There was something disorienting about the silence engulfing the Great Hall. Devoid of human presence, the incongruous remnants invoked a curl of alienation over him. He paused, let the strangeness shiver away.

Still it wasn't something he could get used to. His eyes travelled over the large tables, remembering the boisterousness of the meal-times, heads bent over books, and the exuberant ceremonies. Yes…in a way, the Great Hall built up much of the homely feeling of Hogwarts.

Sounds of rattling furniture crashed against his ears. Directed by Dumbledore's magic, the House Tables floated over to a corner, and with a loud thud, planted themselves.

In the immediate emptiness, two squashy, purple armchairs appeared in front of the stairs leading up to the High Table.

"Let's sit," Dumbledore sat down; Harry obeyed, and the Headmaster steepled his hands. "So, Harry…a question for you."

"Yes?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"In your view, what do you think is more important in a duel or fight—attack or defense? Or something else?"

Harry's first impulse was to say defense, but he held his tongue. Doubtless there was something else at play. He let his mind wander, recalled the duels he'd experienced: Lockhart's ill-fated duel with Snape, his own duels with the thugs, the skirmish—

"Strategy? Understanding and figuring out how to overcome your opponent?"

"An excellent answer, but not the right one. While the strategic moments are undoubtedly important, in a real duel, you often have seconds to react."

So it was as he'd suspected—something different from the run-of-mill choices. He cast his thoughts about again, then it struck him.

"Escape." Dumbledore's eyes sparkled, answer enough. "Realizing…knowing how and when to…retreat?"

"Correct. Do I detect a hint of doubt? I can understand why. On the surface, escape…or retreat sounds cowardly…dishonorable. Perhaps it is so. I ask you this, did the thought not cross your mind during the past few days?"

"It was continuously on my mind."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Frankly, the best way to fight is not to fight—or get into a fight. But sometimes, and with these dark times upon us, it is inevitable. Understanding when and how to escape is the next best option."

"So you're going to teach me…Apparition?"

"Yes. It is the quickest and most efficient way of escape and transportation. Plus, it gives you a huge advantage in a duel—the ability to quickly reposition yourself. Granted, it can be a little uncomfortable and queasy in the beginning."

"When Snape brought us here, it felt like I was being sucked through a tube," admitted Harry. His expression became firm. "It'll certainly take some getting used to. I'm ready though."

"Professor Snape," The familiar correction fell from Dumbledore's lips which then stretched into a smile. "So—to begin with, Apparition is the method of disappearing from the spot you currently are at and appearing in another place of your choice. With me?"

"Yes. How do you Apparate? By thinking of the location you want to go?"

Dumbledore nodded. "You're picking up fast. You visualize the location, and part of the work is done. But the place needs to have a strong connection with you for the best outcome."

"Like visiting it before?"

"Yes."

"What about looking at a picture or photograph?"

"An excellent question. Unfortunately, neither will be enough alone. There has to be a sufficient connection with the place first. Then there is the question of range. Let's imagine that you wish to travel to the Eiffel Tower in Paris. You would be hard-pressed, as it is in France, and of significant distance. You might also Splinch yourself. So if you must travel long distances, try to break it up."

"I see," said Harry thoughtfully. "But within Britain, I should be fine?"

"Yes, though never push yourself, unless really necessary."

"Got it."

"Come," Dumbledore rose; Harry too mirrored him. The Headmaster removed one of the armchairs into nothingness, and set off towards the massive doors, with Harry following him. Halted near the entrance.

"To Apparate, we visualize the location and gather our magic to move from the spot we are currently at, and appear at the desired location. Watch."

Noiselessly, Dumbledore turned, and Apparated next to the lone armchair. Again he repeated his action and Apparated next to Harry. A faint ripple of magic ran over Harry's skin at the Headmaster's appearance.

"For your lesson, I have temporarily disabled the Anti-Apparition Charm over the Great Hall. Now, see the armchair?" Harry nodded in reply. "I would like you to Apparate to it. Focus on the destination, channel your magic—or use your wand, turn, and leave this spot…and appear at your destination."

Harry took out his wand. Rolled it about in his grip. Studied the intended target.

Below the steps of the High Table, the armchair loomed. Behind, the large golden chair reserved for Dumbledore gleamed in the glow of the floating candles. He slowly began to focus, yet it was hard to hold on it…akin to grasping a slippery bar of soap.

"Relax your shoulders," Dumbledore tapped them lightly. "Let your tension fade away. Remember how you prepare before a match in Quidditch? Apply the same calming techniques here."

"Yeah?" His breathing slowed; his muscles slackened, and the grip over the snapshot in his mind grew stronger. He loosened a breathy exhale and considered the next step.

Drawing on my magic…does Dumbledore mean the strange flood of magic that night? But how to summon it? Later…let me focus through my wand…wait!

Why couldn't he visualize his hand as his wand?

Raising his left hand, he tried to imagine it as a wand—a chamber of magic. Felt nothing. He tried, tried again, again until he felt his brain would burst. Frustration sparked through him; his eyes widened and he clung on to the emotion—and tried to push it towards his hand.

It warmed. The familiar sensation brushed within, sending a spiral of elation down his spine. His face opened in a silent laugh of joy.

"Well done," congratulated Dumbledore. "This is surprising, but welcome nevertheless. Now, for the final step...move towards your destination…"

Exhaling, Harry moved. Or so he thought. He remained in the same spot, facing a different direction to be sure, but it was failure. He persisted, yet with every passing minute, the burden of failure grew heavier. It was like he was looking up a huge brick wall, unable to surmount it.

"You are doing well," Dumbledore encouraged, after a particularly futile and frustrating sequence, where a thoroughly disheartened Harry flopped to the stone floor.

"How do you know?"

"I…" Dumbledore closed his eyes and his upper frame heaved, "…can feel it. There is a change about you, a change in your connection to magic that was not there before."

Harry nearly scoffed, but arrested his motion. Pushing himself up, he stared at the tantalizing armchair; the choicest words running amok in his mind.

"Keep focusing. You have to want to move. Merely thinking it is not enough. Every…" Dumbledore tapped Harry's arm, "…part of you must feel the desire to move and appear elsewhere." Pointed at the armchair. "One more time."

Eventually the bewitched ceiling melted into a blue, reminiscent of an afternoon sky. Harry hardly noticed it, nor did he notice Dumbledore's glance at the entrance; so engrossed he was in trying to get his body obey.

All of a sudden, the hairs on his neck tingled; like he was being watched. He broke, turned, spied the purple spell hurtling towards him. His eyes widened, and he did the only action hammered into him in the last hour—he spun…

A loud pop filled the Great Hall; next moment, he wobbled in front of the armchair. Surprise overtook him in mid-stagger; he caught himself, spun around, and promptly slapped his stomach to the stone slabs.

Behind him the armchair tripped backward, its tiny, squat legs up in the air.

"Get up!" growled a strange voice; his gaze lifted, picked out an even stranger character—

He rolled ungainly to avoid the next spell, scrambled up, fired off a Disarming Charm—

Cover! The armchair!

He shifted, yanked back his frame almost instantly to avoid the flying spells unleashed by the stranger.

That man—he's cutting off my space! He didn't miss on purpose…they're designed to keep me out in the open! Only one way—

To charge forward was suicide. He hopped over the incoming low spell, as though skipping rope, yelled Furnunculus! Ducked the next spell, sprang backward up onto the platform; dropped to his knees, snapped his head up. Saw the character take deliberate aim—

Turn!

His insides writhed and his feet struck stone. Pushing away the disorientation, he whipped up his wand just as the broad shoulders whirled around—

"Expel—"

"Silencio!" roared the stranger. "Got you now!"

And he pocketed his wand with a flourish and rested his hands on the ram-shaped head of his wooden staff.

Try as he might, Harry couldn't speak. His lips moved, forming spells, yet no sound came out. Fear gripped his heart. A familiar, debilitating emotion. His legs quivered, devoid of strength. The memories of the past few days flashed before him; his hand fled his throat, clapped over his eye as though to block out the memories—

"Enough," Dumbledore's voice, quiet as it was, broke through the silence. "Release him."

"That Potter?" inquired the growling voice, followed by sounds of thunks and clunks. "Sure it is him?"

Still overcome, Harry only looked up when the sensation of human presence washed over him. Dumbledore stood nearby, his expression kindly as usual. Behind him was the stranger. His face was a wild display of scars, with a chunk of his sharp nose missing. Strangely, he had mismatched eyes—the electric blue jumped and corked about wildly, while the darker focused on him. To top off the unnerving picture, his left leg was a wooden one with a clawed foot.

Correctly interpreting Harry's unasked query, Dumbledore turned. "Harry, meet Alastor Moody. An ex-Auror and one of my oldest friends."

"Constant vigilance, lad!" barked Moody, and his magical eye spun in accompaniment with his shark-like grin. "He has something in him, Albus."

"Much more than you assume," murmured Dumbledore. Addressed Harry. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"Do not beat yourself up," said Dumbledore. "You performed far better than Alastor expected, and besides, you also Apparated—not once—but twice."

"Both flukes," Moody said, and Dumbledore turned. "What? It's true!"

"What do you make of your little tussle with Alastor?" asked Dumbledore, turning back to Harry.

"I..." Harry paused, recalling the swiftness of the duel—if one could even call it so. "He took me by surprise, cut my cover, and caged me. Or tried to. Then...silenced me...I couldn't cast anything..."

"Excellent. While I did not wish to introduce you to the importance of non-verbal magic in such brutal fashion," Dumbledore glanced at Moody, "Alastor demonstrated part of what I eventually intended to bring up."

Harry nodded in understanding. It made sense in the larger picture…methods to escape, wandless magic, and nonverbal casting. Undoubtedly all of them were advanced magic and tough to master.

"But it is a matter for later," went on Dumbledore. "Focus on your Apparition for now."

"Remember what I said, lad? Constant vigilance! Once I took you by surprise—" Moody clicked his tongue, "—If you had been alert, you might have wrung this out for longer!"

A dull thud carried around the Great Hall. Evidently, Dumbledore had restored the armchair back to its former condition. The Headmaster turned, met Harry's gaze.

"Harry, Alastor and I need to talk. Continue with your Apparition. And one more thing…"

"Yes?"

"Remember how it felt."

How it felt…?

Frowning, he stared at the armchair. Focused. Blocked out Moody's noise and frame. Drew his magic. Exhaled. And…turned.

Yet the wall again mocked his efforts. Despite his labors, success eluded him. As Moody's words repeated themselves ponderously, his spirits sank lower and lower.

At some point of time, the person in question strode past him wordlessly. Dumbledore remained on the platform, watching Harry.

"Harry," he said at length. "Wait."

Despondently, Harry stopped. He lifted his frustrated gaze up. The Headmaster indicated for him to draw closer.

"What do you think is the difference between you being unable to Apparate now, and able to Apparate then?"

Harry halted. Considered. After a few moments, it came to him. "I didn't…have time to think…I just turned, focusing my desire to get away, I think?"

"In other words," Dumbledore spread out his hands, "you ceased to think and just did it. Instinct."

"But…" Harry frowned, "…it's not possible to be in that state of…whatever you call it…all the time."

"Precisely. I do not seek to take away the magnitude of your achievement; you Apparated twice and without Splinching yourself. However, to truly Apparate, you must learn to do it even when you are calm, at peace."

"Well, it's not working out, is it?" Harry replied bluntly. "Sir," he added, in an attempt to sound polite.

"The secret," Dumbledore moved over to the High Table, and sat down, "is what you've been doing for the past few hours. You see, Harry, we consider it—practice—as an ugly activity. A vexing, tiresome word. Yet, I promise you, once you can Apparate without a burst of instinct, which incidentally is unsustainable, you shall continue to do it."

Harry opened his hands, gazed at the deep palm lines. "You said to feel it, the sensation of my entire body moving?"

"Absolutely. Wait," he added as Harry prepared to spin again. "While your tenacity is admirable, now is not the time to test it. Would you be so kind to join me for lunch?"

Right on cue, food appeared on the High Table. A soft hiss escaped Harry's lips. The brief spark of hope welling within his chest ceased; only to be replaced by the weight of his frustrations on his mind. Morosely, he traipsed towards Dumbledore.

"Do not be harsh on yourself," said Dumbledore as he approached the table and seated himself. "Too much overthinking only drags you further from your goal. Which I would do well to heed myself…" he murmured softly.

Easier said than done. But as he sank his teeth into the succulent meal, he slowly felt the exhaustion ebb away. Dumbledore showed no inclination in conversing, which helped matters.

Their solitude was interrupted by the noisy arrival of a house-elf. The elf wore what looked like a toga bearing the Hogwarts crest, and bowed.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is being needed in his office," the elf said in the typical squeaky voice of its kind. "At once."

"Very well," Dumbledore wiped his mouth with a napkin and rose. "Harry, after a half-an-hour, we shall meet here again. Until then you're free to do whatever you wish."

Harry nodded, addressed the house-elf. "Wait."

The elf looked at him. "Master be wanting something?"

"Could I have a quill and some parchment?"

"Of course." The elf disappeared and reappeared quickly with the requested items. "Here you go, Master. Master is done with his lunch?"

"Yeah."

Unravelling the parchment, Harry pressed the tip of the quill to the smoothness. He considered for a moment, then started writing. Once done, he read it over, then rolled it up, and set off towards the Owlery.

Inside the chilly building, he looked around. To his surprise, Hedwig was there; she flew down and perched on his shoulder. She clicked her beak and in a show of affection, nuzzled him.

"Good girl," he gave her the small piece of meat he'd brought from lunch, then held out the roll of parchment. "Take this to Daphne Greengrass, will you?"

She hooted and stuck out her leg. He tied his reply; she fluffed her wings and flew out of the glassless window. He watched her until she disappeared completely from sight, and descended the winding stairs.

As he pushed open the doors of the Great Hall, he spied Snape conversing with Dumbledore. At his approach, the Potions Professor looked up and raised his eyebrows, his lip curling simultaneously. A familiar, almost comforting gesture. Apparently, his rescue notwithstanding, Snape still hadn't softened towards him. Which was oddly reassuring.

"Come," Dumbledore beckoned over to Harry. For his part, Snape's cloak billowed behind him as he swept away from the Great Hall. "Would you be so kind to take out your wand?"

Harry obeyed. Dumbledore clasped his hands together; he made no movement to take out his wand—no surprise there.

"In the morning, we worked on your Apparition," Dumbledore began. "You've made remarkable progress already, and…" his eyes narrowed as though examining some part of Harry, then relaxed. "I believe you also gained a better understanding of your connection with magic, is it not?"

"Yes." And it was true, he did feel like he'd somehow gained a better understanding of the mysterious forces at his call.

"Excellent. Remember, think about what we discussed," said Dumbledore. "Now, for this period, we shall start with the basics. But," he leaned forward ever so slightly, "with a caveat."

Harry waited.

"We will practice in two sets. One with your wand, and one without your wand…" A tiny smile tugged his lips at Harry's determined expression. "Now, I would like you to take up a battle stance—any pose in which you feel most comfortable…"

"Comfortable as in?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"Imagine you are in a fight. Perhaps you've been caught by surprise yet again…by Moody. How will you react?"

Frowning, Harry dropped into a stance, his wand raised to chest-level. "This? I think it feels most natural…"

"A bit too textbook…" murmured Dumbledore. "Still not bad at all…hmm…"

He took hold of Harry's shoulders and gently tapped them. "Relax your shoulders. Your arm should be as fluid as a whip, able to strike from any angle accurately…"

Harry exhaled, allowing them to slacken.

"Some musings of an old man for you," Dumbledore adjusted Harry's footing, "Do not get too absorbed by the world of Duelling." Took a step back, and surveyed Harry critically. "While it is an undoubtedly fascinating world, it is also easy to get swept up by it."

"I thought it was quite the noted and popular activity?" responded Harry. "Isn't Professor Flitwick a Duelling Champion?"

"Correct. However, he also did not take much part in the last War, despite his formidable talents."

This sounded extremely strange to Harry. Some of his surprise was apparently visible, for Dumbledore continued on calmly.

"He found himself ill-suited for the battlefield. Unable to cope or adapt to the required mentality. For all of his knowledge, skill, and experience, his worst enemy was himself—unable to unleash himself, he suffered one too many close shaves."

"You make it sound like he was keeping himself in check unconsciously."

"Indeed. Duelling has certain rules, procedures, and etiquettes that are followed. However, in a fight…on the battlefield, there are no such rules."

Harry understood only too well. The memory of the previous skirmishes flashed before him; certainly the thugs hadn't been interested in duelling. They had fought to capture, to torture—

"Do not take my words as a rejection of Duelling, Harry," Dumbledore sounded as though he knew exactly what Harry had been thinking. "View it as a training ground, a means to understand various opponents, but do not delve too much into it."

"Got it…"

"It is my opinion—though others have mocked it as a fancy—that my students need to understand and use magic freely. Explore and reach their conclusions about what works for them, and focus on their strengths." Dumbledore ran a final eye over Harry and nodded in satisfaction. "Perfect. You already understand the importance of making yourself small and offering your side, yes?"

"Yes."

"Good. Remember, your athleticism and reflexes are some of your greatest strengths. Keep up your Quidditch activities, however difficult it may be. Last, but not the least, never show your back unless absolutely necessary."

"Got it." Harry returned his frame into one of normalcy, then dropped into his stance. "How does it look now?"

"Excellent. Repeat it one more time."

Time passed in profound repetition; finally reaching its finale after the better part of two hours, wherewith the Headmaster finally nodded in approval.

"Wonderful. As before, I would like you to keep practicing until this becomes part of your muscle memory. Now, ready to learn the first spell? Remember, we shall work in sets—fifty times with your wand, and without it."

Anticipation rushed over Harry. He screwed his expression into one of concentration, waiting…

"Sometimes, the basics are often the best. This spell should be self-explanatory—it's called the Shield Charm. As you might imagine, it creates a shield capable of blocking almost all, save for a few, spells and physical entities. The incantation is Protego."

Before Dumbledore, a nearly transparent barrier appeared. It glowed a faint blue, ripples of energy thrumming all over the curvature from the center.

"Try it now…"

"Protego!" Nothing happened.

"Remember, intent is everything. Fill yourself with your desire to protect, shield yourself, your friends…whom you hold dear…"

Ron. Hermione.

"Protego!"

He felt rather than saw the outline of the shield shimmer into existence. It disappeared quickly; yet unlike the Patronus Charm, it felt much easier to call it.

"Very good," encouraged Dumbledore. "Again."

Pleased, he resumed the next set. It went well. He had no way of knowing its duration, but he sensed that it was definitely a longer go than the first few tries. With each frisson of success, his concentration grew fiercer. Eventually he lowered his wand and raised his free hand.

"You know; I must confess…I am most keen to see the results of this exercise."

"No pressure," said Harry dryly and Dumbledore chuckled.

"None at all. You've already demonstrated an aptitude for wandless magic."

"The fall…" muttered Harry, repressing a shiver at the recollection of the awful, whistling wind.

"That as well," replied Dumbledore. "Contrary to popular opinion, wandless magic is not some last-ditch wildcard—available during moments of great emotion."

Harry frowned. "I don't think I've ever heard of it being taught in Hogwarts…am I wrong?"

"No," Dumbledore sounded despondent. "While I am open to teaching wandless magic in Hogwarts, unfortunately, it is one of those rare areas of magic that is heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic."

"Whatever for?"

"Look at your wand," said Dumbledore. "Certain spells—like the Reverse Spell—allow the Ministry to view the last few spells you've performed. This is of particular benefit to law enforcement, as you may imagine. With wandless magic, it is possible to remain undetected, which the Ministry does not appreciate, especially in regard to certain laws—such as the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy."

"I see…"

"Not only that, wandless magic, by its nature, is tapping into magic itself. Instead of your wand—" Dumbledore indicated Harry's wand again, "—you become the conduit for magic, and that requires immense discipline and skill. However, it is possible to tap into it at minimal risk…to a certain level. But if you do not have the skill to…tame it, you risk great damage…to your person."

"All what you're saying makes it sound dangerous," observed Harry.

Dumbledore smiled genially. "Ah, Harry, magic by its very nature is neutral, indeterminate. It is a matter of perspective…a question of how you would wield it. One may view magic as a gift…another may view it as a tool of destruction…and yet another may use it for healing. Now, if you would kindly begin…"

Harry concentrated. Gestured with his hand. "Protego!"

"As you may imagine, there is also another reason why wands are preferred by us," Dumbledore continued. "Whenever you can, do read up on the history of wands. A most fascinating read, but I digress. Accuracy is the reason why wands are so popular."

Harry paused and stared at Dumbledore. "Accuracy?"

"Yes. Please continue," Dumbledore indicated for Harry to resume the set. "A wand offers unparalleled accuracy, which is important for any caster. If your spell doesn't land, there is obviously no effect. Staves, as you may have noticed Alastor carry—his walking stick, Harry—offer increased power, but less accuracy—"

"Protego! And wandless magic?"

"Flexibility. Control. Wandless magic offers neither power nor accuracy. But personally, I would be more cautious of a wandless caster than a wizard with a wand. For the most skilled wandless caster can be a greater threat than any other wizard. Which, I believe, you can be one day."

Harry looked away, feeling the shadow of the familiar doubt rise within. Next moment, he banished it.

If Dumbledore believes so, what is stopping me?

He exhaled. Set his features. Whispered the spell.

And smiled, as brilliant light flared to life, bathing his face in cobalt blue.

"Excellent!" cried out Dumbledore. "Well done!"

He paid no attention, focusing hard on maintaining the spell. The magic sang through his veins, a joyous rapture feeding off his elation and determination to protect. He held on, held on until with a great gasp, he let go and the shield vanished. Looked up to see Dumbledore smiling proudly at him.

"Remarkable," he said. "Certainly you do pick up things fast on a practical basis. Remember though, theory is equally important. Now, proceed with summoning your shield."

For how long he kept practicing, he had no idea. The sensation was intoxicating, yet the fatigue kept building up. It taxed his mind, seeping down to his very muscles, and wringing out every last drop of energy despite little movement on his part.

"Well done," Dumbledore said, when he finally dropped his arms and collapsed to the ground. "I would like to test your shield, but it is a matter for tomorrow."

"I'm ready—" Harry made to spring up, but Dumbledore raised his hand.

"No," he said firmly. "While I understand the temptation to push yourself, rest is important too. You are spent—though you may hide it, I can see—"

He broke off at the appearance of Hedwig. As Harry watched in surprise, Hedwig gracefully landed on his shoulder and stuck out her leg. Attached on it was a scroll; he divested it off her.

"Good girl," he murmured. "I'll get you something to eat later, OK?"

She hooted, and with a flutter of wings, took off. Unfurling the scroll, he read:

Dear Harry,

I am glad to hear you are up and well. My parents would like to personally thank you, and cordially invite you for dinner tomorrow at 7 PM at Greengrass Gardens. As a token of goodwill, they also request that you bring along a guardian.

I do hope to see you again before start of term.

Daphne Greengrass

His brows lifted in surprise. Met Dumbledore's gaze. The Headmaster gave a tiny nod, his expression ever calm.

"What do you think?" asked Harry, after a few moments of silence.

"It is your decision. Though, I imagine they would be quite disappointed if you were to decline their invitation."

"It…just feels strange, you know? Like…I'm not sure how to react…" Harry wagged the scroll absentmindedly, not noticing the light in Dumbledore's eyes diminish. "Still…I think I'd like to go…"

"If I may be so bold to offer my opinion," Dumbledore said softly, "I also agree."

"Who'll be able to accompany me?" asked Harry.

He swiftly ran through an admittedly short mental checklist. The Weasleys weren't an option, and he had little interest in fending off Mrs. Weasley's likely insistence for him to return. Hagrid wasn't a wise choice. Lupin…his heart lurched at the thought of his former Professor; as much as he would have loved his father's old friend to join him, it probably wasn't a good idea when the reason behind his resignation was still fresh.

Which left McGonagall…and Dumbledore…

Dumbledore considered for a moment, folding his robed arms together, then smiled. "Me. If you agree, I would be glad to accompany you on this delightful excursion."

"But…wouldn't it be too much trouble?"

"Not at all, Harry. After all, even a Headmaster needs a break now and then!"