The Angels Envied Every Kiss
Chapter 3
Calm Yourself
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Harry walked into the Defence classroom with a grim frown upon her face. Boggarts. Unsurprising, it was a simple enough way to start off a seventh year class, but that didn't mean she had to like it. The question was, what would her Boggart be? Would it remain a Dementor, or would it have evolved?
Surely it wouldn't be the bodies of her friends, that was no longer a fear. It was reality now, such a thing would not scare her.
Depress her? Certainly. Who wouldn't be saddened to look at the image of their most prominent defeat, to witness their failures laid bare for all to see?
But she didn't fear it.
No, Harry was determined to stop such a thing. Voldemort, she didn't fear him in the slightest. What he represented, maybe.
Then again, Dementors were a representation of fear itself.
Frowning, Harry offered Vivian a shallow nod as she slid gracefully into the room, long black hair pulled up in a simple ponytail while a smile lifted her glass blue eyes up at the corners.
"Morning Harry. Ready for Defence?"
Nodding again, Harry folded her arms across her chest, letting out a low breath as her eyes once again scanned the room. She had little to no information on the people around her.
Slowly, her eyes found Riddle and his crew. It wasn't hard to figure out why Lestrange had walked her to Defence, though she had been surprised that he acted as charming and polite as he had been. On Riddle's orders? Or perhaps he just hadn't fallen into the typical Death Eater mentality yet. It was probably the latter. Far and few between were the amount of school children who'd killed before finishing their education.
No, Lestrange still held that bit of innocence close to his chest. He wasn't like Riddle yet. Wasn't like her yet.
Swallowing down the bile that curled at the back of her throat, Harry pushed down the desire to crawl back to Gryffindor tower and cower beneath her bed sheets. She had a job to do, and hiding from the world wasn't going to get anything done.
"Are you any good at defence? I'm alright, but charms is more my cup of tea."
Watching as Vivian nervously looked between her fellow students, Harry felt her shoulders slowly uncurl from where they'd been bunched up. There was only one real threat in this room, and Riddle wouldn't try anything. Not now, not while there was still veritable reasons to keep his perfect student act going. True these students could cause damage with spells, but she was probably the best dueller in this room.
None of these students, not even Riddle, had been forced to fight for their lives before. They would all hesitate, even Riddle, if not for the same reason. Most of them would hesitate to strike a killing blow because that would mean they were no longer innocent, would have to take a life. Riddle would hesitate to gloat over his first kill via duelling.
She was safe here.
Slowly exhaling, Harry tracked Professor Merrythought as she entered the room, a rattling cabinet floating in behind her. Merrythought was an old woman, had probably taught Dumbledore and Slughorn judging by her age. She had been here fifty years after all. The cabinet itself was a handsome thing, all dark wood with carefully done etchings. Where Merrythought had gotten it and the Boggart from, Harry didn't know. Nor did she particularly care.
Sucking in another deep breath, Harry trailed after the rest of the class as they began to crowd around Merrythought. The three Hufflepuff girls in the class actually jumped when the wardrobe rattled again.
"Right then, welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts, year seven. We'll be starting with a simple warm up exercise this lesson, just to get back into the swing of things after a stress free summer." Merrythought clapped her wrinkled hands together, smiling and looking exceptionally proud of herself.
Her gaze lingered on Harry for a moment, questioningly, and Harry shook her head in response. She did not need to be coddled, she didn't need an out. A Boggart was hardly going to present a problem for her.
"You all remember Boggarts. This time around though, instead of using Riddikulus, I want you to use a spell that would repel the actual fear itself, if you can. Of course, if your Boggart is, say, the dead body of a family member there's nothing more for it than Riddikulus. But if it's, say, an inferi, I want to see some fire spells." Well, that sounded dangerous.
Grimacing, Harry took another controlled step back, nothing that she wasn't the only person that was casually retreating from the cupboard. Perhaps it would have been easier to simply step forwards and go first.
But Professor Merrythought was no idiot. She obviously knew her class well, knew who'd have the 'worse' fears, so to speak. The woman had been the one to interview her about starting her term at Hogwarts.
No doubt she'd recognised that Harry had seen how bloodied and ruthless the world could be, because when their eyes met again, it was obvious the woman planned on saving her for last.
Leaning back against the Eastern wall of the room, Harry watched as each student went forwards, the fears getting progressively worse. One Hufflepuff feared being married off, of all things, and Harry had shaken her head. Oh, to be innocent.
It wasn't until they got midway through the lesson that the fears began to worsen. An Acromantula made several appearances. Unsurprisingly, considering that was the supposed cause of Myrtle's death. Lestrange's Boggart was a werewolf. Doubtful that he'd ever actually met one, but from the slight snickers on the Slytherin side of the room, there was probably a story behind that.
Regardless, he was quick to pin it down with silver chains, the Boggart howling in protest. Riddle was called forwards next, the only student left besides herself. His own dead body was soon sprawled out across the floor, and several Slytherins sucked in a sharp, short breath.
The sight was, admittedly, grotesque. The Boggart hadn't even had the decency to show a clean death, instead the corpse's neck was twisted all the way around, bones broken, blood pooling out beneath its torso. No doubt the softer students would be choking back tears.
Riddle's face was grim as he hit the Boggart with a swift Riddikulus. It wasn't like there was a spell that would otherwise deal with a corpse. Fearing your own death couldn't be combated with spells after all. The corpse transformed into a well polished, twenty-something Tom Riddle, evidentially the latest Minister of Magic.
Incredibly humorous to Riddle no doubt, given the fact he very much planned on becoming a Dark Lord.
The Slytherin stepped back from the Boggart, wand sliding back up his sleeve and calmly making his way over to the groupings of students.
"Hariel Potter." Merrythought's shrewd eyes tracked her movement towards the Boggart, which quivered in place with the new victim now in its sights.
.
A sharp crack, and Harry Potter once again found herself face to face with Lord Voldemort.
Seeing his own dead body once again had been discomforting. Regardless of how many times his mind informed him the sight before his eyes was a trick, an illusion, it never failed to make his heart leap into his throat. He knew now how the blood would flow from his chest, how a broken bone looked beneath the surface of the skin, all stuff his third year mind had failed to comprehend. All his extra knowledge had done was feed the Boggart with more ways of amplifying his fear.
Twisting on heel, Tom came to rest beside Lestrange, watching as Potter made her way forwards. The Boggart took on a humanoid shape with a crack, Potter taking a startled step back while quiet fell over the class.
Tom was riveted. He'd never seen anything like it.
It was human, possibly male. With blood red eyes, slits for pupils and a snake like nose, it certainly was like no magical being he'd ever seen before. A wizard, but mutilated.
Even Merrythought seemed stumped, so clearly it wasn't something they hadn't covered yet. The white of its skin gleamed despite the dark lightning of the DADA classroom as livid red eyes locked onto Potter.
Potter, who stood tall, eyes narrowed and wand pointing unwaveringly at the thing's chest.
"Come now Harry, are you really so surprised to see me?" It spoke perfect English, even if it's voice rasped around the words, eyes still focused solely on Potter. Potter, who's wand didn't lower, but rather wavered ever so slightly, green eyes wide.
This was Potter's greatest fear? How was he suppose to use it against her if he didn't know what it was? Or perhaps, who it was?
He'd been rather hopeful he'd have been able to get one over on the girl, get a read on her, anything that'd mean she wouldn't be a problem for his future plans. But this was useless.
"We are two sides of the same coin after all. Neither can live while the other survive."
His interest skyrocketed. An adversary? A dead adversary even. Because Potter was certainly still alive.
Her jaw was clenching, and she struck with a Riddikulus as the thing's wand tip began to glow with a familiar green light. Avada Kedavra.
The creature twisted, dropping to the floor until it became the ugliest thing Tom had personally, ever seen. Several girls actually screamed at the stunted form on the floor, which seemed as if it had been stripped of several layers of skin.
It was bone thin, curled in on itself and looked disgustingly pitiful.
And Potter laughed at it. Like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, though the context escaped Tom completely.
Clearly it was only something she understood, the refugee evidently missing the horrified looks that were being sent her way as her laughter took on a bitter tone. She didn't wait around instead glancing to Merrythought and only remaining long enough for the woman to give her a small nod, before she disappeared out of the door.
"What was that about?" Lestrange whispered, eyes on what remained of the broken Boggart. Pursing his lips, Tom eyed Merrythought -who'd clearly decided it the lesson was over- before his eyes travelled to the door Potter had just left through.
"I am unsure. Though I plan to find out."
.
Following after Potter wasn't difficult.
Whatever iron-clad control she'd held over her magic early that morning had been shattered. Were it visible, no doubt the corridor would have been bathed in the colours of her magic, the vast amount there was. It was thick, like honeyed syrup and had the strange textural ability to stick to everything it came into contact with.
Not to say that it was anything resembling sweet.
He'd expected it to feel like all the other students magic, where her Gryffindor friend's was sweet like sugar, where Lestrange's was sharp like dark chocolate, where his own was rich like red wine, Potter's was so far off the spectrum that it left him struck almost breathless.
It was drunk on death.
It coiled in on itself, the same energy that the sickly green shade of Avada Kedavra gave off, the same luring danger.
The students that he passed in the halls were all effected by it, even if they didn't seem to notice the cause. They gathered together, pressing closer, like prey that'd caught the scent of a predator.
The only thing that he could even think to compare it against in an attempt to comprehend it, was Dumbledore's magic, and oh, how he loathed to do that. Dumbledore's magic was like a thick heavy mist, the same sour tinge that he imagined the man's lemon drops holding. He wouldn't know, having never dared to try one.
He did not trust that man.
So what was it, that gave Potter such potent magic?
Magical power grew for a number of reasons; genetics, constant use, the mental capacity of the user, life experience. There were very, very few things that could be used to increase magical power manually.
Tom would know, he'd looked into those kinds of things. The rituals were still quite beyond him, until he'd lived a century at least. And even then, there were certain steps he was hesitant the fulfil. One fact leapt to mind as he strode down the halls, pondering.
Potter was a refugee. There were several books, studies, dedicated to the growth of one's magic, and everyone seemed to agree that a near-death experience increased magical capacity by a significant amount.
And if Potter had been out there actually fighting, instead of rolling over and showing her belly as all those other fools had done, then was it possible that her magical core had been forced to grow and adapt to such circumstances? It was certainly something worth looking into, but in order to do that, he had to get closer to Potter.
Coming to a stop before a large tapestry, Tom frowned ever so slightly as the magic just seemed to, cut off. A secret passage? Probably one the Gryffindors used, it was the only way the girl could have learned about such a thing.
"What do you want?"
He didn't allow the fact he was startled to show visibly, but Tom was well aware that the sharp breath he'd inhaled had probably given him away regardless.
"It's see-through on my side," Potter admitted, pulling the tapestry back ever so slightly, lips drawing into a straight line, pressed tightly together. She was hunched over, but there were no tears making tracks down her cheeks. Her eyes were suspicious, but the skin around them tightly pinched. Not upset, and distressed was too powerful a word. Perhaps disquieted.
"You seemed to be in need of a calming drought," drawing one out from his satchel, Tom held the small vial out to the female, watching Potter's eyes narrow in suspicion. And wasn't she was a little paranoiac, casting several spells upon the vial to make sure it was in no way poisoned.
Raising an eyebrow, Tom watched as the girl didn't even have the decency to blush at her behaviour, instead taking the vial and downing it all in one go. She didn't so much as flinch at the flavour, a clear indication that she'd drunk more than her fair share of the stuff.
Already he could feel his lips curling in disgust at the woman who'd refused all manners of civilized behaviour, but then her bright green eyes turned up to look at him from where she was curled up on the floor.
"It's not that I was scared of him. It's what he represents, total failure, getting stuck in a loop."
He would have to research whomever that was. He needed information, and he needed it soon.
"May I escort you to the Great Hall?" It pained him to play the part of the perfect student, but he was Head Boy, and the little survivor was clearly in need of comfort. Or, so everyone in their class would think.
Shrewd eyes narrowed slightly, before Potter bowed her head, teeth grinding behind her lips, were the twitch in her jaw any indication.
"This doesn't make us friends, Riddle."
As if that was what he was after. He was assessing her threat level, her mentality. She might make a good follower, but that attitude would have to be stamped out. Like he had done with so many before; Malfoy, Black, Lestrange, the list went on.
"Don't take it personally, I don't want any," she continued and Tom found himself smirking ever so slightly. That was something he could agree on. But, for the sake of the act-
"I do believe I will prove you wrong, Miss Potter."
She snorted, hand curling around his forearm with a grip so light she might as well have not bothered.
"I doubt it."
On Lestrange's fear; His uncle got bit, and was thrown from the family/England. Somewhere in Europe now. Orlan fears what it represents, even Pureblood he can become disposable.
Voldemort fear; she isn't scared of Voldemort, so much as the thought of not being able to change anything in the past and going down the same route, to the same ending. She laughs at the end because all of Voldemort's work was for nothing, then she'd bitter because all her work before time travel was worthless too.
Well, I did say the next chapter would be quicker,
Tsume
xxx