aibhinn_fics

Title: Heal The Pain
Chapter 6 - 'At A Distance' (Part 1)
Rating: Teens
Words: 12,294 (Both Parts)
Warning: In this chapter, Harry goes to training camp, roughly similar to boot camp. I've tried to keep the swearing PG-13, but a word here and there might offend. Apologies in advance if they do.

Harry lifted Ginny's trunk into an empty compartment of the Hogwarts Express, sliding it securely onto a rack. He was almost reluctant to let go, but after a moment, he turned back around, meeting Ginny's eyes. She slid her arms around him and he held her close, cradling her against his shoulder as he rested his cheek against the top of her head. "It's only four months 'til the Christmas holidays," he murmured into her hair.

"I know," she whispered back.

"And we can owl. You can even owl me while I'm at training camp."

"I know," she said again. She pulled away and looked up at him. Tears brimmed in her eyes. "It just feels…odd…not to be going to school with you. Hogwarts won't be the same without you lot there to keep me company."

"And cause trouble," Harry teased. "Though I expect you'll do that very well on your own."

"Oh, you!" She stuck out her tongue at him and he immediately took advantage, claiming her mouth for a long, slow kiss. He felt her melt against him and tightened his arms about her. This was proving harder than he'd thought.

Finally he forced himself to end the kiss. He leaned his forehead against hers, breathing heavily. Her own breath was equally ragged and her hands had slipped down to the small of his back, holding him against her. "I should go," he said reluctantly.

As if in agreement, the whistle blew, warning of imminent departure.

"I guess." Ginny leaned up to kiss him again, this one much more chaste, though with no less feeling. "I'll owl you when I get there," she said.

"Send it to the Ministry," he reminded her, though he'd already told her several times. "They won't let the owls come directly to us. It interrupts the training process too much."

"I know, Harry." The whistle blew again, and she gave him a quick hug, then stepped back. "Go," she whispered. "I love you."

He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her again—his last kiss for months. "I love you, too." He let his fingers slide down her soft cheeks, and forced himself to leave the compartment and go back out onto the platform.

"About time!" Ron said peevishly as Harry stepped off the train. He and Hermione had been waiting while Harry said goodbye to Ginny. "What did you do, spend the whole time snogging?"

"Most of it," Harry said blandly before Hermione could take Ron to task for rudeness. Ron gaped, and Harry grinned. "Oh, come on, Ron. I was on the train a whole five minutes. There wasn't time for more than wrestling her trunk into the compartment and saying goodbye."

"With a kiss or two," Hermione put in. Ron glared.

"One or two," Harry agreed.

Just then the porters closed the doors and the train let out a great gasp of steam. All along the train windows were being opened and heads stuck out for a final farewell to families. The window of Ginny's compartment slid down, and she leaned out to wave. "Bye, Ron!" she called. "Bye, Hermione! Bye, Harry! I love you!"

Any answer Harry might have made was drowned out by yet another whistle and the great steam engine's chugging to pull the train forward. The wheels began to move, and the crowd of parents and siblings surged forward, following the train a few steps and waving their loved ones off to school. Harry waved too, but he didn't move; he knew he was in for enough teasing as it was, and he wasn't about to give Ron any more ammunition.

The train pulled past the station and into a curve, slipping out of sight beyond the buildings. Harry watched until the last car was gone, then sighed and turned to face his friends. Ron had one eyebrow raised and a sardonic look on his face. "What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Ron said with a smirk. "Just comparing the look on your face with the mental image of an Unspeakable. They don't quite match up, mate."

Hermione sniffed. "Since you wear that look on your own face more often than you like to think, I wouldn't talk, Ron Weasley." Ron coloured brightly, and Harry snorted with mirth. "Come on," Hermione went on before either of them could continue, "or we're going to be late."

"We're Apparating, 'Mione," Ron protested. "We can be there in about half a second. What are you worried about?"

"We can be in Diagon Alley that fast. We've still got to get to the Ministry, through the wards, and up to the meeting area in—" She looked at her watch, a Muggle timepiece her parents had given her for Christmas. "—forty-five minutes. I'd say we'd best go."

"You're probably right," Harry put in, to smooth things over before Ron really got going. "Bill and Charlie should already have our trunks there."

"All right, all right," Ron grumbled, pulling at the neck of his robes. They were new, and apparently a little higher-collared than he was used to; he'd been fidgeting with them all day. "Let's go."

With a small pop of imploding air, the three of them Disapparated.

Bill and Charlie were waiting for them in the courtyard of the Leaky Cauldron. "Left it a bit late, haven't you?" Charlie observed as the three of them appeared, staggering a bit; they were all still a bit clumsy at Apparition. "I thought you were going to be here ten minutes ago."

"The train just left," Hermione said with a dark look at Ron, who had opened his mouth, probably to complain about Harry snogging Ginny. "We Apparated straight here."

Neither of Ron's brothers looked happy, but all Charlie said was, "Well, we'd best get a move on. Your trunks are already at the Ministry and waiting for you; all you have to do is show up. Come on."

They set off at a pace that had Harry, Ron, and Hermione practically jogging to keep up. "What's the rush?" Harry said, very glad now that the three of them had spent most of August getting into better shape. When Bill and Charlie moved, they moved. "We've got a good forty minutes."

"We have to make a stop first," Bill said shortly.

They trotted up the steps of the black granite building and through the wards, following the same route they'd followed before to room 42 and Umbra Nacht's office. Nacht was waiting for them at her desk, an expression of mild impatience on her face. "Not before time," she commented as they approached. "Well, come here, Onyx. Let's see what we can do for you."

Harry, who had stopped just behind Hermione, twitched in surprise. "Me?" he asked unthinkingly.

"You're the only Onyx in here, unless you count the one on my necklace," Nacht said dryly. "Come here. We need to take care of that scar."

Harry was rattled enough that, for a moment, he wasn't sure which scar she meant—he had several—but her meaning soon became clear. "Push back your fringe," she ordered, pulling her wand from her sleeve. With a slightly nervous, sideways glance at Bill and Charlie, he obeyed. She touched the tip of her wand to his lightning scar and said, "Macula Abdo Dum Impero!"

An odd, icy sensation, so cold it nearly burned, flooded his scar. He would have yelped and jumped away, except the sensation was so very different from the one he'd felt when Voldemort was alive that the two sensations couldn't possibly be related. It lasted for an interminable moment, then suddenly it was gone, and Nacht pulled her wand away. "There," she said with satisfaction. "That should take care of it."

Puzzled, Harry turned back to his friends, who were all looking at him with varying expressions of surprise and shock. "What?" he said, beginning to get worried.

Hermione recovered first. "Your scar," she said.

"What about it?"

Ron spoke up, finally. "It's gone, Harry."

"What?" He whirled back to Nacht. "What did you do?"

"It's just a glamour, Onyx," she said calmly. "It'll hide your scar until you've finished training camp. There's no point to code names if you have a highly-visible mark on your face advertising who you are, is there?" She turned to Ron, and her face hardened. "And speaking of code names, Red Knight, I had better not hear you call anyone from the Department by any name except the one we've given them. Ever. If I do, it will be grounds for immediate termination and charges filed for endangering the lives of Ministry officers in their line of work. Am I rightly understood?"

Ron's jaw gaped open and he stared at her for a moment. "We're in your office," he protested.

"Irrelevant. The use of code names should be instinctive by this point. Don't use your legal names for anything, ever, until you have left training camp and are back in your home. I don't care what the circumstances are. Am I rightly understood?"

Ron stood straight, shoulders back, ears turning slightly pink. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

She stepped forward, somehow seeming far more ominous than Ron, even with her short stature. "And," she growled, eyes flashing, "if you ever talk back to any superior again, let alone to me, I'll have your bollocks in a jar on my desk. Got it?"

He swallowed and nodded.

"Good." She glared at Hermione and Harry. "That goes for the two of you as well," she said warningly.

"Yes, ma'am," they both chorused. Harry had never in his life seen anyone so intimidating as Umbra Nacht.

She nodded shortly. "You may go. Blaze, Seth, once you've got them where they're going, come back here. I've got something that needs your keen eye. And maybe Castor and Pollux as well. This may be a Loki job."

"Understood," Bill said. "Come on, you lot. Let's get you on the road to hell."

Charlie stifled a laugh. Ron glared at them both. "Not funny, Blaze and Seth," he growled.

"Aw, but Red Knight," Charlie said, grinning as Bill led them out of Nacht's office, "he had the best of intentions!"

Ron just growled, obviously not trusting himself to say anything.

Harry wondered, as they walked back out past the people watching their desk screens, how exactly they were going to get to camp. Would they Apparate? Or a Portkey, maybe? His only knowledge of any kind of military or quasi-military training camp came from Muggle movies and television. He seemed to recall shaved heads, lots of running, officers yelling at recruits, and a good deal of climbing over fences and crawling through mud. He was fairly certain that none of that could possibly take place anywhere near Diagon Alley.

Bill led them back out into the corridor and turned right—then, to Harry's immense surprise, stopped only a few doors down. This door was labelled 51. "This is it," Bill said, turning to face them but not opening the door. "We can't go in with you, so we'll say our goodbyes here."

"Here?" Harry said, startled. "This is the door to training camp?"

"Ahh, but things are not always what they seem in the Department of Mysteries," Bill said with a grin. "This door, like so many others, is more than it appears." He sobered. "We've only got a minute or so, so I'll just give you one quick piece of advice. Training camp is about creating a team—creating trust—looking out for each other. We told you once that you lot already have that, in spades; you have to learn to create it with others as well. Anyone in the department has to have your trust, and you theirs; you have to be able to trust your back to them. Otherwise, you can't concentrate on your job, and people will get hurt. Maybe you."

"I thought your partner was supposed to watch your back," Ron said.

"He does. He will. But what if you and your partner are both involved in a fight? Or if you two have been sent in and others are meant to watch for anyone following you? You have to trust them, Red Knight."

Harry wasn't sure he liked that. Trust didn't come easily for him. Liking, yes; even respecting. But trusting his life, or his friends', to someone he barely knew?

"And I'll give you my advice as well," Charlie added. "Elijah knows what he's doing. He won't tell you to do anything that doesn't have a specific reason behind it. Do as he says, without question. He's got nine weeks to prepare you to face God knows what. Don't make it harder on yourself or on him. Right?"

The three of them nodded. Harry noticed that Hermione was biting her lip in her nervous-but-determined expression; Ron just looked a bit pale. He wasn't sure what his own face looked like, but he was sure it must be similar.

"Good luck," Bill said, and Charlie echoed him. With a smile of encouragement, Bill opened the door, and the three of them walked inside.

They entered a small room, not much bigger than the treehouse at the Burrow. Three wizards in dark blue robes with silver cords on their left shoulders waited inside. One had a clipboard and a quill; the other two stood to either side of a door on the far wall, as though guarding it. "Names?" the wizard with the clipboard asked. He was shortish—not much above five-seven—but broad and well-muscled, like Charlie. The other two were taller, but looked just as strong.

"Zephyr," Hermione said briskly, with just the hint of a nervous quaver to her voice. She was standing as straight as she could, and anyone who didn't know her as well as Harry and Ron might have believed she was perfectly at ease.

"Red Knight." Ron was standing straight as well, but his nervousness was easier to see. He had never been good at hiding his emotions.

"And you?" the wizard asked a bit sharply.

"Onyx. Sir," he added, not quite as an afterthought. Since this wizard was obviously of some rank, if his shoulder knots meant anything, it seemed reasonable to call him 'sir.'

The wizard cracked a small smile. "Right. You're the last three, and you're just in time." He peered closer at the clipboard. "Have you been to see Number One yet? There's a notation here to make certain you do."

"Yes, sir, we have," Ron said. The 'sir' sounded a bit odd coming from him, but Harry was impressed nonetheless; extreme politeness wasn't as much a part of his personality as it was Harry's own. Of course, I had it drilled into me fairly strongly, too.

"Very good. Go on in, and you'll be starting shortly. Good luck." He pointed with his quill toward the door that was between the two guards. One of them opened it, and the three filed through into yet another room.

This one, like the other, was small—no more than ten feet on a side—with plain white walls and no furniture whatsoever. Inside, nine people, looking as though they ranged in age between about 25 and 35, were standing about, silently looking at each other. There was a definite atmosphere of tension. A few looked like they weren't exactly sure what they were doing there; others looked like they couldn't wait to get started. A man in bottle-green robes, who appeared to be the oldest there, stood in the corner, arms behind his back, watching everything that was going on. His face showed nothing of his emotions.

As Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked in, every head swivelled to see the newcomers. Harry was more grateful than he'd imagined he could be for Nacht's glamour. For the first time since he'd joined the wizarding world, he could be anonymous. He was relieved to note as well that none of the other recruits—three witches, six wizards—looked familiar. One less thing to worry about, Harry thought; he'd been concerned what would happen if someone they'd known from Hogwarts had been in training with them and had accidentally let slip who they were.

One of the wizards, a blonde man with intensely blue eyes, nearly the sapphire Ron's became when he was worked up about something, moved forward. He topped Harry by an inch or so, but still lacked a good two inches of Ron's height. But where Harry had the build of a runner or a Seeker—wiry and slender, though well-defined—and Ron had nearly the breadth of shoulder that Charlie had, while still towering over everyone in the room, this man was somewhere in between. He'd obviously been spending a great deal of time honing his upper-body strength, though, Harry noticed clinically.

Well, maybe "noticed" isn't the word. He's practically throwing his strength in our face, trying to intimidate us. And the competition for status begins. Hell, it's just like a dog pack, Harry thought, trying not to roll his eyes as the blonde purposely came uncomfortably close to Harry. Just like Malfoy.

Looking down his nose, the stranger said, "More new recruits, are you?" His tone was almost bored.

Harry looked for the knots of rank like the ones he'd seen on the three wizards in the anteroom. Seeing none, he said in a carefully casual tone, "Not completely new, but yeah."

Ron had come up to stand at his right shoulder, and a sideways glance told Harry that Hermione stood on the other side of Ron. The two didn't say anything, but Harry could feel the support they were lending him silently.

Blonde-boy (or so Harry had privately dubbed him; he reminded Harry too much of Malfoy) raised an eyebrow at Ron and Hermione, then jerked his chin at them. "You lot together?" he asked Harry.

"Yeah," Ron said, not quite growling. Apparently the similarity to Malfoy had struck him, too.

The stranger's mouth quirked and he took a half-step back, getting out of Harry's face. "I see." He stuck out a hand to Harry. "Cipher."

Harry took it, halfway surprised that Cipher didn't try to crush his hand, as he'd rather expected. "Onyx," he said.

"Red Knight," Ron said in a slightly less-irritated tone. Harry wondered if Hermione had elbowed him, or if Ron was just reacting to the belated show of manners.

"Zephyr," Hermione said coolly. She withdrew her hand quickly from Cipher's, though not so quickly as to cause offence. Harry saw why she'd pulled away: Cipher's eyes had taken on a gleam of interest similar to Viktor Krum's in their fourth year. Ron had seen it, too; his eyes flashed and he stepped forward, straightening to his full six feet four inches and shifting his stance so that he stood just a bit in front of Hermione, his right shoulder blocking Cipher's view of her face.

Cipher glanced up, annoyance written across his expression, but before either he or Ron could start anything—before Hermione could elbow Ron or stand on his foot or even say his name in warning—the blank wall across from the door shimmered, and a man stepped through it. It was Elijah, whom the three of them had met the day they'd signed on with the Ministry. To Harry's great surprise, he was dressed, not in robes, but in Muggle clothes—black t-shirt, black trousers, black boots with silver metal rings on the outside of the ankles. Motorcycle boots, Harry thought, startled. Elijah was nearly as tall as Ron, and considerably more filled-out; broader and more muscular, and possessed of an aura that commanded instant attention and respect.

"All right, you lot!" he barked. "One line, right here, shoulder-to-shoulder. Now!"

Cipher, who had half-turned to see what was going on behind him, spun fully round and planted his feet, arms at his sides and shoulders back. He was a good step in front of Harry, Ron, and Hermione; obviously, he expected them to step forward and join him.

Harry felt his lip curl, but was about to go ahead and do it—he remembered Charlie's advice, and didn't want to make waves his first day—but the older man with the impassive face moved to stand next to Harry, also at attention, though his stance looked much more convincing than Cipher's. Without seeming to stop and think about it, the rest of the recruits took places to either side of Harry and Hermione, forming the line around the three of them and leaving Cipher standing alone in front of the line of eleven recruits. He seemed suddenly to realise that he was by himself, but before he could move, Elijah was in his face.

"Can you count, boy?" he bellowed, his face only inches from Cipher's. "I said one line. ONE line! Didn't you see the rest of the recruits moving? Didn't it occur to you to join that line instead of waiting for everyone else to follow your pretty face?"

"I—" Cipher began, flushing.

"DON'T TALK BACK TO ME!" Elijah roared. 'You got some lessons to learn, boy. The first is manners. The second is counting. So we'll do them both right now. Drop and give me twenty push-ups."

"I—what?" Cipher sputtered, turning even brighter red. Harry carefully controlled his face and refused to look at Ron, who was no doubt trying very hard not to laugh.

"Make that thirty! You still got to learn manners, boy. NOW!"

Elijah's stare would cow a much better man than Cipher, Harry reflected. As everyone watched, Cipher got down and began his push-ups. He had obviously done this before; he took himself all the way to the floor with each one, keeping his body rigidly straight.

"Now," Elijah said, and Harry's eyes snapped back to him. He paced back and forth in front of the line of recruits, hands at the small of his back. "I have nine weeks to get you lot ready to face some of the deadliest bastards on the planet. It's not just wands and curses you'll be up against; it's arseholes with knives and other Muggle weapons, things many of you won't have seen before."

Cipher finished his thirty push-ups and moved to stand at the far end of the line. Harry caught a nasty look from him out of the corner of his eye, and he felt a rush of irritation. I didn't embarrass you in front of the whole lot of us, you prat, he thought with a purely internal snarl. You did that all by yourself, trying to show off. Don't blame me for it.

"So this training is more than learning curses and how to subdue Death Eaters," Elijah continued, either oblivious to the silent byplay or ignoring it. "This is about how to protect yourself, your squad, your partner, and the innocent Muggles and wizarding folk you're sent to save. This is about working as a team. This is about trust and keeping your eyes open." He stopped pacing and met each of their gazes in turn. "And to do this, you will obey each and every order you are given, without hesitation or question. You have signed binding, magical contracts. You were each given the chance to read through them. You walked into this with your eyes open. There is no going back now. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," said a few people, Harry included. Ron and Hermione just nodded.

"HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR?"

"YES, SIR!" This time all twelve recruits answered, more or less in unison and with a great deal more volume.

"Good."

Elijah pulled his wand out of his sleeve and pointed it at the wall he'd come through, murmuring a spell that Harry didn't catch. The wall shimmered again, then faded into nothingness. They looked out onto a huge, grassy field with tall, thick trees bordering either side. On the far end, Harry could just barely see long, low buildings. A path ran from the edge of the field, where they stood, toward those buildings.

"Right," Elijah said, putting his wand away. "Now, follow me, single file. And keep up!"

He turned and began jogging at a moderate clip down the path. Cipher was the first to fall in behind him, as though trying to make up for his earlier mistake, and the rest of the line of recruits followed. Harry let himself fall into the fairly easy jog, reflecting that it was a good thing the three of them had decided to spend August getting into shape, if this was the way they were starting out. A few people ahead of him stumbled, and he sighed as Elijah turned and snapped a scathing remark without ever missing a step. It's going to be a long nine weeks.

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8 September

Dear Ginny,

I'm sorry I've not written back since those three terse lines in response to your owl saying you'd got to Hogwarts safely. We've been literally falling into bed every night (and any other free moment we have, which hasn't been often), and then been dragged out of bed again before sunrise. And I thought Wood worked us hard!

There are eight men, including us, and four women, including Hermione, in our training class. I've gathered that's a lot more women than they're used to seeing. The barracks is a long, narrow building separated by two sets of toilets and showers in the middle; the north end of the building is for the women, the toilets and baths come between, and then the south end is for the men. All us blokes are in one long room with single-width bunks—no curtains, which was a bit of a shocker for a few of the lads. They all seem to be built for people six foot tall or shorter. I barely fit on mine; poor Ron has to practically curl up on his. Still, we're tired enough at the end of the day that we don't even notice.

Bed notwithstanding, Ron's in seventh heaven. You know how active he's always been. Turns out he's unbelievably good at dodging and blocking, at least so far. I can't tell you too much about it of course, but suffice to say that only our OIC (that's Officer-in-Charge), Elijah, can manage to hit the prat with any kind of cast spell. Which is pretty impressive, given the background of a lot of our recruits—everything from other Ministry Departments, like Magical Law Enforcement, to vampire hunters, to Quidditch players—one bloke used to be a reserve Chaser for the Montrose Magpies!

Hermione seems to be doing a lot more gymnastic work than we are; I saw them the other day as we were going to the weight room, and they had some female officer in showing them all these flips and kicks and I don't know what all. It was pretty impressive. I don't know how much she has told (or can tell) you about it, but I wouldn't want to be up against her.

And soreness aside, I'm actually enjoying myself. All the recruits are quite friendly, except for one bloke who's a bit of a twit. Still, one out of twelve isn't bad, and we're kept too busy for him to cause too much trouble. We're going to be getting into more of the strategic work starting tomorrow, I hear. That's good, because I'm getting thoroughly sick of running round the field twenty times a day. There are only so many times you can see the same tree, right?

I miss you, Ginny. I got spoiled this summer, having you with me all the time. It still seems strange to sleep alone in a narrow bed. Ron and Hermione at least get to see each other every day and talk at meals, and even catch an occasional quick snog when they think no one's looking. You're clear up at Hogwarts, and I can't even owl you every day. Even as tired as we are, nights here are lonely. I can see your face so clearly in my mind. Your beautiful hair, with its little curls in front of your ears. Your eyes, twinkling with mischief. Your mouth, with that wry little quirk at the corner that always brings out the dimple in your left cheek. I lie awake in the darkness, listening to the wind outside, and think of you.

I can't wait to hear how your Animagus training is going. Do you know what your form is yet? Somehow I see you as something like a panther—lithe and strong and silent when you move, with velvety paws that become deadly when you're angry or protective, and a soft, comforting purr that turns into a terrifying snarl when you're roused. And, like every cat, the ability to turn your human into mush just by flopping down in his lap.

We're to leave training camp on 30 October, which means that I can come to Hogwarts for the Halloween feast and, not so incidentally, your birthday. At least, I should be able to. I hope so. I can't wait to see you again, Gin. Your absence is like a dull ache that throbs every time my heart beats. Owl me every chance you get, and I'll do the same for you (though it's unlikely to be all that often, I'm afraid). It's all we've got for the next seven weeks.

Love always,

Harry

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15 September

Dear Harry,

Well! Your writing skills haven't faded any since those rhymes on Valentine's Day. Your letter had me grinning for the entire weekend. In fact, I'm still grinning. See what you do to me?

Training camp sounds terribly difficult! But if you're enjoying yourself—and Ron and Hermione are, too—then that's good, though it sounds like a strange, masochistic sort of enjoyment to me. Which is sort of pot calling kettle, since I'm working night and day on this Animagus transformation.

I haven't any idea what my form will be, though I'm not sure whether to kiss you or kick you for that comparison of me with a panther. I haven't scratched anyone's eyes out yet—though I must admit I left a very pretty set of half-moon scars on George one time when he tried to toss me in the lake and I wasn't having any of it. I must have been about, oh, 11. I think it was the summer before I left for Hogwarts, just before they rescued you in Dad's old Anglia. Ask him about them some time. He'll claim they're from a werewolf, mind you. They're on the back of his shoulders; he had picked me up, and I was NOT about to let him throw me in!

I'd LOVE to have you visit for my birthday! But if you can't, Harry, I understand. By that point we'll be halfway to the holidays, when I can be with you as much as your work schedule allows for two whole weeks. Just wait 'til the New Year; everyone will want Harry Potter to be their First Footer!

I've got to go, love. I've stolen a few moments away from my Animagus work to write this, but I'd best get back to it. McGonagall wasn't kidding when she said it would be draining. I don't think I've found sleeping any more difficult than you lot have recently! But by Halloween, perhaps I'll have discovered what my Animagus form will be and can share it with you.

There's so much I miss sharing with you.

Take care, love, and owl when you can.

Your own,

Ginny

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20 September

Dear Ginny,

I hope you didn't panic too badly when you got the letter Hermione sent yesterday (which she just told me about). She was a little…overwrought…by what happened. It wasn't really all that bad. Cipher was aiming at the target golems when one of the golems fired a defensive shot that caught his shoulder and deflected his Stunning Spell at us. We would've been fine if we hadn't been on top of a tower. As it was, I've been worse injured in Quidditch matches. At least this time all the mediwizards had to do was heal broken bones, not re-grow them. I thought Elijah was going to take out Slider, the officer in charge of the golems, but since we weren't seriously hurt, I guess he calmed down. Slider's still around, at any rate.

I wish I could tell you more about what we're learning, but it's all top secret, of course. I sometimes worry about how bad it'll get out there, if we're going to need half of what they're teaching us—but after some of the attacks last summer, I think I'd just as soon know it and not need it, rather than need it and not know it.

We're starting to work with our partners more now than we have been. Ron's mine, of course; like Charlie said once, they're not going to break up a proven partnership, and since he and I read each other so well after all these years, it's working out just fine. We're starting to work more with the women, too, now that we're getting into more of the—well. We've been working with Hermione and her partner, Domina. Hermione and the two of us have been doing well; Domina seems to be struggling a bit. I'm a little concerned; I wonder if maybe Domina and Hermione have been having some personality conflicts or something. Domina certainly doesn't seem to be actively trying to spend much time with her outside of training. Which doesn't really make sense. If you're supposed to make your partner into your family, shouldn't you at least go have a drink together in the evenings? (If Hermione drank, of course. But you knew what I meant.)

21 September: I had to put the letter down last night because we got called into an emergency meeting, and haven't had a chance to pick it up again until now. I take back everything I said above about maybe not needing everything we're being taught. I can't tell you more than that, because I don't know if what happened has hit the regular wizarding news, but by God, Ginny, I cannot wait to get out of training and take out these bastards. They're worse than evil. They're sadistic.

I am worried about you, love. Remember I told you about meeting Malfoy in Diagon Alley the day we signed on with the Ministry? I didn't tell you this at the time, but he threatened you, by name. I don't know how much of that was him trying to get at Ron and me, and how much was a serious threat, but promise me you'll be careful. I know, I know, you're always careful—you don't do stupid things like sneak into Hogsmeade like I did—but promise me anyway. And please, do one other thing: don't go on the Halloween Hogsmeade weekend unless I can be there. There's just too little cover and too little protection there; not even any anti-Apparition wards like there are at Hogwarts. I'm probably overreacting, I know, but I'd feel a lot better if I knew you were safe.

Four weeks gone, five to go. Nearly halfway there.

I miss you.

All my love,

Harry

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28 September

Dear Harry,

What's going on there? Ron's written to me telling me about some bloke called Cipher that he's convinced is trying to kill you or something. He sounds really worried, Harry. Is there something you're not telling me? Because if you get killed before you ever leave training camp, I'm going to find some way to bring you back to life just so I can kill you again. Ron says this is the git who Stunned you off the tower, and says that he's made some comments that put Malfoy to shame. And what's this about him spreading rumours about you behind your back?

Your person in charge—OIC, did you call him?—won't let anything happen to you, will he?

TALK TO ME, Harry. I'm really concerned. Please.

And yes, I promise not to go to Hogsmeade without you, if you promise to keep yourself safe as well!

Love,

Ginny