Year 5-05: Watch Your Back

Harry had no idea what to expect as he filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on Monday morning. He'd successfully removed one enemy in the form of Dolores Umbridge, yet unwittingly created another in the form of Percy Weasley. His antagonism of the young man in recent months could only spell trouble, and Harry would have to tread very carefully this year.

"Please refer to the seating chart on the board to find your assigned seat for the term," Percy announced as the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs entered the room. Everyone grumbled unhappily, as this meant they would not get to sit with their friends. Sure enough, Percy had made it so everyone was paired at a desk with someone of the opposite House. Furthermore, Harry was assigned to the very front and center of the room...a sign that Percy intended to keep a very close eye on him. He took his seat beside Ron Weasley (whom Percy clearly wished to keep an eye on as well) as Percy began his lecture.

"I am your new Defense Professor, Percy Weasley," he announced proudly. "Some of you may recognize me as a fellow student just two years ago. However, I expect that you will treat me with the respect I am due, as you would any other teacher. Is that clear?"

The class of fifth-years merely stared at him blankly in response.

"This is where you all say, 'Yes, sir'," Percy sighed. "Let's try that again. I said, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," the class muttered dully.

"Good," Percy nodded. "Now, as this is your O.W.L. year, you will be expected to perform to a higher standard than usual. As such, you can expect a greater amount of written assignments to demonstrate your mastery of the material."

The class groaned in unison at this announcement. "Come off it, Perce, you wouldn't do that to us!" Ron pleaded half-jokingly with his brother.

"That's Professor Weasley to you, Ronald," Percy said icily, wiping the smirk off of Ron's face. "And yes, I would indeed do that to you. I know first-hand just how poor your recent education in this subject has been. With sycophants like Moody, Potter and Lupin leading you astray, I can only imagine how you've managed to stay afloat thus far."

"Those were the three best teachers we've ever had!" protested Michael Corner. "They actually have experience out on the battlefield!"

"This class is not intended to train anyone for battle," Percy said sharply. "It is an academic study on the concept of dark magic. For those select few of you who intend to enter the Auror Office one day, you're welcome to study combat magic on your own time. That will not be the focus of my lessons."

"Shouldn't we be preparing ourselves for the war?" Harry asked. "Considering the threat that's out there?"

"There is no war!" Percy snapped. "You-Know-Who has left Britain, as you well know, and I will not have you spreading your lies in my classroom, Mr. Potter! Five points from Ravenclaw for speaking out of turn."

So it's gonna be like that again, Harry thought glumly as he bit back his retort. Percy may not have the same malicious streak that Umbridge did, but he remained loyal to Fudge, and that made him bad enough in Harry's book. It was going to be a contentious year at this rate.

"My aim is to help you pass your O.W.L.'s, nothing more, nothing less," said Percy. "Now, everyone open your books to page three and read the first chapter to yourselves until the bell rings."

A few students looked bewildered by this instruction. "Aren't you going to...I dunno...teach us the material?" asked Ernie Macmillan.

"The material is self-evident, if you simply apply your mind to the task," Percy scoffed. "Your homework for this week is a twelve-inch summary of each of the first two chapters." The class groaned once more in displeasure at this time-consuming task.

Harry was annoyed for an entirely different reason, however. It was just as he suspected: Percy may have been a good student, but he didn't have the skill set needed to pass on his knowledge to other people. He simply assumed everyone else had the same ability to absorb and understand written material like he did. The class was doomed to fail without someone directing them in how to actually apply the material themselves.

After a few minutes of awkward silence as the class read the dull text, Harry raised his hand. "Excuse me, Perc— er, Professor Weasley," he said politely. "I wondered if you could explain this term to us more clearly."

"What term is that, Potter?" Percy sighed.

"Gilbert's Second Principle of Defense," Harry said, reciting from page six of the textbook opened before him. "What exactly does it mean?"

Harry of course knew what it meant, but it didn't matter. He wanted to see if Percy would be able to explain it to the class in a useful manner. And judging from the curious looks of the students around him, others were thinking the same thing.

Percy straightened his posture at once, as though eager for a chance to prove his superior intellect. "Gilbert's Second Principle of Defense posits that the strength of a caster's defensive measures ought to be directly proportional to the strength of the spell it is defending against," he said in a smug tone.

"Yes, I can see that," Harry said, referencing the sentence that Percy had just recited verbatim. "But what does it mean?"

Percy blinked a few times at the question. "How...it...are you quite alright, Mr. Potter?" Percy spluttered. "The text makes it perfectly clear what the principle refers to—"

"But how can we actually apply that ourselves?" Harry continued. "I mean, how are we supposed to know how much strength to put into our defensive spells if we can't be certain of the strength of the spell coming at us?"

"That...should not concern you," Percy muttered. "What's important is that you commit the Second Principle to memory, so that if it comes up on an exam you can—"

"But wouldn't it be easier to remember with a demonstration?" Harry pressed. "Perhaps you could show us how to put more strength into our defensive spells?"

Percy looked around the room at all the eager faces, looking energized by this suggestion, and sighed. "Very well," he grumbled. "Stand up, Mr. Potter, and face me."

Harry eagerly jumped to his feet and stood opposite the room from Percy. Students shuffled their desks out of the way, muttering excitedly to one another – they all knew what Harry was capable of, even if Percy didn't yet. He hadn't attended any of the Dueling Club meetings, after all.

"Now, I want you to fire a Stinging Hex at me," Percy instructed. "On the count of three: one, two, three."

Harry obliged, sending the hex silently for good measure. Percy looked briefly surprised by the speed of Harry's casting, but managed to raise a flimsy Shield Charm in time to deflect it.

"Good," Percy mustered. "Now, try something of a slightly greater power, like a Disarming Charm. One, two, three."

Harry flicked his wand and sent the jet of red light across the way at Percy. This time the redhead was better prepared, erecting a shimmering Shield to block it with a light gong.

"You see?" said Percy. "A stronger spell requires a stronger shield. You may be seated, Mr. Potter."

"But isn't it cheating a little, since you knew what power spell I was using?" Harry asked innocently. "What if I cast a spell and you weren't sure of the power?"

Percy blinked at this question. "Then I would simply erect the strongest Shield I could muster," he said confidently.

"Would you mind showing us how that's done?" asked Harry.

Percy once again glanced at the rest of the class, who all looked excited by the prospect. He sighed, knowing he could hardly refuse.

"Very well," he said, readying himself. "On the count of three, then. One, two—"

Without waiting for three, Harry launched the most powerful Banishing Charm he could muster at Percy. It sizzled ominously as it sailed through the air, and Harry saw Percy's eyes widen in shock. He managed to erect another impressive Shield Charm, but Harry's spell cut through it like warm butter, and Percy was sent flying across the room, smashing into the back wall with a heavy thud.

The room let out an impressed whoop at the display of powerful magic, but instantly went silent as Percy leapt back to his feet, murder in his eyes.

"You did not wait for three, Mr. Potter!" Percy roared.

"My apologies, Professor," said Harry innocently. "I figured it was also cheating to let you know when the spell was coming, so I wanted to see how one might defend themselves if they couldn't anticipate the spell's timing as well."

Percy did not look amused in the slightest; he now realized that he was being shown up. "Detention, Potter!" he barked, adjusting his wire-rim glasses that had been knocked askance. "Now, everyone read your chapter in silence until the bell!" Percy then marched up to his office, rubbing the back of his head, and slammed the door behind him.

At once the class descended into hushed whispers and excited gossiping all around Harry. "Well done, mate," Ron smirked at him. "That git needed to learn what happens to loud-mouths around here."

"Yeah, bloody good show," Justin Finch-Fletchley agreed from across the aisle. "Hell, maybe you should be teaching this class!"

Harry was grateful for the admiration of his peers, but knew that he had failed to do what his father told him yet again. Antagonizing Percy would only worsen his situation and endanger his family even further. It may have felt good in the moment to prove Percy's ineptitude in front of the whole class, but it would only intensify the young man's resolve to discredit Harry and punish his father by proxy.

The rest of the day's lessons were far less contentious, but just as demoralizing. Every professor stressed the importance of their O.W.L. year and made it clear that they would have to work harder than ever before to pass their end-of-year exams. And none were more adamant on this point than Snape.

"I don't expect the vast majority of you to continue on to N.E.W.T. level," he sneered as he surveyed the classroom. "I only take on students who earn an 'Outstanding' grade on their O.W.L., so if you intend to pursue Potions beyond this year, you'd best prepare, and prepare hard."

Harry had long questioned Snape's teaching methodology, but never more than in this moment. Thanks to his father, he knew just how difficult it was for the Auror Office to recruit new members. How many prospective candidates had been turned away from the career path because they failed to meet such an extreme standard in their Potions class? What other prospective professions might they have abandoned? Why was it that Snape was the sole gatekeeper to so many young witches and wizards pursuing the career of their dreams? It didn't sit right with him one bit.

But raising this complaint now would only earn him a second detention in his very first day back to Hogwarts. So Harry kept his mouth shut and got straight to work on the first in-class assignment, determined to earn that 'O' grade this time around.

Luckily, his Charms and Transfiguration classes the following day were far less stressful. Flitwick and McGonagall each espoused the importance of the year, but Harry felt much more confident that he understood all the material. Not only had he completed the course already in his original timeline, he'd also far surpassed the fifth-year subject matter in his own private studies. All he would need to do is memorize all those obscure Principles and Laws just before the written exam, and he should pass with flying colors.

Wednesday morning brought another unique experience, as he had his first Divination class with Firenze in the new timeline. He'd found the centaur's teaching methods rather fascinating the first time around, but now Firenze seemed suspicious and downright antagonistic towards Harry. He had no idea how he would fare with a full year's worth of classes.

The Ravenclaws and Slytherins walked into the first floor classroom for the lesson, which as before, was covered in mossy grass and sprouting trees, replicating the atmosphere of the Forbidden Forest. Firenze stood in a clearing, silently watching them all approach, most looking anxious in the face of such an intimidating presence.

"Welcome, students," he greeted them warmly. "Do not be afraid. I am your new professor, Firenze. Please, take a seat in the clearing."

Most of the students relaxed at the soothing sound of the centaur's tone. However, Harry felt Firenze's icy gaze upon him as he made his way around the perimeter of the students, taking a seat near the back beside Neville.

Firenze raised a hand to the ceiling, and the lights dimmed, revealing a starry enchanted sky over their heads. The students oohed and aahed as they looked up into the swirling starscape.

"This year, we will be studying the stars and the planets more closely to determine what they can tell us about the future," said Firenze. He pointed to a bright red spot in the sky. "Can anyone tell me what this is?"

Sue Li raised her hand. "That's Mars, isn't it?" she asked.

"Indeed," said Firenze grimly. "Notice how bright it is compared to its surroundings? Mars is the god of war, and we centaurs have known it to be coming for years. With the return of your Dark Lord to Britain, it would seem that we are destined to enter the fray once more."

"But...but that can't be right," muttered Millicent Bulstrode. "The Dark Lord is abroad, on the continent. He doesn't seek another war with Britain."

"The stars cannot tell a lie," Firenze said in response. "Make no mistake: war is coming. The centaurs have begun their preparations – what will the wizards do?"

Students murmured nervously amongst themselves at this dire prediction. This was obviously not something the Ministry (or the Prophet) wanted the students to believe, and Harry wondered how this managed to slip by Fudge undetected. Perhaps he simply did not put as much stock into Divination versus Defense as a means of radicalizing students.

The lesson involved Firenze teaching them all how to burn sage and use other natural herbs to detect patterns in the smoke and flames. The students scrutinized their burning herbs carefully, clearly not quite understanding what they were meant to be looking for. Only Tracey Davis had the courage to attempt to translate her own smoke patterns, but she was swiftly shot down by Firenze, who dismissed her analysis as "human nonsense".

All throughout the lesson, Harry could feel Firenze's judgmental eyes upon him, scrutinizing him from afar. He did his best to ignore this, but knew that avoidance would not be a permanent solution to the tension between them. He would have to confront Firenze directly. So when the bell rang, he waited as the other students trickled out of the classroom before approaching the centaur alone.

"Greetings, Trickster," Firenze greeted him.

"I'd prefer that you didn't call me that," Harry muttered exasperatedly.

"It is not an insult," Firenze replied, "merely an observation. The centaurs remain perplexed by you. All is not as it seems with you, is it, Mr. Potter?"

"I have secrets of my own, sure," Harry shrugged. "But why doesn't? And why should that mean I'm up to no good?"

"A fair point," Firenze conceded. "Yet it is your relationship to Neville Longbottom that has given the centaurs great cause for concern."

"And why is that?" Harry demanded.

"As you know, the sister stars have been diverging for over four years now," said Firenze. "Both are heading in the general direction of Mars, but curiously, one seems to be on a path to converge with both Mercury and Pluto in a few years' time."

"Which one is Pluto again?" Harry sighed – it had been a while since he brushed up on the planets in Astronomy classes.

"The God of the Underworld," Firenze explained. "Often considered an omen of death. Does this mean you, Trickster? Are you destined to die? Or is it your friend Neville who is barreling towards his own death?"

Harry felt a chill run down his spine. Neither can live while the other survives… "Maybe it doesn't have to mean that," he offered. "Maybe it's more of a...metaphorical death."

Firenze actually chuckled at this. "Metaphor...such a human concept," he said. "Centaurs are not a storytelling race like you humans are. We merely interpret the signs at face value and determine how to respond appropriately."

"Then you must miss the nuance a lot," Harry retorted. "How else can you analyze something as vague as a prophecy, which leaves room for interpretation?"

"Prophecies are also a human phenomenon," said Firenze. "They play on the psychology of the human mind, inviting them to draw conclusions where there were none before. A centaur does not think like this. A centaur only seeks to take what nature gives to us, without reaching further into speculation."

"Look, this is all very interesting and all," Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "But do we have to butt heads like this every time we meet? I'd prefer not to fight with my teacher every time I show up for Divination class."

"Do you know why I agreed to come and teach for Dumbledore this year?" Firenze asked. "Despite knowing that I would be banished from my herd because of it?"

"No, why?" Harry asked, suddenly curious.

"Because I am needed here," Firenze said simply. "I do not know why, but the stars do not lie. They brought me to this castle, because I can make a difference here. What that difference is, I do not know and will not speculate. But know that I am watching you very carefully, Harry Potter."

"Great, thanks for that," Harry muttered sarcastically. "I love being scrutinized for things I didn't do."

"Do not mistake my attention for suspicion," said Firenze placidly. "I merely observe without judgment. If I detect nothing untoward, we may never need have a conversation like this again."

"Let's hope that's the case, then," Harry sighed, turning towards the door. Then he paused, suddenly thoughtful about something. "Have you taught the fourth-year Ravenclaws yet?"

"I had them yesterday afternoon," Firenze nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"There's a girl in that class...Luna Lovegood," said Harry. "Do you know her?"

"Ah, yes," Firenze said sadly. "The Lovegood girl has a tragic past, doesn't she? She is a unique personality, that much is certain."

"I believe she has Seer potential," said Harry. "Maybe you were sent here to foster her talent? To make sure she learns how to harness her abilities properly?"

"Again, centaurs do not put much stock into human fortune-telling and prophecy," said Firenze. "But I will make the acquaintance of the girl. If she can truly See, I will know."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Farewell, Firenze."

"Farewell, Trickster," the centaur nodded in return. "And watch your back."

Harry felt annoyed as he left the classroom – Firenze might insist he meant no ill-will with the nickname, but it nonetheless felt like an intentional dig. And was that a sincere warning he'd parted with, or a thinly-veiled threat?

He headed to the Great Hall for a quick bite to eat before his afternoon classes commenced. But as he stood to make his way up to Ancient Runes, he was interrupted.

"Hiya, Harry!" a voice called out from behind him. Harry turned; Cho Chang was walking up to him. "Have a good holiday?"

"Oh...uh, yeah," said Harry. "You?"

"It was...interesting," Cho said, her face briefly darkening. Harry suddenly remembered that Cedric had broken up with her on the last day of term, and felt bad for asking. But she quickly brightened again. "Congrats on making Quidditch captain."

"Yeah, thanks," said Harry. "I thought for sure it would be you. Considering you're older and all."

"Well, you beat Viktor Krum last year, so it only makes sense," Cho shrugged.

"I guess," Harry grinned sheepishly. "To be honest, if I hadn't made captain, I wasn't sure if I'd even be allowed back on the Ravenclaw team."

Cho's face fell again, and she suddenly looked very guilty. "Listen...I have to apologize for last year," she grimaced. "Roger was very cruel to you, and I didn't speak up to defend you."

"Not your fault," Harry shrugged. "Half the school hated me, plus both of the visiting schools. One more person wouldn't have moved the needle much."

"No, I mean it," Cho insisted, reaching out to touch his arm. "After Cedric broke up with me, I realized that the people I was hanging out with were not very nice. I'm going to choose my company more carefully from now on, and avoid toxic people."

"Like Marietta Edgecombe?" Harry asked pointedly.

"Yes, like Marietta Edgecombe," Cho confirmed with a sigh. "She's fun to be around, but she can be nasty when she wants to be. I'm taking a break from hanging out with her for a while."

"Oh...well, good for you," said Harry. "And for what it's worth, you can keep your spot on the team...I'm not going to be vindictive or anything."

"Oh, I don't expect you to hand it to me," Cho said adamantly. "I'm going to work hard at tryouts like everyone else."

"Glad to hear it."

"So...are we good?" Cho asked hopefully.

"We're good," Harry nodded. He extended his hand, and she eagerly shook it, looking relieved.

"See you at tryouts!" Cho beamed, and she skipped out of the Hall. Harry watched her go, feeling hopeful that she had truly turned over a new leaf. She had been immature and toxic towards him in the past, but she seemed self-aware about it and would choose her friends more carefully from now on. Cedric must have seen something good in her if he dated her for so long – hopefully that streak would continue.

"Ahem," a voice piped up from nearby. Harry turned to see Katie standing beside him, following his eyeline out the door. "What did Chang want?"

"Oh, just making amends for last year," Harry shrugged. "She seemed sincere enough about it."

"Uh huh," Katie hummed. "Is it true that you kissed her two years ago?"

"Erm...it's complicated," said Harry, blushing. "Technically she kissed me."

"And did you kiss her back?"

"Why, is someone jealous?" Harry asked with a grin. But he realized Katie wasn't joking. "I mean yeah, kinda, until she slapped me."

"She slapped you?" Katie asked, incredulous. "What, did you get handsy with her or something?"

"No, of course not!" Harry protested. "Why are you so interested in this now? It was a long time ago, and nothing has happened since then!"

"Hmph," Katie muttered unhappily. Harry pulled her in for a kiss, which she reluctantly reciprocated. She had been rather cross with him for the past week, and he couldn't entirely blame her...they had yet to spend any significant time together since term resumed. And Harry didn't know when they'd be able to next, as his schedule was booked solid for the foreseeable future.

He also intended to do more research into Voldemort's horcruxes, which meant two things. One was researching curse-breaking and disenchanting, something he'd long wanted to learn anyway. He was more attuned to detecting magic in the air now, but had no clue how to analyze or counteract complex spells. He checked out several books that he'd seen Fleur Delacour reading the previous year on the topic, and considered writing to her for advice on the best sources to study.

The other important focus of research was Tom Riddle's background. Harry was determined to learn as much about the man as possible, particularly what he'd been up to after Hogwarts. He scoured the Student Compendium, searching for names he recognized within five years on either side of Tom's education at the school. The most notable was Augusta Longbottom, Neville's Gran, who was a Hufflepuff three years below Tom. Perhaps Harry could ask her for information sometime.

Harry noted with amusement that three of Augusta's year mates bore the surname Smith. It was a common enough name in the Compendium (and in Britain as a whole), but nearly every Smith he came across was in Hufflepuff. Harry remembered that his own classmate, Zacharias Smith, often bragged about how he shared lineage with Helga Hufflepuff, which most of his peers just laughed at. But maybe there was something to the connection, and Harry figured it was worth asking about.

He waited until the second week of classes, when he caught Zacharias departing a bathroom alone after Charms class and approached him. "Hey, Zacharias, you got a minute?" he asked.

"What's up, Potter?" Zacharias sniffed. He often carried himself with a slightly arrogant air, which irked Harry, but today that might be exactly what he needed.

"I've been doing a bit of research into the Founders," Harry fibbed lightly. "Didn't you say you were related to Helga Hufflepuff?"

Zacharias straightened himself proudly. "I am," he said with a regal air. "What of it?"

"I wondered how much you know about the Hufflepuff lineage," Harry continued. "How does that all work, in terms of inheritance and all that?"

"It's mighty complicated," Zacharias said with a belabored sigh, but the twinkle in his eye told Harry he was enjoying the opportunity to boast. "The Smith family is large, too large to count, and several lines have claimed to be the 'true' descendants over time. But the short answer is that no one's sure anymore, and the number of Muggle-born Smiths entering our world hasn't made things any easier."

"I see," said Harry, feigning extreme interest. "So what happens if, say, a valuable family artifact is at stake? Who inherits it if the owner were to die?"

"There used to be a system in place for such things," said Zacharias. "Eldest male in the line, priority to Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot, that sort of thing. But ol' Hepzibah complicated things a few decades back."

"How so?"

"She was by far the wealthiest Smith of all," Zacharias grumbled. "Dunno how she amassed such wealth, but she eclipsed nearly all the other family lines combined. And she used her wealth to hoard all the family treasures, buying up trinkets and treasures and such from the other Smiths."

"What kind of trinkets?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Rings, staffs, silverware, anything with the family coat of arms on it, mostly," Zacharias shrugged. "She also claimed to have some extremely rare and valuable items, like Helga's cup, but no one ever verified those claims."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He knew thanks to Saul that Hufflepuff's Cup was a potential candidate for a horcrux. "Is Hepzibah still alive today?" he asked.

"Nah, she got offed by her own house-elf a few decades back," said Zacharias. "Mad thing just snapped and poisoned her tea one morning. Wild, innit?"

"Indeed," Harry muttered, gears turning in his head. A house-elf murdering its own master didn't sound very plausible to him, and the timeline seemed to line up with Tom Riddle's transformation into Voldemort. It now seemed very likely that he knew the identity of yet another horcrux. "What became of the cup? Helga's, I mean?"

"The cup whose existence was never verified?" Zacharias asked, quirking an amused eyebrow. "No clue. Hepzibah died without an heir, so there was a big power struggle among the Smiths to claim her assets. My father wasn't closely related enough to make a bid, sadly, so we never saw a cent from her."

"How unfortunate," Harry commiserated. "Well, I appreciate the help, Zacharias."

"Here, let me give you my father's contact information," said Zacharias, whipping out a quill and parchment. "He can tell you more about the family for your research project."

"Oh...thanks, that means a lot," said Harry. He accepted the scrap of parchment, though he had no intention of writing to Mr. Smith. He knew what he needed to know, and would write to Saul at the next opportunity with his suspicions.

Of course, knowing that Hufflepuff's Cup might be a horcrux did little towards telling him where it might be hidden. Harry would need to keep digging into Riddle's past to determine other possible hiding places, or else this newly-found information would be worthless. A conversation with Augusta Longbottom might be long overdue…

But that would have to wait for winter break, or some other reprieve from the demands of school. On top of his normal studies and his research on the side, Harry had committed to training regularly with Neville in the art of Occlumency. He met with the teen over the weekend in an empty classroom for their first session.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked when the boy tentatively entered to begin the lesson.

"Fine, I guess," Neville shrugged. "Bit nervous about you poking around in my head."

"We won't be doing that today," Harry reassured him. "How's the scar? Giving you much trouble lately?"

"A bit," Neville muttered, absent-mindedly scratching his forehead around the lightning mark. "Not too bad so far, though."

"Good, that's good," Harry nodded. "The most important part of Occlumency is learning how to center yourself. Have you ever practiced meditation before?"

"Never."

"That's alright. I'll teach you some techniques that helped me clear my mind."

He began walking Neville through a series of mental exercises to practice clearing his thoughts and emotions. He was grateful he'd begun teaching himself the subject in this timeline, as it was nearly impossible to learn with Snape boring into your brain like a jackhammer. How anyone learned anything from that man was beyond him…

"Try focusing on mundane things," Harry suggested. "Like the last essay you wrote for Binns, or a Potions recipe for Snape. Play it over and over in your mind. It'll trick your brain into thinking it's in standby mode, and you won't even have to consciously think about clearing away the clutter."

He sat with Neville in silence for a long while after, watching the teen's face scrunched up in concentration. That wasn't a good sign that he was succeeding, but then again, the boy was at a disadvantage. Sharing a mind with a Dark Lord certainly couldn't do wonders towards one's ability to stay positive. Harry would just have to preach optimism and hope the boy picked something up along the way.

"Good, very good," said Harry after Neville succeeded in falling asleep while sitting cross-legged on the floor. "Practice clearing your mind for at least fifteen minutes before bed every night. Repetition is key, so your brain will become used to the exercise and be able to do it without much effort on your part."

"If you say so," Neville muttered, clearly looking dejected. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry watched the boy go, wondering if he was doing enough. Should he just let an expert like Snape take over and brute-force the kid into submission? He simply couldn't abide that option. Dumbledore might trust Snape as a confidant in the war, but Harry would never trust him as a teacher. The man was simply not good with children – too arrogant, too impatient, too quick to judge. Neville would never learn what he needed to without a solid grounding outside of Snape's influence, and Harry was determined to give it to him.

But that was ultimately up to Neville, and to time itself, which Harry had precious little of these days. He also had a Quidditch team to worry about on top of all his other worries. He scheduled Ravenclaw's tryouts for the second Saturday of the month, hoping the sport would prove to be a relaxing escape for him rather than another source of stress.

Fortunately, Roger Davies and his cronies had all graduated over the previous two years, so the main force of antagonism against Harry was gone. It also meant that plenty of positions were up for grabs, and nearly thirty Ravenclaws showed up to the pitch at ten AM in the hopes of claiming one for themselves.

"Alright, settle down, you lot!" Harry shouted as the last of the hopefuls trickled out onto the pitch. At once, the gathered crowd fell silent – surprisingly quickly, Harry thought. He'd never been able to command a crowd so easily before...apparently beating Viktor Krum had earned him ample respect. "We'll be trying out players for all positions this year, and just because you had a spot on the team in previous years doesn't guarantee you a spot this year."

"Does that include you?" a third-year boy asked, earning a round of appreciative chuckles.

"If anyone wants to try out for Seeker against me, I'll give you a fair shot," Harry shrugged. He was confident in his abilities to take on all challengers, and based on the anxious looks he got after this declaration, he didn't anticipate receiving any.

He began by running a few basic exercises with the whole group, an idea he'd had while watching Roger Davies conduct tryouts in years past. The number of people who could barely handle a Quaffle, much less stay upright on a broom, was alarmingly fewer than he hoped. He eliminated nearly half the field that way before even needing to organize any position-specific drills.

He moved on to the Chasers next. Eight players were vying for spots, so Harry split them into two teams of four to conduct a mock scrimmage. Cho was handily the most skilled of them all, outflying all of the other prospects and scoring seven of her side's eight goals by herself. Also performing well was seventh-year Kade Wilson, who had finally developed some dexterity in addition to his beefy frame, and fourth-year Veronica Selwyn, who had grown and improved drastically since her time as reserve Chaser two years prior. Harry named the three of them starters rather quickly.

Up next were the Keepers. There were only three prospects, and Harry had each of them defend against ten shots from the starting Chasers. Sixth-year Ryan Fitzpatrick emerged the winner, successfully saving eight out of ten goals versus the other two's six and three, respectively.

Then came the Beaters, with six prospects vying for only two spots. Harry knew Stephen Mescal was the clear favorite, having played with him two years ago, and sure enough he had the best showing, displaying remarkable accuracy and power with his bat. Most of the other candidates were on the younger and smaller side, with decent maneuverability but lacking the strength needed to really put power behind their shots.

This left Harry with a dilemma. The clear second choice was his own dorm mate, Terry Boot, who was a bit spotty in his accuracy but at least had the arm strength to compensate. Cho looked quizzically at Harry, wondering what was taking him so long to decide...even to her the decision seemed obvious.

"Boot! Frasier!" Harry called out, singling out two of the fliers. "With me!"

He took Terry and a third-year girl named Amy Frasier aside. "Ten shots each, at me," he said. "Most shots on target gets the second spot."

Harry darted to and fro up and down the pitch, avoiding Bludgers from the two candidates. He put on a bit of extra speed for Terry's shots, hoping to throw him off, but he was begrudgingly strong in the exercise, putting six of his ten shots in a spot where Harry had to alter his trajectory to avoid being hit. Amy's shots were also clean and well-hit, but took far too long to reach Harry before he could effortlessly evade them. There was no avoiding it now.

"Congratulations, Boot," Harry sighed as the three landed. "You're our second Beater. Frasier, you can stay on as reserve if you'd like."

"Wicked!" Terry grinned, giving Harry a high-five that he reluctantly returned. Terry joined Stephen Mescal and the other new starters as the group waited expectantly for Harry to continue.

"Anyone want to try out for Seeker?" Harry asked the remaining candidates. A few looked like they were considering it, but after Harry's impressive display avoiding Bludgers, it was clear nobody felt confident enough to challenge him. Eventually they all dispersed, leaving only the seven starters behind.

"Congratulations, everyone," Harry appraised the new team. "We'll have our first practice Tuesday afternoon at four PM sharp. Don't be late."

The group began to trail back to the locker room, excitedly chatting about their performance in the tryouts. Cho marched straight up to Harry, looking puzzled.

"What took you so long with the Beaters?" she asked. "Mescal and Boot were head and shoulders above the rest."

"Just making sure," Harry shrugged. He watched as his sister Dahlia emerged from the stands to greet Terry, excitedly jumping up and planting a kiss on his cheek before taking his arm and guiding him away.

Prick, Harry grumbled to himself. He hated nosing his way into his sister's love life, but Terry was so...he was just...well...Harry couldn't even put a finger on it. He simply disliked the kid and didn't want him anywhere near Dahlia.

But he would have to maintain appearances to the contrary. Dahlia would kill him if she believed he was intentionally sabotaging Terry or threatening him behind the scenes. She deserved the chance to spread her wings and explore relationships of her own. He may not like it, but she was growing into a beautiful and assertive young woman, one who went after what she wanted. He wouldn't be able to protect her from the real world forever.

He was beginning to feel that way about all of his classmates, in fact. When he arrived in this timeline, he had hoped to win the war in the background before Voldemort ever became a threat to any of them. That no longer seemed like a possibility. The best thing he could do now was to empower them to defend themselves, so he wouldn't have to worry about them all the time. That way, they could watch one another's backs when he wasn't around to divert attention to himself.

Besides, Harry wouldn't mind having someone to watch his own back from time to time.