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"You mean Nicholas Flamel?" Harry exclaimed.
"No, I meant his wife," snorted Aleister sarcastically. "I don't know if he actually possessed the True Arts, but he had six centuries of time to kill and he was certainly interested. Flamel would be worth a shot, at least."
"If only the Philosopher's Stone wasn't smashed," Harry sighed. "Do you know if he left any records of his work?"
"There's a chance that Flamel could have left an imprint like I did, but as far as I know, he never published any written work," Aleister answered.
"Wasn't Flamel really close with Dumbledore? Maybe he left something with him," Daphne mused.
"As I remember Flamel, he was rather secretive and protective of his work. I don't think he would've yielded all his research that easily," replied the Necromagus.
"Might as well start out in Dumbledore's office. We've got no better leads to follow anyway," Harry decided. "Let's go on Friday." They both said goodbye to Daphne's ancestor as he faded away and Daphne packed the scrolls up. After exiting the room, they both paused outside of the door.
"It's late, I'll walk you back to the dorms," Harry offered. Daphne raised an eyebrow.
"Don't think I can take care of myself?" Daphne accused.
Harry's heart froze. "No – I didn't mean –" he spluttered. The Slytherin girl burst into laughter.
"Relax, Harry. I know the difference between gallantry and condescension," she assured him. Harry smiled weakly as his heart resumed its usual beating, if a little faster than normal. The unusual pair walked in comfortable silence; both had been given much to think about. It was fortunate that the lateness of the hour made the halls relatively clear. If the two were spotted walking together, there was no doubt that the school would be ablaze with gossip the next day. Finally, they stopped at the dungeons.
"Thanks for walking me back, Harry," Daphne said as she fiddled with her silver and green tie.
"No problem," he replied. "I –" She stepped in and suddenly she was in his arms and he held her close and her alluring scent was all there was, but before he could think to do anything else, the embrace was broken.
"Good night, Harry." She turned and left.
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Harry woke up the next morning and the events of last night flooded into his mind. He grinned from ear to ear, knowing that it was pathetic to feel so elated over a simple hug but choosing not to care.
His good mood lasted until he stepped into the frilly, laced nightmare that was the Defense against the Dark Arts classroom. Umbridge acted as vicious and lording as usual, getting drunk off the power she wielded as the High Inspector. Fortunately, most of her classes consisted of silent reading of Wilbert Slinkhard's atrociously flawed magical theories. While the text nearly put Harry to sleep, the general inactivity of the class resulted in very few opportunities for his temper to flare.
At night in the common room, Harry was surprised to see Hermione put her homework aside.
"Harry, you promised you'd show us what Flitwick told you," she stated expectantly.
"That I did," he replied. "Follow me." They headed to the Room of Requirement, where they found the Pensieve they needed. Harry extracted the silver fluid from his temple but chose not to enter the memory with his two companions. After a couple of minutes of viewing, Ron and Hermione lifted their heads.
"That was fascinating!" Hermione exclaimed. Ron nodded fervently. "I can't believe Hogwarts doesn't have any books about this. I'd like to learn a little more about those Hermetic tribes."
"I can't explain the reason, but anything you could research about their language specifically would be extremely helpful," said Harry. Hermione didn't bother to inquire; she'd gotten used to the many unknowns of her friend's life already.
"So you've got no leads at all on the Arts?" Ron asked.
"Well…again, I can't say. I swore an Unbreakable Vow and part of it demanded that I keep my information private. All I can tell you is that I've made a little progress, and there may be more to come soon," Harry responded. He felt bad about keeping his two best friends in the dark, but there was nothing he could do about it. Thankfully, it seemed that they understood and accepted his predicament.
"Seems like there's nothing we can do, then. Back to our moonstone essays?" Ron suggested.
"Sounds like a plan."
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Harry wasn't quite sure on how he planned on getting into Dumbledore's office. His plan so far was to go to the gargoyle and start listing different candies until it opened. By the time he got to the statue he'd come up with no better ideas and Daphne was already waiting for him.
"Keeping a girl waiting again, Harry. Tsk tsk," she chided him. Harry grinned sheepishly.
"Got any ideas on getting in?" he asked.
"Not really, no," she replied.
"Only one thing left to do then," Harry declared. "Sugar quill! Every Flavor Beans! Peppermint Devil! Lemon drop!" Quickly cottoning onto his plan, Daphne muttered something under her breath that sounded like "Gryffindors" but joined in.
"Tooth-flossing string mints! Drooble's Best Blowing Gum!"
Several names later, the gargoyle swung open in the midst of "Blood pop!" "Cockroach Cluster!" and "Fever Fudge!". Daphne raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore's apparent strange taste in candy but declined to comment. Harry silently thanked the powers that be for Dumbledore's predictable pattern of passwords.
After ascending the stairs, Harry and Daphne stood in the entrance of the Headmaster's office. Portraits of past headmasters along the walls stared at the two quizzically. Harry figured that it was best not to seem like he was snooping around too much. He approached a wizened old witch and asked: "Excuse me, Headmistress. Would you happen to know if Dumbledore was keeping something that belonged to Nicholas Flamel in his office?"
The witch eyed him for a moment, then cackled and replied: "The Potter boy! I shouldn't think Dumbledore would mind if you fiddled around in his office for a bit. Who's your lovely friend?"
"Daphne Greengrass, madam," she said as she stepped forward.
"Oh? A Slytherin? You're more open-minded than I thought, Potter. Dumbledore always thought you'd go for the Weasley girl." Harry shifted uncomfortably and chanced a glance at Daphne's impressive poker face. "Anyway, back to your question, my boy. I don't know about any belongings of Nicholas Flamel but you could try asking his grandfather over there." The witch pointed to a portrait of a sleeping man with grizzled hair and bright blue robes. Harry wasn't quite sure how to wake a portrait up.
"Err…hello, sir?" he tried hesitantly. The man still slept soundly. Harry wondered if it was impolite to knock on a portraits frame, but after another couple of attempts at verbally rousing the man, did so anyway.
"Eh…wha? Who woke me up?" growled the portrait.
"I did, sir," Harry answered.
"Kids these days, no manners at all. Well, what is it that you want?"
"We were wondering whether your grandson had ever left any of his possessions or his work with Dumbledore," asked Harry.
"Hell, I don't know! You can ask him yourself," said the portrait. He turned toward the mansion in the background of the painting and yelled: "NICK! GET OUT HERE!" A man with long, sandy waves of hair made his way to the foreground of the painting.
"Grandpa I thought I told you that I was hiding," he hissed. The elder man smacked his grandson.
"Don't be rude in front of visitors. What happened to the manners my daughter taught you?" The sandy-haired man turned and addressed Harry and Daphne.
"Well, I suppose introductions are in order. I am Nicholas Flamel, and this is my grandfather Derwent Everard," he said.
"It's a pleasure to meet you both. I am Daphne Greengrass and this is Harry Potter," replied Daphne as she curtsied gracefully. Harry hurriedly bowed as he saw her sink into the curtsy. Everard's eyes widened in delight.
"Ah, finally somebody with etiquette! You be helpful to them now, Nick my boy," he exclaimed. Flamel rolled his eyes.
"So, you were looking for something of mine? I'm afraid that I left nothing in Dumbledore's possession," Flamel stated.
"Actually we were only looking for something because we thought you might've left behind records of your studies, but since you're here, we can ask you directly," Harry explained. "How far did you get in your research of the True Arts?"
"Oh? Has Binns finally started to incorporate the Core Arts into History of Magic?" Flamel asked, looking intrigued.
"Err, I don't think so. I wouldn't know, though. I'm not usually…conscious…in that class," Harry replied embarrassedly, wondering if he was about to receive a scolding.
Flamel chuckled appreciatively. "Binns had the same effect on me. Anyway, I was able to learn its basic principles but I was never able to master the Art." Harry and Daphne exchanged excited looks.
"Could you please teach me what you know, Mr. Flamel? Right now Voldemort is studying the Dark Arts and I need to be able to stop him," Harry pleaded.
"The little bugger who tried to steal my Stone? I'd be happy to help you squash him," Flamel responded with an evil grin. Daphne privately appreciated Flamel's sense of revenge. She wondered if he'd been a Slytherin during his time at Hogwarts. "But first, you'll need to get me out of this painting. Point your wand at me (make sure not to get my grandfather!) and say Animatus Portra while twirling your wand in a circle." Harry did so, and to his surprise, successfully freed Flamel from his grandfather's portrait on his first try. The sandy-haired man stepped out of the portrait and examined his new body.
"Excellent, Potter. We'll go far with this rate of learning," Flamel said approvingly. "Now then, I shall attempt to explain the principles of the True Arts. Ms. Greengrass, you are welcome listen, as I will need your help with the instruction of Mr. Potter." Daphne nodded interestedly. "I'd like to start with a question. What do you two imagine when you think of the True Arts?"
"Spells that involve creating volcanoes, conjuring dragons, and triggering supernovas," Harry mused.
Daphne chipped in with: "Instant and unstoppable destruction."
Flamel roared with laughter. "Oh my, she's a vicious one, she is. But yes, these are generally the types of misconceptions that hang about the True Arts. Though the True Arts are capable of all this, the reality is they only contain seven distinct spells. You see, the True Arts represent magic at its deepest and most pure form. Every spell in existence is a lesser form of a True spell. The seven spells are Movement, Creation, Destruction, Enchantment, Alteration, Protection, and Absorption. They are all extremely difficult to master and I doubt that you'll be able to learn more than one by the end of the year."
"How do we get started?" Harry asked excitedly.
"We must train your sense of magic. You need to feel the ancient magic in the air, so I shall have Ms. Greengrass over here deprive you of your senses. By the way, ditch the wand, Potter. The seven spells of the True Arts are all wandless," Flamel commanded. "The Sensory Deprivation Curse is casted with a swift jabbing motion and the incantation Perdelirus. By the way, you should also cast a Full-Body Bind on him after; we don't want him accidentally gouging his eyes out or anything."
"Are you ready, Potter?" Daphne inquired as she raised her wand.
"Switching back to last names, are we?" Harry asked as he sat down with his legs crossed.
"I didn't want you feeling too familiar while I'm cursing you," she replied.
"Fair enough. Let's go," Harry said, closing his eyes.
"Perdelirus!" Daphne shouted as she stabbed her wand forcefully at Harry. A torrent of darkness shot out of her wand and engulfed him. The twisting maw felt sickeningly invasive, but only for a second, as Harry noticed his loss of feeling first. He had no doubt that the other four senses were gone as well, but the absence of touch was the most unfamiliar. Harry supposed that this was what death felt like: absolute nothingness. I am alive. He repeated this mantra in his head until he vaguely believed it. After suppressing the urge to panic, Harry remembered the task at hand. He concentrated on attempting to sense the ancient magic that Flamel had spoken of. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry's senses returned and he opened his eyes to see Daphne's worried gaze.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"I've felt better," he answered honestly. Her look of concern was certainly helping the "better" part.
"Flamel told me to counter the curse after 30 minutes," she explained.
"It's not healthy to stay in the quasi-death states for too long. You can work on it for longer periods of time as you get used to it," said Flamel. Harry merely nodded weakly; exhaustion was setting in.
"Quasi-death?" Daphne exclaimed. Flamel shot her an impatient look.
"Yes, girl. Quasi-death. That's what death feels like to the conscious mind: an impenetrable void. I'm told that the Chinese use it most effectively in their torture regimens," he told them.
"I'll be fine, Daphne," Harry assured her when he noticed his friend's face looking even more distressed. Daphne was smart, but it was hard to grasp the ramifications of losing all five senses without having experienced the loss. "Thanks for the help, Mr. Flamel."
"Go get some rest, Potter. You'll need it; the first time is the worst. Don't come back until Monday," Flamel mandated. Harry struggled to stand up but found that he lacked the energy.
"Damn, this is embarrassing," he thought. Daphne grabbed him and draped his arm around her shoulders.
"Don't protest, Harry. We both know you aren't going anywhere like this,"
she commanded.
"Thanks," he muttered tiredly. Daphne's scent was getting to him again and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to resist trying something possibly regrettable in this position for the whole walk back to the common room. He tried to make conversation to distract himself.
"So, where would you like to go tomorrow?" Harry asked.
"It's cheating to ask a girl those sort of questions, Mr. Potter," Daphne responded. "Though I'm sure Ginny Weasley would love to advise you on what girls like."
Harry glanced sideways at her before responding. She had a teasing smile on her face, but something told him that there was at least a little bit of seriousness to the remark. He turned his head so that he could look at her head-on. "The only girl who I want to answer that question is you."
She stopped turned as well. Her gray-green eyes gazed into the bottle-green ones. "The Three Broomsticks, then," she said quietly. Thoughts were dancing chaotically in Harry's mind. They were alone in the stairwell and their faces were far too close. Her lips looked soft and inviting in the dim torchlight. Harry felt a sudden chill and Daphne jumped at the unexpected change in temperature, sending Harry tumbling down the stairs. A sleeping ghost had lazily drifted through both of them, oblivious to the ruckus he'd caused.
"Oh Harry, I'm so sorry!" Daphne cried. Harry mentally cursed the ghost, fate, the stairs, and anything else he could think of.
"Don't worry about it, I'll be fine," he tried to assure her. Nevertheless, she looked unconvinced. She picked him back up and they resumed their walk in silence. Harry soon noticed that they weren't on a path to the Gryffindor common room.
"Err –" he was about ask, but Daphne cut him off.
"We're going to the Hospital Wing." Harry knew better than to protest when he saw the determined look in her eyes. As soon as they entered Madam Pomfrey began fussing over him.
"Can't stop doing dangerous things, can you, Mr. Potter?" she admonished.
"Madam, it was my –" It was Harry's turn to interrupt.
"I guess I can't help being drawn to trouble," he declared, looking Daphne in the eyes. She blushed.
"I'll whip up some tonics but in the meantime, you'll have to leave, Ms. Greengrass. My patient needs his rest," Madam Pomfrey ordered. "Don't worry, he'll be right as rain tomorrow morning." Daphne walked over and drew Harry into another breathless hug, then left. Harry wiped the smile off his face to swallow some steaming draughts and soon fell into a deep sleep.
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Author's Note: Well this one came a bit slower than the others did. I blame my job and some other very interesting fan fics that I couldn't stop reading.
Also The Human Centipede (it's a movie) recently came into my possession and I suspect that after I watch it, I will be too grossed out to do anything. So my next update may be a little late as well.
I am considering switching the rating to "T". I set it on "M" originally because I wanted to write in some smut, but now that this story is progressing, the temptation for smuttiness is decreasing. Still, I'd like to try my hand at writing some smut at some point. Maybe it'll come in a different story. Anyway, I think I will make my decision soon, but feel free to influence me in your reviews.
