Harry Potter

At dinner, Clara was so hungry she felt she could eat a Hungarian Horntail.

Three empty plates were piled in front of her-one had held roast beef, another mashed potatoes, and the third still had a few crumbs of pumpkin pie on it. Rowle sat across from her, holding a fork with a piece of sausage still speared on it, not yet having reached her mouth. She stared at Clara as though observing some natural wonder. When Clara reached for her fifth pumpkin pie, Rowle finally let out a heartfelt exclamation.

"Oh, Merlin, what on earth did Professor Snape do? Is this some new kind of punishment? Did he make you wash a cauldron fifty times in his class? Or repot Mandrakes with your bare hands?"

With her mouth full of Pumpkin Pasties, Clara could only manage a muffled "Mm." That afternoon, she had spent a full hour and a half in the dungeons being chased by Snape's Nonverbal Spells. Though she had managed a few brief counterattacks along the way, most of the time she had been desperately dodging, rolling, and scrambling back up to run again. Only after she finally swallowed her Pumpkin Pasties and took a large gulp of Pumpkin Juice did she have the strength to speak.

"Some physical training."

"Are you joining the Quidditch team in fifth year?" Rowle really couldn't think of anything besides Quidditch that was worth doing physical training for.

Seeing that Clara had no intention of answering, Rowle shook her head, sighed, and went back to her sausage. Clara picked up another bread roll, but before she could bring it to her mouth, a brown owl suddenly flew in, circled once over the table, and dropped a letter.

"Miss Albert, meet me in the corridor at the end of the Seventh Floor at eight o'clock next Tuesday morning. Please arrive ten minutes early."

It was Dumbledore's handwriting. She turned around, and the headmaster, seated at the High Table, raised his silver goblet to her.

With Professor Snape pressing her relentlessly, the week passed exceptionally quickly. Besides her lessons on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Snape had given her extra lessons on Tuesday and Thursday as well, for some perverse reason she couldn't fathom. As a result, she was so exhausted every night that she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, without even time to think much about Cedric.

On Tuesday, Clara stood on time opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by Trolls on the Seventh Floor. She recognized the place; the last time she had gone back, it had helped her escape Mad-Eye.

She pushed open the door and froze.

The room looked completely different today. Dark gray stone walls surrounded a floor covered in fine sand, and several wooden training dummies stood against the wall. Several people were in the room. A boy in an old Gryffindor Quidditch Team training uniform stood somewhat awkwardly beside Dumbledore, his black hair very messy.

Dumbledore stood beside him, wearing dark blue robes, with a small silver bell tied to his beard. His blue eyes wore their customary gentle smile behind his Half-moon Spectacles. Flitwick stood at one side of the training area, adjusting the positions of several dummies with his wand. Professor McGonagall stood on the other side, holding a folder. Snape leaned in the shadows against the wall, his black robes blending almost completely into the dark gray stone. His expression gave no indication of what he was feeling.

"Miss Albert, just in time," Dumbledore said, beckoning her over. "I'm sure you've met: Harry Potter, Clara Albert. But this is probably the first time you've been properly introduced. Oh, speaking of this place, I found it one morning when I got up to go to the loo. It's an excellent place, very well suited to training. I call it the Room of Requirement."

Clara paused, then nodded. She couldn't help marveling that Hogwarts castle really was full of profound magic.

Harry turned around, and when he saw Clara, a flash of surprise and recognition crossed his green eyes.

"It's you!" he said. Then, apparently realizing how abrupt that sounded, the tips of his ears began to redden. "I mean-at the Three Broomsticks. You kept looking at me."

"Sorry, I may have offended you," Clara said, smiling at him. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Yeah," Harry said, scratching the back of his head. "Professor Dumbledore said you were getting extra training too, and that we could practice together. He didn't say exactly what kind of training-just told me to wait for him in the Room of Requirement."

Clara glanced at Dumbledore. His expression didn't change, but from the slight tilt of his head, she read a message: I haven't told him yet.

"Well, I believe everyone is here, so we can begin. Harry told me a few days ago that his scar had begun hurting again."

Clara was a little surprised. This was something she had known absolutely nothing about before.

Harry's hand went unconsciously to his forehead, his fingertips brushing the edge of his lightning-shaped scar. "Yes," he said, the confusion in his green eyes deepening. "It hasn't stopped since the start of term. Sometimes I have nightmares too, about some really strange things. A snake, an old house, and Voldemort."

"I believe the pain in your scar is more than an ordinary headache," Dumbledore said. "When it hurts, it may mean that Voldemort is experiencing some powerful emotion, or, in other words, that to some extent you can sense what he is sensing. This connection may grow stronger as his power increases."

"It may not extend as far as what he is thinking. But your scar will pick up intense surges of emotion-anger, excitement, the desire to kill. This is not your weakness, Harry. It is a connection, and a connection can be exploited, but it can also be defended against. But this also means," he paused, looking seriously at Harry through his glasses with his blue eyes, "that before we understand the extent and dangers of this connection, you must first become stronger yourself. You will practice with Miss Albert—she is receiving special training jointly from several professors in combat Transfiguration, the application of spells, and defense against Dark Magic."

"If Voldemort is planning something, and my scar can sense him, shouldn't I know more? Not less?" There was a touch of stubbornness on Harry's face.

"Because what you can sense now, he may also be able to sense," Dumbledore said, his tone still gentle. "Until you learn how to block this connection, the less you know, the safer you and the people around you will be."

Harry was silent for a moment. Clara saw his hands clench into fists at his sides.

"Then what do I need to learn?"

"The same things as Miss Albert," Dumbledore said. "Mobility, spells, defense against Dark Magic, and how to remain calm under extreme pressure. Three professors will instruct you both."

Harry followed Dumbledore's gaze to Snape. It was almost common knowledge that Snape disliked some Gryffindor students. Harry had clearly remembered the times Snape had singled him out, and the fourteen-year-old boy didn't yet know how to hide his feelings. He went a little stiff. But before he could voice any objection, Flitwick had clapped his hands and walked into the center of the training area, announcing in his high, enthusiastic voice, "Then today, we'll start with spell combination training! Mr Potter, Miss Albert-take a training dummy each, and we'll warm up first!"

"For the warm-up-spell combination training! Work in pairs and attack each other with low-intensity Disarming Charms while practicing blocking with small Shield Charms. Remember, the shields must be no larger than your torsos. Precision, precision is more important than power!"

Clara and Harry took their places ten meters apart. Harry attacked first. His Disarming Charm was fast, but compared with Snape's Nonverbal Spells, Clara could handle it with ease.

When it was Clara's turn to attack, Harry's Shield Charm was noticeably too large. On his first attempt, he conjured a shield that covered almost his entire body. Clara's Disarming Charm struck it and shattered into sparks, but Flitwick immediately squeaked, "Mr Potter! The shield is too big! Shrink it to the size of your torso. Carrying a shield that large on a battlefield will exhaust you to death!"

"That's how I usually block!" Harry muttered, sounding somewhat unconvinced. But he did as instructed and made his Shield Charm a little smaller.

"That's why the Horntail chased you around half the arena during the Triwizard Tournament," Clara added quietly, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

Harry's mouth twitched despite himself. He conjured his Shield Charm again, and this time it was noticeably smaller, just large enough to protect his torso.

After several rounds of attack and defense, Flitwick had them defend against spells coming from different directions at the same time.

"Remember, you aren't fighting separately. If one of you misses something, the other must cover for them!"

Spells came flying in succession from the raised platform. Harry blocked a Trip Jinx from the left, and Clara deflected a Disarming Charm coming straight at her. Then she turned sideways and put up a shield to cover Harry, blocking a Stunning Spell that came from a blind spot on the right. The whole sequence took less than three seconds.

"Beautiful!" Flitwick squeaked. "Mr Potter, your Shield Charm was thick enough just now, but the thickness wasn't even enough. It will break easily like that!"

"How can he even see how thick it is?" Harry muttered as he conjured another Shield Charm.

"Because he's a professor." Clara turned sideways again to block a spell for him. "Don't get distracted."

"I was just thinking about the thickness around the edge of the Shield Charm. It's too fast; there's no time to react at all."

"On the battlefield, acting is better than thinking, Mr Potter!" Another spell came from Flitwick, this time at a trickier angle, forcing the two of them to keep moving to cover for each other.

By the time Flitwick finally announced that the warm-up was over, both of them had broken into a light sweat. Harry bent over with his hands on his knees and looked up at Clara, his expression a mixture of competitiveness and curiosity.

"How long have you actually been training in Snape's class?" he asked in a low voice, apparently afraid the black-robed figure in the corner might hear.

"A week. He used Nonverbal Spells."

Harry's expression went through an extraordinary series of changes at the words "Nonverbal Spells"-first shock, then disbelief, and finally something close to admiring sympathy.

"Nonverbal Spells? From the very first lesson?"

"The very first lesson."

"How did you survive?"

"I didn't entirely. Professor McGonagall came in and stopped him halfway through." Clara flexed her aching wrist. "Actually, there's an upside to being chased and attacked. At least now, when I watch Professor Flitwick's spells, they feel like they're moving in slow motion."

"That's because Professor Flitwick wasn't using Nonverbal Spells," Harry said dryly.

"Oh, he can use them too," Clara said. "He's just kinder."