Author's note: This is the rewritten version of one of my previous stories, Dicentra Formosa. Knowledge of that story is in no way necessary to understand this one. Just be aware that while there are original characters, none of them will enter into relationships with canon Harry Potter characters; that this story will, largely, be set in Hogwarts; Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, and likely Fred Weasley have survived the final battle; and, lastly, that this will absolutely be slash of the SS/HP variety, even if the slash is slow moving. That's pretty much it. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine, and never will be. Consider me disclaimed, as I'm only writing this out once. :P
Harry had been doing well until the owl arrived.
He had been fighting with Rasiel for what was, at his best guess, two hours—and, though he had not had a pause in which to test his theory, he was fairly certain this was his new record by at least a few minutes. It had certainly been long enough to make any linear sense of the past blur and turn to ash, taking on the same consistency as the sand beneath his feet. One became familiar with sand if one fought in the Dome for long enough; sand beneath the toes, sand breaking falls, sand slipping just so under poised feet to deny balance, sand to kick in the eyes of one's opponent. Harry knew the sand well, had learned it over long months of pouring sweat and blood onto its surface.
The blade in his hand was heavy, after so long. It was a weapon made for lightness, for swift, darting movements—Rasiel had taken one look at his hands and pronounced him unfit for heavier weapons, and though he had violently disagreed then, he could not help but acknowledge her point now. After two hours his hand had become so tense around the grip that even relaxing them brought pain, and having to arch his fingers just so to launch a strike became torturous after an hour, let alone two. Every blow he took sent shocks up his arm, a ringing in his bones that he had learned to ignore. Harry could not say he fought as an expert would, but he was no longer a novice of the worst sort. No novice could last two hours against Rasiel.
So, though the pain and tension had been beginning to catch up with him at the edge of the two hours, Harry had done well despite it. He knew it from the way his movements felt, smooth where exhaustion would once have made them jerky. More than that, he had seen the pride in Rasiel's silver eyes as she matched him blow for blow, and the feral smile she wore only into battles she enjoyed. For that expression, Harry would have fought until he fell; he had done so before, and would have done again.
Then the owl had swooped in through an upper window of the Dome, hooting a greeting as it beat its wings and perched upon one of the rails that circled the Dome, and Harry, who had become unaccustomed to the sounds of owls over the past months, had let his guard drop.
A moment's distraction, and it was all over. His sword was gone from his hand in an instant, though his fingers remained curled in a near parody of his previous grasp, and he did not see where it disappeared to. An instant after that he met the sand, which took the opportunity to insinuate itself under his shirt. Half a moment after that, a blond-haired, silver-eyed woman was poised above him, the very tip of her well-crafted blade just brushing the skin of his neck. "Careless," Harry said, more as an apology then an observation.
Rasiel did not respond to that, though she acknowledged it with a slight nod. "Do you yield?" she asked, her voice flat despite the faint lilt of an accent that the words brought.
He did so, not with words but with a gentle touch of his fingers to the point of Rasiel's sword. This, too, he had learned. His first surrender had cut too deep, spilling enough blood that an unimpressed Rasiel had been forced to bandage the wound. Now he pressed carefully, breaking just enough of his own skin to spill one or two drops of blood. They stained the blade alongside other drops which Rasiel had earned through careful slices and clever feints, and Harry was pleased to see the sword was drier than it had been in previous fights.
Rasiel released him as soon as his surrender was given, and held out a hand to help him to his feet. "That was well enough, Soldier," she said, meeting his eyes as she hoisted him upright without any visible strain—she looked at him with eyes still silver, indecipherable gaze sharp, and Harry knew the simple words to be high praise.
The moment was broken by the sound of echoing claps. Harry turned his eyes towards the sound and found himself looking at the mezzanine of the Dome, a thin row of seats which provided the best view of any events that occurred within. Standing at the edge of the higher floor was a tall, sharp-featured woman with her hair in brown curls. She applauded daintily with hands too large for true grace, and looked down at Harry and Rasiel in unwilling pleasure. "It was a spectacle," she said, and let her hands fall still. "I almost think that one day you two will harm each other."
Rasiel, who had been so cold, so professional a taskmaster, looked up with what Harry could only call a rakish grin. "My dear Elena, it will be decades before the little one becomes so interesting," Rasiel said, dismissively. Harry frowned at his teacher, who was all of a foot smaller than him, and took entirely too much pleasure in utilizing his nickname. He found himself having to look away, though, when a glance was exchanged between Elena and Rasiel. It was not a propositioning look, or even one of great importance, but it was an exchange born of endless familiarity, and that alone made it private enough that Harry would feel rude watching. He took the opportunity to rid himself of as much sand as he could, though he could still feel the grains everywhere even after he was finished, and did not look up again until Rasiel said at last, "Now, how do I call for that bloody bird?"
Harry realized the question was being asked of him, and almost could not answer. "Er," he said articulately, knowing Rasiel would be rolling her eyes, "I think you whistle."
There was silence for a moment. "Well?" Rasiel asked, patronizingly. "Perhaps you ought to get on with it."
It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes, and he did so. He also whistled. As he had expected, the owl took this as a summons, swooping down from the rail to alight on the arm he held out. It did not do so, however, without digging its talons into the flesh of his forearm, hooting at him in what he thought might even be disapproval as it did so. "Hey now," he said coaxingly, not enjoying the sensation, "a smart bird like you has better manners than that." The owl did not relax, merely stared all the harder and rustled its wings. "Who have you upset enough to have them setting owls on you, Rasiel?" he asked of his teacher, though he couldn't see her around the mass of feathers.
Elena's soft laugh came from above. "Plenty of people."
"No one," Rasiel said. Harry knew she had stepped up beside him because she laid a hand on his arm. He took the hint, remaining still as she relieved the bird of the letter it carried; at last, with one final indignant hoot, the owl took flight, leaving through the same window by which it had entered.
Harry waited a moment while Rasiel cast a barrage of spells at the envelope, trying to test himself by identifying them. Blue—to examine the will of the sender. A flash of white to seek out and eliminate any harmful spells. Red, which made sure it could not be tracked. Through the plethora of colors, Harry also watched Rasiel's eyes—now light blue, a sister shade of their previous silver but distinct from it—trying to see if he could discern secrets from her expression.
When the spells stopped, Harry could not stop himself from asking, "Well, who's it from, then?"
"Hmm?" Rasiel said. Harry could tell she had forgotten his presence, and chided himself for reminding her when her next words were, "Run along, little one."
"Rasiel—," he started. Then he stopped, turned on his heel in the sand, and made for the nearest exit. The grains sloshed into his shoes. He told himself he did not resent this particular mood of Rasiel's: the distant, uncaring tone her voice took, as though she owed him neither respect nor friendship. She did not get in that mood often, which was a consolation, though she never apologized for it either. Once or twice, when she had truly insulted him, she would send Elena to talk with Harry in her stead. Harry doubted that would happen now, of course, and the damned sand was still getting everywhere...
"Hold, Soldier."
The words were a bark, and Harry obeyed them despite himself, grinding to a halt in mid-stride. He turned, doing his best not to do so petulantly, and took in the surprise in Rasiel's eyes, brought purposefully close to the surface so that he could witness it. "Yes?"
Looking puzzled still, Rasiel waved the sealed envelope in her hand. "The letter seems to be addressed to you."
He returned to her side, this time ignoring the movement of sand beneath his feet. Rasiel gave him the letter with no reluctance, but with a sort of controlled curiosity. Indeed, on the outside of the envelope a single word was written in flowing script: his name. Harry. The handwriting of it was so familiar that he could place it at a glance. More important even than that was the seal that held the white paper shut. In red wax, a badger, snake, lion and raven graced an indented crest which had the words Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sloping around its side.
Harry made quick work of the envelope, ripping the perfect seal with no real remorse. From inside, two pieces of parchment tumbled. He caught one, the smaller of the two, and let the other fall to the sand. Opening the one in his hand, Harry read more of the neat lettering he knew so well.
Harry—it said again:
I enclosed the other parchment on Headmistress McGonagall's request, since owls I send have always had the best luck at finding you. I hope you've been enjoying your hideaway—though, Harry James Potter, you will owe me an explanation for this when I see you next—but I think we both know that hiding yourself away forever isn't your way. You left after the final battle because you were tired of the press and having nothing to do. Harry, I can't solve the press for you, but I have found something for you to do.
I would have sent this along last year, when the program first started, but since it was only really a trial last year I didn't see the point. Now that we have things up and running, I hoped you might consider applying. I've learned so much after only a year, Harry, you wouldn't believe...well, maybe you would. You have always known me best.
So, consider it, please? If only for my sake.
Hermione Granger
"An old friend?" Rasiel asked from over his shoulder.
"The best of them," Harry affirmed, more than used to her complete discarding of any rules of privacy. He bent at the waist and lifted the second, larger parchment. It began as he had expected:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall
(Order of Merlin, First Class)
Dear Mr. Potter,
It is the pleasure of the Hogwarts staff to reinstate one of the oldest, most respected traditions of our school. We are pleased to inform you that as of this year, the formerly abandoned Apprenticeship system will be taken up once again, after many long years of neglect.
Miss Granger has brought it to my attention that you, having been raised outside of the wizarding world, will be unfamiliar with this system. For your sake, then, I will inform you that the schooling at Hogwarts once continued past the seventeenth year of a witch or wizard. While some would still choose to leave and learn a family trade, far greater numbers chose to remain and Apprentice themselves to a Master witch or wizard, advancing their studies until their Master deemed that they could progress no farther; some would even train until they earned Masteries of their own.
The downfall of this tradition was brought about by the rather archaic regulations of the practice, which could, in the hands of an unkind Master, make the Apprentice little more than a slave, never to be released from their Master's service. With conditions so harsh, the system gradually fell out of favor, until it existed solely in isolated pockets, and not in any organized fashion.
In these more modern days, however, the Apprenticeship system has been changed. No longer is there room for a cruel master to abuse his or her charge. Severus Snape of Hogwarts underwent his own Mastery when he was near your age, and emerged unscathed. (This, in Harry's mind, was rather a matter of opinion.) Furthermore, Miss Granger herself has been Apprenticed to Master Kennis, an accomplished Spell-Shaper, for a year already, and has come to no harm.
The Apprenticeship courses are now being held in Hogwarts castle, in the old Apprentice wings—they had been sealed by magic until the program was restarted last year, and now are open and perfectly habitable. Apprentices may take courses in pursuit of several Masteries (these written below). Applications are to be sent to the individual Masters, and are due by owl by the third of August, three weeks from the day this letter was sent. Term, as always, begins first of September.
We hope to see you grace these halls again, Mr. Potter.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
COURSE LIST:
Runes Mastery (Specializations offered: Warding, runes of protection, runes of defense, runes of demolition, foreign runes, history of runes. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class.)
Potions Mastery (Specializations offered: Poisons and antidotes, research and development, ingredient analysis, ethics of Potions use and production, etc. NEWTS scores taken into account. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class.)
Healing Mastery (Specializations offered: Body magic, potions use and development, experimental treatment, mind magics, observation, anatomy.)
Ritual Magic Mastery (Specializations offered: Sacrifice based rituals, blood based rituals, ethics of ritual use. LEGALITY OF RITUAL USE and INTENSIVE STUDY OF FOREIGN LANGUAGE mandatory classes)
Spell-Shaping Mastery (Specializations offered: Intent, adaptation of preexisting spells, history of spell creation. INTERMEDIATE ARITHMANCY, INTERMEDIATE RUNES and DAMAGE CONTROL mandatory classes)
Stone and Metal Magics Mastery (Specializations offered: Weapons creation, jewelry creation, spell weaving, construction and architecture. OBSERVATION a mandatory class)
Herbology Mastery (Specializations offered: Observation, plant study, plants in potions, plants in healing, classification of species, effects and antidotes)
Charms Mastery (Specializations offered: Mood manipulation, weather magics, history of charms. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)
Transfiguration Mastery (Specializations offered: Inanimate transfiguration, human transfiguration, animagus transformations, animation, history of transfiguration. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)
Battle Magic Mastery (Specializations offered: Shielding, curses and hexes, basic warding, observation, field healing, physical warfare, dark magic detection, countercurses. DAMAGE CONTROL a mandatory class)
Dual Apprenticeships are allowed, but not recommended.
We await your owl.
Harry read the letter once. He then closed his eyes, ever so briefly, and opened them again, half expecting the note to have disappeared. Since it was still alarmingly present, he gave in to impulse and read it again. Only the knowledge that Rasiel was watching, and would mock him for doing so, kept him from rereading it a third time. "Huh," he said, cocking his head slightly. He scuffed one foot in the sand, ran his free hand through his hair, and considered.
"Oh, stop making a show of pondering it over, little one," Rasiel said, in the tone of voice that meant she thought he was being unbelievably slow. "I saw the look in your eyes when you read the first letter. You would do almost anything for this—," a pause, and a rustling sound—parchment crinkled as Rasiel lifted it from the sand, "—Hermione of yours, wouldn't you?"
"Yeah," he answered. He felt his eyes raise towards the window through which the owl had exited and stilled them deliberately. "For Hermione alone, I would go."
Rasiel reached up one hand and, gently, grasped his jaw and pulled downwards, forcing his gaze to meet hers. With a smirk quirking her lips and a hint of silver swimming below the surface of her blue eyes, she asked him, "Then that's settled, Soldier, is it not?"
And Harry, sweat dripping down his face, skin scored with cuts and bruises, wiped sand away from his eye and nodded.
Any of my former Dicentra Formosa readers will note that this chapter is much shorter than the ones you're accustomed to—this is so that I can try and post them faster, with any luck.
I hope you enjoyed! If you're in any way confused, feel free to PM me and ask questions. As is always the case, much of what's left unexplained will be made clear not so very long from now.
Additionally—bonus points to any readers who can tell me precisely which television show I referenced in the summary. * grins*
If you've gotten this far, please do review. I write for you guys as well as myself, and your feedback will make it easier for you to enjoy the story more, not just for me to write it. Plus, reviews make my day. :)