"Beware the angry man. Beware the violent man. But mostly beware the man you cannot predict." - Lucius Malfoy

Monday

Today was Hermione's turn to lecture the first years, so Draco joined Gregory and Vincent's martial arts practice after breakfast. Of all of them, Draco missed practice most often – Harry's schedule was flexible enough to make practice whenever, but Draco had to lecture as well as take a full course load. So he lagged behind, but at least he wasn't doubled over panting in the first half hour. They ended the session sparring and Draco partnered with Harry while Neville watched.

They'd circled around each other early, warily. Draco took a quick step forward and jabbed, then pulled back, but Harry had stepped back. Harry tried to jab, but Draco circled away. This was typical for them, they didn't have any flashy moves yet, not like Vincent and Gregory. Draco was about to jab again but instinct stopped him. He shifted his feet – left foot forward - Harry stepped forward and jabbed, but Draco was also moving forward, snapping a hard kick into Harry's stomach. Harry's fist brushed Draco's chin at the same time, but just barely.

Harry doubled over and collapsed onto the ground.

"Sorry!" Draco said. Wizards could take more damage than Muggles, but it didn't make it any less painful. Vincent or Gregory would have pulled their kick back, Draco wasn't skilled enough. Harry rolled on the ground, not quite retching but making gurgling noises. Gregory was talking to Harry and Vincent pulled Draco aside.

"He walked into that," Vincent said. "And you over-committed. If he'd jumped out of the way, or swept your leg aside he'd have knocked you over and sat on you." They'd practiced that. If someone wound up sitting on your chest they'd pin your arms underneath their legs. Even if you had a wand out you'd be hard pressed to use it. You'd lose to gravity. Vincent and Gregory could sometimes recover from that disadvantage, with their years of training and conditioning. Crabbe could throw any of them off and Gregory managed to slip out. But neither Harry, Neville or Draco could. For them, having an opponent on top of you meant losing, and badly.

"Point taken," said Draco, looking over at Harry who had at least gotten up to his knees. They walked over to Harry.

"Good kick," Harry managed to gasp out. "What did I do wrong?" he asked Gregory, after he was finally able to stand up straight. They started walking back inside the castle, the only had twenty minutes to make it up all those flights to Offense Against the Dark Arts and Harry wasn't walking quickly.

"You telegraphed it, and you took an actual step, which takes you off balance and makes you slow. I keep saying 'shuffle your feet.' You can take steps when you aren't really close, but at striking distance... just don't. Anything to add?" Gregory looked at Vincent.

"I'm not sure you should be closing against Draco, certainly not drastically like that. You're taller. That counts for a lot, at least until you develop a personal style." They started up the first of the flights of stairs and Harry kept going up with them, wincing at the first few stairs.

"Are you joining us today?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "I think I'm going to sit in on Offense from now on. I'm missing out, not attending. It's the one class where I can't just read the materials and plow ahead faster than the teacher can talk. It's really the only surprising class so far. And I need to keep up with what everyone knows to plan the Muggle Naval Simulation scenarios."

A year ago, that would have offended Draco immeasurably. Not what Harry said, but just the reminder that he was above taking classes. Now Draco felt that nothing Harry could say or do would offend him.

"Besides, I hear there's going to be an announcement for everyone," Harry added, and Draco remembered that Harry could still annoy him easily enough.

The group was one of the last to arrive at Offense. Harry joined Draco and Gregory among the Slytherin contingent while Neville and Vincent took their usual seats with the Hufflepuffs. Draco noticed Hermione sitting with the Gryffindors. He was about to nudge Harry when Professor Lockhart strolled out from the teacher's office and flashed the smile he opened every class with.

It was easy to like Professor Lockhart.

"Hello, and I hope you all had a refreshing weekend. Let's just jump right into it, shall we?" Professor Lockhart looked out among the students listening to his every word and smiled again, broadly.

"Battles are fought for so many reasons. To overthrow a government. To steal something, or keep it from being stolen. Vengeance. Honour. To defend a key point, be it a choke-point – although those mostly apply for muggles, since they can't apparate – or a trade route, or ley line. For glory. And usually, for power. Dominance. And as we've seen before battles can sweep up and rage across a land with innocent civilians caught in the middle."

The room started grumbling at the mention of that particular battle, and Draco unconsciously rubbed his left shoulder. Professor Lockhart shook his head, but still smiled.

"Well, I don't blame you for not taking that well. But hopefully you will be more pleased that for our next battle the Headmistress has graciously allowed me to include the entire student body of Hogwarts! Now now, please, let me finish."

"This does put you at a disadvantage, but in any battle – I suppose I should say 'war,' really, since the scale is so much bigger – for this war you have so many skills besides spell casting that come into play. Battles are won on the battlefield, to be sure. Wars are won by planning, cunning, guile and bravery! You win wars by fighting the right battles, and that's something I have been woefully neglecting to teach."

"So, a brief summary of the format. There are South American tribes called the D'razi that fight a civil war every five summers. They put in bunch of green and purple sashes into a big barrel, and then reach in and pull out a sash. Whoever draws a purple sash joins the purple team, and whoever draws a green sash joins the green team. After the ceremony the D'razi are symbolically split in two, and they fight until there is just one side! Sometimes it takes a full year. So, at Friday's dinner we'll have barrels for each house. You'll pick a stone and that will decide which team you are on!"

"But, those are Slytherin colours!" Neville said. "Can't we pick something more ... neutral?"

"Not everything has to be about houses!" Professor Lockhart said, somewhat sharply. "But in fact, I did try to come up with two colours that weren't just black and white. I also considered solids and stripes, but as sartorial choices go..." he shook his head.

"It just wouldn't do. If it offends you then we'll just consider it a way to honor the D'razi or - if you prefer - Professor Quirrell. So, on Friday we'll have our lottery and your robes will adjust accordingly. Each house will have one leader for purple and one for green. If you are 'killed' in the game your robes will adjust accordingly. An hour after the lottery ends, the war will start and it will continue until one side has all their leaders killed. To represent the Fidelius Charm, you will be safe in your bed, but nowhere else."

Professor Lockhart stopped to take in a breath and Tracey Davis spoke up. "That seems simple, at least compared to having secret agents like last time. What's the catch?"

Professor Lockhart just smiled. "It's neither fun or realistic to know all the rules ahead of time. But in any case many wars actually have well defined sides. While nobody knew for sure who the Death Eaters were, classical wars often involved differing nationalities that are often easy to tell apart by sight. Consider purple and green as your flags, two countries that hate each other. Don't be late for dinner on Friday! Now, let us turn to the discussion of scrying and how it pertains to scouting out territory..."

"He said What?"

Headmistress McGonagall's tone had neither risen or fallen at the end, it had merely … sharpened, ending in a final, tight point then quickly expiring. Harry Potter pushed down the urge to be anywhere else. It was stupid, a reaction to being glared at by an adult who had such considerable experience intimidating children that she did it naturally. He felt sure it wasn't directed at him. Not exactly. Still, it didn't make it any more comfortable.

"It's not a bad idea," chuckled Mad-eye, standing in the back corner of the Headmistress's office, where he could keep an eye on the room and the fireplace. "Mind you, I'm not sticking up for the lad. We could've used more people who knew about intrigue for the Order. Including Albus. Lot of time and people lost, learning those lessons." Several of the paintings around Alastor harrumphed or tsk'ed him with the portrait of Headmaster Walter Aragon calling out "Shame! Shame!" down at him.

If Mad-eye Moody heard the portraits, he gave no indication.

"I agree," said Harry. "It's a good idea. I mean, I thought he had checked with you first, of course, but this is just what we've been learning on a grander scale."

"The armies that Quirrell started are a voluntary activity. This involves everyone. It will be chaos," Minerva sighed. "Which is why you are positively giddy, Mr. Potter. But I would expect more from you, Alastor." She leaned back in her chair as far as it would go. She wasn't exactly lying down, but she came fairly close to being horizontal. "I will talk with Gilderoy later. As for now, I intend to relax until the next unforeseen disaster strikes. I hope to get the full hour," she said as she pulled her hat over her face, dismissing them.

Author's Note - I will be on a somewhat reduced schedule, but posting at least once a week.