinding white light filling the room, as Harry reached his hand towards the man's face. But just as he was about to make contact with his intended target, he coughed, gagging as a hand wrapped around his throat holding him in the air.

Moody hadn't even given Harry a chance to even reach for the man's grip before Harry had found his stomach being introduced firmly to the man's metallic knee, knocking more than just thin wind out of him as red dots covered the training room floor. Then, almost as if he was nothing but garbage, Moody flung him, his body briefly coasting in the air before he fell flat on his back forcing a groan of agony from his lips. Harry felt like a fish out of water, floundering on the ground for air as the Auror approached him once more. "So, you figured out that my eye was helping me see through your movements," Moody said, "A good deduction and understanding that so long as I had my eye, the chances of one of your spells hitting me was extremely low was also well done."

"However," Moody said, "I know my weaknesses far better than you do, boy. You're not the first to come for my eye, and you assumed that because of my crippled state, I wouldn't be able to stop you if you physically attempted to blind me." Harry couldn't say a word, his mind far too focused on trying to recover any of the air that had been stripped from him, "That was your critical mistake, you were impulsive and judged my ability off of my appearance, you made an assumption and you paid for it."

"In a battle, assumption means death, do not move until you know your opponent's abilities," Moody said, "And if forced into combat with an opponent who's abilities are unknown, it's best to stay on the defensive until help arrives or an opening is found in their technique, but never without certainty that it isn't a ploy." Harry had finally managed to turn himself over, rising to his hands and knees as he felt Moody's blue eye glaring down at him, "You have talent boy, that is undeniable, but you have much to learn." Harry felt a cold feeling rush through his chest as the words he'd been dreading escaped his instructor's lips, "Get up, boy. Tonight's lesson has only just begun."

(Sirius P.O.V)

Sirius felt cold as he looked down at the sight beneath him. She'd always been so loud and full of life. Yes, Sirius had always pretended to find it annoying, but he'd do anything to hear her snippy comments and wild laugh right now. Instead, all he was met with was silence as he looked down at Emmeline, resting in her St. Mungo's hospital bed, her arms wrapped to the point they looked less like that of a human's and more like the ones that belonged to the Michelin Man.

He'd snuck into to see her, he didn't want to be with anyone else as he found himself lamenting his failure to protect the woman he loved for the second time from Death Eater scum. I'm supposed to be the leader, Sirius thought numbly in his head, But I couldn't even protect you. His finger curled towards his palm, his grey eyes now contained in swollen red fighting hard to keep the tears from falling as he rubbed his thumb gently across the top of his girlfriend's hand. "I love you," He whispered aloud, the words felt like broken glass in his mouth, "I'm so sorry."

Before Sirius could say another word, he heard the door behind him slide open and in walked a woman, tall and blonde dressed in pure-white robes a small basket of potions in her hands. "Visiting hours ended a while ago, Lord Black, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."

Sirius had acted as if he hadn't heard the Medi-Witches words, turning numbly to face her, "She hasn't woken up yet," He whispered, "Are you sure she's going to be okay?"

The Medi-Witch must have felt pity for him as she nodded, "We've been keeping close watch over her brain activity, it appears to be completely normal, she just needs rest. If I'm being truthful," The witch said solemnly, "You should be grateful that she hasn't woken up yet. When she does, she'll be in tremendous pain from the burns."

"Can't you give her something?" Sirius said his voice filled with pain "You're doctors for Merlin's sake there must be something you can do."

"In a normal situation," The witch said, "There wouldn't be any problems, but it's different in her case."

"How is it different?" Sirius growled his pain bubbling shifting towards anger.

"Pain potions have been shown to have negative effects on an embryo, in fact, pain potions are somewhat toxic to them," The witch said bluntly and Sirius' eyes felt as if they had grown three sizes, his heart pumping rapidly in his chest as he stared mystified at the Medical Witch, "We've done the tests, Lord Black, there's no denying it, Lady Emmeline Vance, is pregnant."