An unusual sour aroma was wafting about inside Borgin and Burke's, and a hint of hot spice. Either that was a unfinished potion churning away or dinner simmering; sometimes both. Mum liked to use leftover chicken wishbones for regenerative draughts.

I was about to reach out with my magical sense, out of curiosity, when Olivia clumsily reached into a pot on a high shelf, then threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace. "Potter Manor," she whispered.

Sparks danced at her feet three by three, magic blooming. But the usual cold fire did not ignite, not after three seconds of sparking. My heart jumped into my throat as the last spot of green light went out with a whiff of mossy-gray smoke, and we both knew what this meant.

Potter Manor was on lockdown.

We had caused a panic; well, hopefully less than a full-on panic. Just a commotion, a cause for immediate concern. I doubted there was much rioting taking place. This wasn't the first time the manor had been locked down. Twenty-seven times by my count, the last being three weeks ago during another Wormtail alarm (he'd been spotted near Westminster).

Something prodded my elbow. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" I was staring at the bits of charred floo powder. My pulse was slowly drumming in my head.

"What do we do?" Olivia said with impressive calm.

I turned on my heel, readying my magic to blow open the door again, less power this time. "Diagon Alley. Auror office." The only answer. We couldn't risk staying here, and it would take at least a few hours for the ministry to search through all the floo logs.

"We'll get in trouble," Olivia whispered urgently. "Can't you figure something out?"

I exhaled impatience. "Can't you?"

"You're the one with the Merlin powers."

"I am." My wand hand twirled toward my chest, magic surged outside, and the door opened with a gust and soft bump. I stepped out into the cold, glanced at the sunset. Night was coming, fast.

"Harry." Her tone was strict like Mum's.

"Yes?"

"We're going to get in more trouble than we have ever before. We'll be grounded—without allowance. Mum'll take our new wands, our practice wands too."

I shrugged purposefully, saying, "Can't last for long. We'll be at Hogwarts soon."

She made a sucking-clicking noise, and many steps later, as we passed The Leaky Cauldron, she teased, "Don't you have a date with Fleur or something at the Quidditch match? What about your duel?"

I stuttered in my walk, glanced at her smug face, but my face was utter seriousness. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of Fleur. This was bad. Really bad. I was suddenly regretting all of this insanity, and this was insanity—just as I had said when Olivia stepped into the floo back at the manor. I should've stopped her. She was a broom head of a sister at times.

"Well?" Olivia said with hand on hip.

I weighed my options. I didn't have many. "If you put it that way, Diagon Alley Park would be better. Let's go." I picked up the pace.

"Why? To learn Apparition?"

"Yeah. What else is there to do?"

She was quiet for two hundred or so steps, only mumbling again when our feet were firmly on Diagon Alley cobblestone, which was cleaner and paved with a multitude of fortification enchantments.

I said, "What was that? I didn't hear you."

She sighed. "We could get someone to apparate us."

"Who?"

"Ollivander. He's been at the manor before."

I almost laughed. "You think that old coot won't tell on us the second we get back? He's Dumbledore's friend, not ours, and even our friends would tell on us. Remember when Ginny told Mum I broke and fixed a window? Even something as small as that makes the papers."

"Come on," Olivia said meekly. "We were like what? Five?"

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah," she said as we walked by the statue of Dumbledore next to Diagon library and Park, our cloak flapping against thick stone columns.

We hurried downhill into the park on a gravel path, nearly tripping a few times. When we were out of sight, at my favorite spot by the creek hidden behind overgrown willows, I chucked the advanced apparition tome to Olivia and holstered my wand. "The spell to undo minor splinches is on page three. It's simple."

Her eyes skimmed the page. "I saw, but what counts as minor?"

"Lost arms. Lost heads."

"Really?"

"Hopefully." I smirked, trying to make light of the situation. "But let's do it. I'll go first. Ready?"

She flinched as though slapped, then instantly regained composure with her wand held ready. Eyes on mine, said said, "Anytime. Are you ready?"

Was I?

Honestly, maybe. I took a moment to doubly prepare, calming myself. My fingers refused to stop jittering, so I first thought over the different types of apparition, according to the tome, which were three main apparition schools: basic, long, and protected. It wasn't too tricky; why was I so nervous?

Basic apparition can be mastered by the most incompetent. One merely needs to know a destination and focus on the destination, which must not exceed a walking distance of roughly a thousand strides. This form of apparition is just shy of instantaneous, fairly accurate, with little visual effect, and accompanied by a characteristic popping noise. Little magical affinity is needed to perform this, and many lesser magical creatures and beings possess innate ability equal or similar to this form.

Long apparition is basic apparition taken to one extreme: distance. Few practitioners are able to perform this without splinching. The greater the distance, the greater the risk and injury; however, knowing an exact route to one's destination appears to reduce the risk, injury, and magic needed. Apparition over distances greater than a hundred leagues is not recommended. Children should never attempt long apparition.

Protected apparition is basic apparition taken to another extreme: accuracy. This form guarantees short to mid distance travel at the cost of speed, stealth, and the magical toll on the body. Roughly three fold slower, a protected apparition will produce a smoky-inky white visual effect without a popping noise. Most competent practitioners have little trouble performing a protected apparition. Warning: those who have heavily dabbled with dark magics may produce a black visual effect instead; the cause is unknown.

Naturally, I was only attempting a basic apparition here, and I was confident I could do it. My nervousness was due to what had to come after, because the tome had been more than clear (in bold letters) that children shouldn't attempt anything long distance. On more than one page.

But I was no ordinary child.

I was Harry Potter, and miracles happen.

"Ready," I said, taking another chilly lungful. Eye closed, I visualized my destination (three strides down the field), and with my magic drawn to the surface and wrapped around my body, I desired to move there… somehow. I desired for it as though my life depended on it, as though I were running away from Death Eaters while they threw killing curses at my back.

But no matter how much I concentrated or struggled and pushed my magic, I couldn't force myself to disapparate. My head was throbbing with my hot pulse, my whole body shaking in the struggle. My magic was wobbling and writhing as though it knew this was a stupid idea and refused to comply to my will.

Uncaring of the risk, I pushed on. The Death Eaters were coming! They were going to do unspeakable things to me. I forced my magic out of its hiding place and form a kind of tube in front of me as the book had described, yanking at my magical core with all my strength.

Every last bone in me vibrated, then it happened.

The reaction between the power rushing through my blood and my intention was extraordinary. I felt it in slow motion. My magic formed a narrow tube from where I stood to the spot next to the folded cloak, warping reality itself, and I was pushed through the tube, squeezed into a piece of spaghetti. But pushed by what? I wasn't quite sure. Pushed wasn't the right word; I didn't know what was.

All of that took place, as the muggles would say, in the place of a fraction of a second before the magic holding the tube open rushed back into me. My feet touched soft ground. The willows were rocking this way and that, my bum hitting the grass. I felt like throwing up. I swallowed twice to keep down the sour mashed potatoes and half-chewed sausages. Disgusting. Horrible.

I struggled to my feet. Everything was blurry, the willows still rocking about like the Womping Willow at Hogwarts.

"Temprus Reverto!" Olivia then said loudly. Her magic roiled and expanded in a cone toward me.

There was a whooshing kind of pop, and a metallic weight appeared on top of my ears—my glasses. I blinked, thrice, the park coming back into clarity along with Olivia's gobsmacked face. I touched the rim of the left lens, which was cracked. I willed it to repair itself. The glass clinked back into shape.

"Great!" Olivia shouted.

This wasn't great at all.

She bounced on the balls of her feet. "You did it!"

I swallowed sour spit. The willows, at last, stopped swaying. I tentatively met her eyes. "No, I didn't. That was less than three strides, and I lost my glasses."

"But you did do it, with only a tiny splinch." She whistled a breath. "Try ten strides this time. Then twenty. Then maybe I'll try."

"That was intense," I said carefully, "I don't think I can get all the way to the manor. Seriously. I'll lose my head if I try."

Her excitement faded a bit. "Than what? You have to apparate us to the manor gates—or we're cooked. You can do it, Harry."

"I must disagree, Olivia," a soft voice said.

Lightning jolted up my back. I recoiled, twisting around, painfully ripping the muscle in my right calf. I staggered back as Dumbledore (and his phoenix on his shoulder) approached with slow, strolling steps. His expression was calm and guarded as always, almost impossible for anyone to read, but I reasoned he was both disappointed and relieved. Maybe also impressed.

A/N previous chapter edited for typos.

Vtr: I agree with much of your review, though some of the inherent evilness of dark magic will adhere to canon. Such as crutiatus requiring a great desire to harm.

Sonia: Have you lost the plot? Harry isn't a squib. Or are you still angry about the snape/lily thing?