Here's Chapter Four. This chapter will fill in Harry's past and hint even farther at his intentions. Chapter five, which is essentially the second half of this one, will provide enormous clues as to why the hell he is the way he is and what/why he's done/not done before. After that it's all forward, all the pieces will be set.
This is a chapter that is also - hopefully - a remedy to what I hate about a lot of mysterious!Harry's out there in that the plot, his actions, and the complexity is all there, but when one really looks at Harry as a character, he lacks depth. I'm hoping my story has that, and this chapter and the next are crucial to adding that dimensionality.
As always, please let me know your thoughts - I read all comments and this chapter was exceedingly complicated to write. Regardless, I appreciate the reviews already given, they've been fabulous.
Again, particular shout outs to Vivian Storm, Arish Mudra Rakshasa, lazyguy90, Hibari Hanakoganei, and luvsanime02 for their in-depth and stellar reviews. Also I must mention the reviewers at DLP that provided much needed critiquing to the chapter there. This story will always have a chapter or two there ahead of here. Official chapters (aka the final version) are posted here though.
Several reviewers have let it be known their disbelief that Ron and especially Hermione would give up so easily on Harry. Remember - Harry left them without really telling him his intentions and never ended up doing so. It was about three years until they even saw him again. Their faith was never lost - not during those three years, not during the war, and not after - even when their confusion at his silence and aloofness increased. Then when the crimes started happening... it was only when Harry was taken in and the deaths stop did their faith truly fall. This has all been within the text so far, but these next three chapters should flesh it out for you all quite nicely. Hopefully!
Alright, enough talk.
Enjoy.
The Prisoner's Cipher
Chapter Four
.
.
.
Hermione woke up to unfamiliar walls and a familiar set of green eyes.
She was sitting on a chair in front of some sort of desk, which was also in front of Harry. She had never known a sense of deja vu being a painful one, but -
"I try," Harry said, interrupting her thoughts, "to not let the irony of this situation overrun my sensibility."
In an act of subconscious self preservation she made a quick movement to reach her wand, but at the last second resisted the urge, knowing it would not be with her.
Harry simply stared, a cold smile upon his face.
The irony was indeed hard to ignore.
The fogginess was beginning to clear in her head. Harry did not press for more conversation and she used the lull to calm down and look around.
She found herself in an immaculately kept study - ancient books lined the walls and one or two luxuriously decorated arm chairs accented the room. Folders of recently written parchment sat in age-old bookshelves, their titles too small for Hermione to read. Heavy wooden rafters loomed over as though spirit guardians, hinting at the solidarity and steadfastness of the place she now sat in. The place was exquisite.
Was it Harry's?
Harry's hands were steepled and his expression amused. He was dressed plainly and in a manner that was distinctly muggle - a simple dark tee with what looked to be simple dark jeans - nothing noteworthy. His longish hair framed his face which bore no glasses.
The effect was predatory and more than a little disconcerting.
This situation was frightfully similar to her initial interrogation of him weeks ago, except with the tables turned. There was, she mused, something about Harry's attitude or persona today - something was off.
This she could tell right away. Before he had been seemingly playful, a leering smile always gracing his lips - his verbal jabs almost more for his own enjoyment then for the rational reasoning she now understood... But now... the smile was still there, but the playfulness had a darker, insidious overtone to it.
This was a side of Harry she knew she had not seen before.
"Hermione," he said while his amused expression dropping a bit, "I understand that the recent events are rather traumatizing, but I'm going to ask this once."
Hermione looked up in surprise.
What more could he want from her?
"I need you to concentrate."
His tone was soft - almost musical in its hushed, whispering syncopations. It wasn't angry, impatient, or irritated - it was dangerous.
"Time," he continued, "is not on our side."
"Time?" she said, her voice raspy from the recent events, "is not on your side?"
"Time is not on anybody's side, but it is certainly not on mine" he replied calmly.
A rising feeling of stubbornness, ambition, and strength of will began to creep up into her mind - Hermione was beginning to feel herself.
"And this has nothing to do with the manhunt homing in on you? We know where you frequent!"
"They're not going to find me," answering her apparently enormously trivial question, "Or you, for that matter, and I certainly don't plan on turning myself in this time."
His fingers rapped smoothly upon the desk in a slow, calculating cadence.
"In fact, I would wager enormous sums on putting their short side of time in the same lot as yours."
Hermione peered at him, questioning, his last statement making no sense whatsoever.
"Yours of course," he continued, "being distinctly more volatile, and on a personal level much more relevant. Perhaps you might make more sense of it if you thought of the whole situation as a timer, rather than time."
He was crazy.
She didn't answer, but Harry didn't wait and continued, his blasted smirk once more making its way onto his features.
"Besides, are you positive they'll search for you? Seems to me once they perform some elementary reverse engineering on the broken wards..."
Cold, hard fear gripped her heart as his insinuations' truth rang hard in her ears.
"And a pity, such a pity that you didn't tell anyone... now there's such a suspicious overtone to everything... an old best friend... refusing to partake in a case for ten years, suddenly coming back, and now the prisoner escaping... how very interesting..."
He laughed and leaned upon the desk forcing her to back up involuntarily into her chair. His features were set in an earnest, disarmingly sincere fashion - only the hard gleam of his eyes protected her from being convinced.
"Thank you."
Hermione didn't know whether to cry, scream, or something else in between. He was such a fucking bastard. Couldn't he have just let her and her life be?
"I don't see what this has to do with me" she replied, incensed. The desk she sat behind seemed so little.
"I would almost say it has everything to do with you. Inextricably so." He stood up, taking his dark wand and waving it with almost lazy conviction. If she hadn't felt the slight shock wave from the magic he produced, she might have thought he was swatting insects.
At once she could hear the sound of something very, very heavy lift up from the ground in another room. He was summoning something - something huge.
An irrational fear possessed her and Hermione made to do something - move, run, anything before Harry could execute whatever he was doing - and was surprised as she stood up. She was free from any type of binding.
Her logical side came to the forefront of her mind as she stood, Harry's back to her still.
What now?
She was in an unknown part of the world, in an unknown room in an unknown house with arguably the most powerful wizard in the world standing in front of her only path of escape which had an enormous object coming through. Oh, and she had no wand too.
Tentatively, she sat back down, will intact, but properly chastised.
Harry looked back briefly, holding her gaze for a strong moment, then returned his concentration to his task at hand.
She felt chilled, and was irrationally glad she had chosen to sit down.
The large object Harry was moving in glided soundlessly through the door, hovering one or two inches above the ground. A flowing dark red sheet obscuring what the object was.
It was set down with a lover's caress, only the softest of noises emitting when it was laid down upon the dark wooden floor. Harry smoothly took his seat and looked at her. He had the tracings of a smirk upon his lips that made absolutely no headway into his eyes.
"I ask that you pay that no attention to that right now, Hermione. Again, what I need you to do is concentrate. Look at me."
And she did.
Hermione looked at him as if for the first time. Something was definitely off... now she was absolutely positive of it.
"Hermione. We've got but a short time to go through what I want to. If you don't focus, terrible things will happen to you and many others. If you do, then the terrible things might happen. If you put any trust in anything I say, trust this."
Hermione nodded. What else could she do?
He suddenly smiled, "Pretty melodramatic, no?" And he laughed, harsher in tone then she was used to.
"Melodramatic or not, it is most certainly true. You can put money on that, although it's up to you whether you take humor from it or not."
Hermione didn't even deign to reply - the combination of confusion, repulsion, and general apprehension making that decision an easy one.
"But most importantly, most importantly," and his wand seemed to pulse, "above all else, when you see whatever I show you and learn whatever I teach you... no matter what feelings it may conjure - no pun intended - know me as the person you knew me to be these past ten years."
Despite the gravity of the situation, Hermione almost laughed, "Harry, please... please, this of all things will not be a - "
"Promise me." No smiles or laughs this time.
Hermione, at this point, had reached the mentality she knew she needed. She had been fooled, captured, and had had loved ones hurt. She had nothing to lose, nothing to fear. She took the ridiculousness of Harry's request in full stride.
"I'm not sure what promises mean to a murderer, Harry."
"Perfect. Keep that mentality. But promise anyways."
Hermione nonchalantly replied, almost as a jokingly, "I promise."
Harry looked at her as though reprimanding a child on something one knew they'd do again, but apparently let it pass. A sweep of his wand brought several objects on the table.
Parchment. Quills. And a wooden cup.
Hermione looked up at Harry quizzically, who was once again smiling pleasantly.
"What do you know about rune making."
"Enough to know, say... that a set of runes made in the same mindset will produce a language. Also - coincidentally, that a language, when used correctly as a ward can dupe a once loyal friend into escaping from prison all the while beating his other old best friend to a -"
Hermione's lips and temper moved without a sound.
Harry had silenced her.
A quick snap of magic in front of her burned the air near her eyes causing her cheeks to sting.
"Not the time to joke, I'm afraid."
Hermione could feel the tendrils of her anger get the best of her.
"Have you ever made a rune?" A command, not a question.
Hermione had another retort upon her mouth but she caught his eyes flash dangerously and noticed his dark, sinister wand roll slowly in his fingers. She replied honestly.
"No."
Harry looked at her with a slightly nefarious smile, "Well today you're going to learn how to make your first."
He waved the parchments and quills to the side, so only the cup remained.
"What do you see."
"A cup."
Harry blinked and looked at her with distaste, and said "Why."
Hermione really, really didn't feel like getting lectured by her captor.
"Because it is. You pour something in it, and you drink out of it. A cup."
Harry rolled his wand in his fingers.
"You're well versed in translating, I am aware, but creating requires a further intuitive, skillful step. It's the same as the difference between reading a language and actually speaking it."
Hermione remained silent, the subtleties of what Harry was speaking of was beginning to dawn on her.
"It is a cup," she said slowly, her mind whirring, "and it's used to contain liquid, and dispense it."
"Dispense where?"
"To one's mouth."
"Always?"
"No..." Hermione was a bit uncertain on this one.
"But this particular one, yes?"
"Yes."
"So it would be something that makes this particular cup unique, then? What else?"
Hermione took her time on this question, years of academic prowess telling her that this question required a well thought out and intricate answer.
"It's made of... aluminum, I think. The rim is faded with use, but only the portions ninety degrees from the handles. The handles are also slightly faded and there are chips there, and there..."
Harry nodded, "So its safe to say you know this cup - its intention, uniqueness, purpose, and overall entity?"
Hermione again paused for thought before replying, "Yes."
His face somewhat amused, Harry continued, "You're forgetting one feature. You've described the cup, but anything, whether it be corporeal or no, cannot exist without the thing you have forgotten."
Hermione thought about it for a good while but could not come up with it. Harry answered for her.
"It's shadow. A shadow does not exist without that which creates it, and the likewise stands as well. A shadow possesses something of the thing it represents. For the cup, it is merely a shifting shape of physicality and light. But the shadows of thoughts, or perhaps something as large and complex as death... things get interesting."
His later insinuations were unsettling, but she focused on the shadow of the cup in her head. Still, she felt her ability to wrap around the cup's essence was quite good.
Harry glided over the parchment and quills in front of them.
"Now, following that train of thought, what universal thoughts, emblems, symbols might represent those qualities of a cup you so described?"
Harry was right, she really did need concentration for this. What symbols could be used for representing a cup other than... a cup?
"Um..."
"Perhaps feeling the cup might offer some clues. Put it in different lights. Does it reflect certain lights differently? Do the reflected lights, when spinning the cup, flit in a certain fashion? Drop it on the floor, on the ground, in sand... how might these test scenarios reflect its character? What does its shadow do in those situations?"
Hermione looked at Harry with sudden understanding.
I don't know the cup at all.
Harry gave her a look that told her he knew she now understood, and said "You would never make a rune for a 'cup,' but rather use a set of them to represent it. When used in a warding scheme, it can then be used to conjure it."
Harry took a piece of paper and a quill. He drew three figures in a triangular fashion - rope, a trident, and some string twisted in ways that defied depth perception... it looked like two strings but was actually one.
"You recognize these?"
She did, and replied "Greek. At least two of them."
Harry nodded, no sign of satisfaction on his visage. What he was doing was simply because he had to.
Apparently.
"All three of them actually. The rope means something is being bound, or in this case, held. The trident as you should also know, represents water, or liquid. The last one means duality. It is a rare rune that perhaps you haven't come across. It refers to the fact a cup serves to both hold and dispense water."
Hermione nodded in understanding - the intertwining strings actually being one made sense now.
"Have you ever noticed a strange use of duality in the Greek culture? In all cultures? Hermes is the patron God of thieves yet the guardian of the house. Apollo is the healer of men yet holds the title of the bringer of the plague. Artemis is the Goddess of Hunt yet the protector of wildlife. This duality is a common theme to all languages - no language can exist without a rune such as this one. A complete set of runes will never magically produce anything without the existence - in one form or another - of this rune.
He leaned even closer, his expression strangely serious, "Nothing meant to be in this world can exist without the full understanding and incorporation of duality."
Harry had spoken the last part with such emphasis, such terrible conviction that Hermione did not reply in any way. Some statements are made to be listened to, not commented on, and this was one of them. She had no idea why he was imparting this knowledge, but she knew that what he had just mentioned had everything to do with it.
Harry looked away from her and touched his wand to the runes and instantly a light flare of magic emerged and a cup identical to the one already there popped into existence.
"Note that even if you were to try this now, with this correct and working formation of runes, I doubt you would be able to get it for a while. You must truly grasp the existence, purpose, and relationships this cup holds with its environment. It takes practice. You might even need to incorporate more runes to get the grasp of it more fully."
Harry stood up and walked over to his summoned object. He beckoned for her to follow and she stood up and did. A light twitch of his wrist and the red curtain fluttered off and landed elegantly on the desk. Her eyes widened in recognition.
A pensieve!
Hermione's mind reeled with the possibilities that the pensieve's existence could entail as she stared at the pensieve for long moments. But then she noticed Harry gazing at her, and it made her stop all trains of thought as she quickly looked right back at him.
Humans shouldn't look at other humans the way he was looking at her.
The way he was gazing at her... Chills rippled softly on the nape of her neck. He was analyzing her in some way, latent with nefarious intent.
He suddenly shook his head, as if ridding himself of a bad memory and Hermione thanked the Gods for the release of his inscrutable, painful gaze.
Harry took a moment to collect his thoughts or gather himself before continuing.
"You... you are..." he was still trying to get a grip of himself, "about to get the explanations you've wanted for a long time."
The look was still in his eye, but fading.
"...with one stipulation - do not ever ask me why I'm doing this, only ask on what you see... and even then, be selective... at your own peril."
It looked as though he was going to say more, but after a strange momentary hesitation he simply pushed the lid of the pensieve open with a gentle nudge of his wand.
The watery reflections of the swimming memories inside cast itself as shadows across the dimly lit room. The light made Harry's face look craven, and every bit of the insane that many people had maintained he was.
Locking the pensieve's lid in place, he looked back at her with the memory's emitted light still dancing across his face in a rampant, satyr frenzy.
"Concentrate."
It was the only thing he said as he made his way to the exit. Hermione's eyes followed his dark form and watched as it disappeared behind the heavy wooden door slowly closing behind him.
She could see nothing of the room he had walked into.
The tell-tale signs of magical and mechanical locking filled the room for several seconds until silence overtook it.
Hermione stood still.
For a second, she contemplated looking around the room first - or doing anything other than what he told her to do - but his tone, his suggestions, and her overall curiosity and intuition told her to go to the pensieve.
So she did. As she slowly walked over, she noticed something she hadn't before.
The pensieve was Dumbledore's .
She recognized it from his office. The stretching phoenixes used their stone wings to hoist the memories up in an eternal embrace, amidst intricately patterned carvings.
How close had Harry been to Dumbledore?
She set her hands upon the ledge of the pensieve. Literally hundreds of memories were flitting, swimming about in a swirling, transfixing manner. Only several glowed with unnatural brightness.
These were the ones he wished her to see.
They swam together as a school of fish, sometimes disappearing into the depths of the pensieve but always resurfacing with greater frequency then the others.
One of the memories gleamed the brightest. As was the whistle in Harry's runes, this was the start.
Harry had been slightly off today. Today had shown, albeit in a subtle, undertone manner, a side that she'd never seen before and did not understand at all. Hopefully these memories would shed some light on the matter.
With no small amount of trepidation, Hermione deftly touched the shimmering memory with careful precision. She was instantly torn from her world and into the memory Harry had given her.
.
.
* * * The First Memory * * *
.
.
She recovered from her disorientation quickly, and found herself in a room she didn't recognize.
It was nondescript, a little on the old side but clean and roomy. If the woodwork had anything to say about it, it was not the same place she had just been at.
With a start, she noticed Harry and Dumbledore facing each other on opposite sides of a table, a yard or so apart.
A rush of emotions hit Hermione, for seeing her old headmaster once more was a pleasant, pleasant surprise. He had been the towering pillar of humble power, the seemingly immovable force of good amidst a sea of evil, he had been the utmost driving force in remedying wizarding crises across across so many years. The last War against Voldemort was one of them, a wizarding calamity of epic proportions that Dumbledore had once more been at the forefront of.
Hermione's eyes tightened with emotion in remembrance... Dumbledore's tragic and horrific death had traumatized everyone. It had, however, proven to be the turning point in the war for a variety of reasons. She would soak up all she could of her beloved Headmaster in this memory, for she missed him.
His crystal blue eyes gazed just as brightly as she remembered them.
The world needed him badly - his quiet reassurance and ministrations offered peace and calm to a world that had barely acknowledged it, but direly needed it. His missing presence would always be felt.
Her eyes drifted to the other occupant in the room, quietly sitting across from Dumbledore - the young Harry Potter.
He was somewhere around the age of sixteen. The innocence of his youth a sharp and painful contrast from presence that surrounded him today.
The same glasses, the same silent, pondering look that he always had...
Harry was listening intently to Dumbledore.
"Try and think of why it happened, not just how it felt. You're emotionally driven, which is nothing to be ashamed of. But the moment you can compartmentalize and draw out skills in a structured manner, particularly on whim... the ability to optimize your potential increases greatly."
Hermione had never really seen Dumbledore in teacher mode. But from these first few words she could tell he was magnificent - he possessed the rare ability to connect unparalleled skills with rudimentary basics.
Not to mention he had a grandfatherly tone, which always helps one's teaching ability.
"Now try again."
Harry pointed his hand - her heart lurched a little as she saw him aiming at a cup - and grimaced slightly in concentration.
Nothing happened.
Multiple more tries and still nothing happened. Harry seemed to be trying to use different gestures, jabbing strengths, and even sitting positions but nothing happened.
"It's in the mind, Harry, not the body."
Harry nodded, his face in careful scrutiny.
Multiple tries amidst Dumbledore's slight sipping of tea noises produced nothing more.
Harry was beginning to get severely aggravated and jabbed quite violently once more and the cup shot upwards, caught up in his overzealous levitation charm.
Dumbledore swiftly stopped the cup before it was obliterated on the ceiling.
Harry looked up at him expectantly, breathing somewhat heavily.
Dumbledore simply shook his head slightly, a small smile upon his lips, "No Harry... emotion governed that spell - logic and a solid methodology had no part in it."
Harry spoke for the first time, the youth in his voice causing painful remembrance in her ears, "But sir, what logic? I am casting a spell - I have intent, wand motion, and emotion... there shouldn't be anything more. When I got it to work I was angry, and didn't think..."
"Layers, Harry... layers. Complex branches of magic - wandless being one of them - requires layers of intellectual platforms. Intuition and emotion play an integral part, yes, and may burst through the intellectual subtleties on such occasions as now. But the ability to fully wield what potential your body has given you, when you want - requires, at least in the initial stages, a logical mindset."
Harry nodded in agreement, still working through Dumbledore's words in his head, "I... I actually think I understand sir, but... I really don't know how to start."
"One generally doesn't know how to start when they're at the wrong starting point," smiled Dumbledore, "Think now, Harry. What is the fundamental difference between wandless magic and magic with a wand?"
"The wand..." Harry answered insecurely.
"Which is a what?"
Hermione could see that Harry very much wanted to answer "wand" once more, but he held his retort back and thought about it.
"Well, it's like that book you gave me a couple weeks ago said, sir. It's a conduit. A channel from our core to recipient."
"Excellent, Harry, excellent... so when you're removing the wand - "
"You're removing the channel!" exclaimed Harry, interrupting Dumbledore in his excitement, "So I should think more on the lines of a physical - or something - link straight from my core to the recipient... but... do I even need to do the wand motions?"
"A good question, and the probably unsatisfactory answer is that it depends. The trend is generally the more complex the spell, the more likely it is the wandless wizard must use the motions. It all depends on one's ability to visualize and thoroughly wrap their mind around what the spell is doing."
"Then... then the wand is almost like cheating then? Like a shortcut?"
"If you wish to view it like that, yes. But more than anything, it can be deemed more of a crutch."
Harry began practicing once more, still with no effect, but with a much more calm and determined face. Dumbledore meanwhile kept a watchful eye and busied himself writing in a small notepad.
Hermione unfortunately could not see the notepad's contents, but when she moved to get into a position behind Dumbledore as to see it, he suddenly put it away.
Harry had levitated the cup, this time in a much more controlled fashion. Dumbledore beamed.
"Excellent Harry," he said to Harry, who was grinning with satisfaction, "do you remember the process that it came about?"
"Yes! I do! It's - "
"With conceptual processes," interrupted Dumbledore with a knowing look, "especially personal ones such as these, it's sometimes better to prove its existence through demonstration rather than verbalizing."
Harry at once gestured slightly - without the proper wand movements - and the cup once more stood still. Undeterred, Harry took a moment to think and once again tried.
The cup hovered, slightly spinning, in the air between them.
"Good, good... now practice that untill it's second nature, till the thinking process becomes an un-thinking one, so to say."
Harry nodded happily, the thrill of success still imbuing his motions with glowing vigor. Dumbledore made to leave, but Harry spoke up.
"Sir... if I were to, say, shoot a stunning spell out from my wand... a red light would emit from it correct?"
"Yes, Harry."
"And if I were to cast it wandlessly it would come from my hand?"
"If you so stipulated it within your casting mentality, then absolutely."
"So... could I theoretically cast it from any part of my body... say, my knee?"
Dumbledore laughed quietly before intoning, "Yes. Perhaps you could demonstrate?"
Harry smiled and concentrated. For a few seconds it looked like Harry was trying to do a very awkward stiff jig. In short, he looked ridiculous and Hermione couldn't help but laugh out loud.
She had never seen Harry act so silly.
Harry too was laughing, "No such luck Sir, perhaps you could show me?"
Dumbledore smiled, and shook his head, "No Harry... I don't think so. Some curiosities are better left off with today's youth I'm afraid..."
Harry, a little chastised, said "I'm sorry sir, it was ridiculous of me to ask."
"Don't be sorry, Harry. Although you should know that a wand - besides some other mechanics having to do with runes - as well as, say a finger, serves as a focal point for one's magic to channel through. The more natural a focal point, the easier it is to mentally make the channel. This is why a "stick" or a hand will offer the ease that a knee can't provide. One doesn't aim or point their knee very often."
Dumbledore stood up from his sitting position and grabbed his tea and saucer. Walking towards the door Harry managed to say "Thank you Sir... I learned a lot today."
Dumbledore smiled as he stood at the threshold of the doorway.
"One more thing Harry."
"Yes, Sir?"
Turning slightly back towards Harry, he shifted his right leg and immediately a green spell shot out of - Hermione couldn't believe it - his knee and hit Harry square in the stomach. It caused Harry to gasp for breath, although Hermione couldn't quite tell if that was because of the spell or his laughing. She herself was laughing quite enthusiastically.
How long had it been since she laughed? It felt amazing.
"One last thing Harry," Dumbledore said amidst his large smiles, "You may... as you progress, deem to try to shoot spells out of various parts of your body. Without going into lewd particulars, I feel it necessary to tell you that certain body parts emitting magic can be very, very precarious... for a variety of reasons."
Harry's eyes widened as he cottoned on to what Dumbledore was insinuating.
"Be careful." Dumbledore said with a mock-serious face.
Smiling, she watched as Dumbledore closed the door behind him while Harry - who was laughing even harder - cleaned up after his lessons.
Her last thought as she was being pulled from the memory was that she had absolutely no idea why Harry had chosen this memory... if anything it had been quaint, cute even.
What had been the point?
Her vision went black as a whole new environment surrounded her.
.
.
* * * The Second Memory * * *
.
.
Spellfire temporarily blinded her, causing her to trip and fall onto hard stone. Spells shot at a rapid rate lit up the stone cavern around her - she was in a cove of a sort - the fresh, salty smell of the sea overtaking her senses. It was essentially a cave tucked in on the edge of the sea.
Light from the sea some two hundred feet away lit up the area but dimness still prevailed. A particularly bright spell lit up the area entirely revealing, once more, Harry and Dumbledore, who were dueling fiercely.
Harry was older, but not by much. The tracings of filled out facial hair and the high cheekbones were just beginning to come to prominence. Seventeen? Eighteen? Sixteen still? It was always so hard to tell with teenage boys.
Regardless, he had progressed enough to be extremely competent at wandless magic, only voicing his spells when doing a more complex piece of magic or simply slipping in situations of desperation.
He was doing remarkably well. His spells seemed to be fast, sure, and aimed with spot on accuracy. His exceptional agility provided him the last minute defense when his spellwork faltered. He also refrained from the amateur mistake - when facing a more skilled opponent - of casting an over-abundance of stunning spells. His spellwork was clever, reasonably complex, and deftly executed.
He was years behind his now top form but the potential was clear.
Hermione could not help herself but feel pride in her old friend's progress. He had truly bloomed.
Dumbledore stood in a single spot, somehow maintaining a silent, commanding presence when Harry was feverishly circling him, shooting four spells to his one. To Harry's credit, Dumbledore did not have a grandfatherly expression nor a teacher's - but was concentrating intensely.
Hermione had always maintained could always watch Dumbledore for hours, whether it was him performing the Great Hall theatrics, giving a speech, or him simply watching other people. The brilliance he could imbue in everyday situations was simply breathtaking. Watching him always made one aware of subtleties that they never knew existed.
"Paying attention to the idiosyncrasies - those little, often silent mannerisms and actions that make us who we are - often tell us more than what we say are our 'defining moments.' Such grandiose moments are often done with great contemplation and self-reflection, and therefore complications... while the idiosyncrasies are done with little to no thought, and are therefore a purer, more indicative action of our personality and intent..." Dumbledore had said in the introduction of a magnificent speech to the Wizengamot years ago.
The speech was and still is considered one of the greatest of all time, as it singularly outlined Voldemort in terms of his past, present, and future. It was ultimately what put the edge in the Ministry's, and ultimately Wizarding Great Britain's fight against Voldemort. Great Britain had finally, just in time, been fully and thoroughly convinced of a fight that needed its undivided attention and efforts.
Dumbledore had been murdered only a few months after that speech.
Regardless, the man behind that speech, watching him now in a fight... was simply amazing.
It takes skill to block a spell. It takes greater skill to block the incoming spell and use that action to also bring about an offensive move. Yet it takes simple and unrequited greatness to block multiple spells and - with blindingly fast calculation - recognize the similar elements of those incoming spells to craft a counter that would simultaneously block and attack. This is what Dumbledore did, with every spell.
The depth of knowledge and lightning quick intellect that this reflected was absolutely unreal. Harry's attack was clever, but Dumbledore's was brilliant. The difference displayed the distance between the two greatest wizards of their age with diligent simplicity.
Soon enough Dumbledore began to take the offensive - still standing - and Harry was forced more and more to turn to physical means rather than magical to avoid his attacks. First with transfiguring objects to take the brunt force of Dumbledore's attacks, and then declining to simply dodging his spells.
The stone encirclement continued to shatter and spray slices of stone obliterated by deflected or misaimed spells. The multifaceted and multicolored spells shot strange and horrific shadows upon the cove's walls that seemed to stretch out and dance in violent ecstasy between the combatants. The relatively smooth rock surface scratched with the noises of the fighter's feet, pivoting and pushing off with quick dexterity to gain better positioning.
The explosions of Dumbledore's spells into the transfigured objects were beginning to create numerous bleeding wounds on Harry. He was getting desperate - the offensive he had once wielded had been turned against him and he was no longer using creative ingenuity to mount counterattacks or defensive techniques - he was relying purely on instinct.
Something, Hermione mused, was exactly what Dumbledore had said in the previous memory was precarious to use against more skilled wizards for extended periods of time.
Still Harry fought - she had never seen nor could she ever conceive the idea of Harry giving up in such a fight - the only time he had done so she still had yet to be keyed in as to why.
Harry managed to keep impeccable form with his body despite his spellwork getting increasingly simplistic.
A sudden white spell from Dumbledore crumpled Harry's shield and swirled around his body in a quick and sudden fashion. The spell disappeared and Harry jerkily rolled for a couple seconds before lying completely still.
Dumbledore's abnormally abusive and forceful attack unnerved and surprised her. The crumpled, bleeding form of Harry a testament to it. It brought a disconcerting array of memories Hermione had long chosen to forget.
Dumbledore paced over to Harry, his long robes dirtied but ultimately untouched. Something akin to regret shone in his eyes as he bent down and awakened Harry.
Harry shook his head and pawed at the ground, desperately trying to regain his bearings and balance. His eyes flashed - still fiery from the fight - and he made to reach for his fallen wand. Dumbledore shot a simple summoning spell and Harry's wand flew immediately to his hand.
"Fight's over, Harry" and he laid Harry's wand gently upon the ground.
Harry exhaled sharply upon reaching for his wand, grim disappointment upon his face as he slowly healed his numerous wounds. His breathing was slowly returning to a normal pace.
The fight was over and he knew he was soundly defeated, but still he wished to fight on - it was in his eyes.
It was one of the many attributes that had made Harry so alluring as a friend, ally, and even enemy - the unyielding, obstinate, driving force that was behind everything that Harry put his mind to. When combined with the training that she was now witnessing, it was a nigh unstoppable force.
But not yet, she mused... as she watched Harry's wounds disappear. Not yet.
When had he turned dark?
The things she would do to go back in time...
"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "You are going to have to find something to reach a higher level."
Harry's eyes lit up even brighter with indignation, but in a very visible fashion, calmed himself down.
"I know."
Dumbledore stared at him, on bended knee, his inscrutable eyes thinking unfathomable thoughts.
Harry had finished his healing spells, and sat. His head stooped and his back leaned against the stone heavily. His eyes did not quite meet Dumbledore's.
"Tell me your thoughts, Harry."
Harry took several deep breaths before answering, "I've tried everything... everything, surely you must have noticed all my combinations! You shouldn't have been able to deflect spells derived from two different methods with one spell! You did this multiple times!"
Dumbledore remained expressionless, but said "You're focusing on the small problems, Harry. Not the bigger ones. A more inductive approach would benefit you here - these smaller failures are blurring your perception of the larger overall one."
"Then what is my problem?" Harry said, a bit of venom in his voice.
Dumbledore's eyes tightened a little, "I can't answer that Harry, you know this. We've been over it several times... these next forays into magical development - if they are meant to be - are an overwhelmingly personal process."
Harry did not reply, simply straightening up his sitting position a little more.
Dumbledore spoke, "Pushing all that aside, presuming that we did spend a little time on the micro-issues at hand... you say I am diffusing two fundamentally different spells with one?"
Harry nodded.
"And what does this tell you?" Dumbledore asked.
"That I'm missing something."
"Naturally, naturally... but what does it say?"
Harry brushed his hair out of his face, "That I'm missing a connection, some distinction amongst spells that binds them together... I have no idea what it is, though."
"What strikes you as the defining characteristic of those drastic combinations you sent at me, Harry?"
"Well.. they're different, completely different."
"They're not only different, Harry. They were opposites."
Ah thought Hermione... brilliant.
Duality.
"Think on that Harry," and Dumbledore stood up, offering his hand to Harry.
Harry looked up at Dumbledore's outstretched hand, a little bit of surprise playing upon his brow. Even then the oppression he had faced in the Dursley's still made him inherently doubt people's good will towards him.
With a grateful but still sullen expression, he grasped Dumbledore's hand and stood up.
As the darkness began to encroach on Hermione's vision - heralding the beginning of yet another memory - she watched Harry and Dumbledore's forms walking away, Dumbledore's hand reassuringly upon Harry's sagging shoulders.
.
.
* * * The Third Memory * * *
.
.
No exploding spells greeted Hermione this time, but the excited tones of speaking voices - young voices. Immediately her own memories recalled Gryffindor after-quidditch parties and the atmosphere they created. She was in an astonishingly normal house, a hallway to be exact. An unknown family's portraits lined the walls looking at her with smiling faces.
The smell of alcohol assaulted her nose and the low booming bass pervaded the otherwise deserted hallway.
Well, not exactly deserted.
Harry was there, standing extraordinarily stiffly, and undoubtedly nervous. Hermione smiled. Strange how, when facing the most powerful wizard in the world, Harry showed absolutely no anxiety, yet now clearly radiated it.
Harry slowly began to make his way through the house, towards the sounds of the party.
He was wearing normal clothes - he looked good - young, in shape, and the healthy glow of being outside upon his skin - it accentuated his eye color fabulously. But he was woefully underdressed - a pair of worn jeans and a white tee shirt. In an everyday, passerby situation he would have been a cutting, very attractive figure. But now...
Her heart sighed sadly as she saw his attempts of fixing his naturally tousled hair. It was wet and shined with the clear overuse of gelling charms.
It looks fine as it was Harry...
She yearned to grab his hand, gently fix his hair for him, and to go out and get a good pair of clothes for him to enjoy himself in.
Not for the first time, pangs of regret shook her that she had never gotten the chance to do such things with her best friend. He had needed her. And she would have been more than willing to be there for him.
Noises came from the room they had just passed. Hermione jumped slightly but Harry, as tensed up as he was, had completely flattened himself against the wall with his wand out and a near invisible shield shimmering before him.
War did strange things to a man.
The source and reasonings for the sounds became apparent to Hermione and her eyes widened.
Harry canceled his shield and crept silently to peer into the partially closed door of the room.
Don't Harry... don't look...
Inside were a guy and girl not-so-silently writhing underneath bed covers that only half covered their moving bodies. The room was dark, but the moonlight streaming through the slits of the curtains provided enough light to give Harry and Hermione a well defined visual to put with the sounds.
Harry's body froze in shock and he immediately spun away from the doorway, laying flat against the wall breathing extremely heavily. His eyes closed, and when they opened she saw Harry's mouth form silently the word 'Woah.'
Chuckling, Hermione watched as Harry shook his head slightly and a look of silent determination overtook him.
He walked with purpose towards the far doorway which lead to the main area of the party. He slowed a bit when reaching it, and immediately all the nervousness he had had before returned.
He peered around the corner, as did Hermione who had almost had to run to keep up with him.
The first thing Hermione noticed was that these people were not wizards. Far from it. It was a relatively classy party - with drinks and snacks offered in a relatively clean and orderly fashion. The people's garb - creating even further distance from Harry's own apparel then she initially thought - was relatively tasteful and of moderate conservativeness.
But drunk was drunk, no matter if you're muggle or wizard, and the scene before her and in the bedroom was a overwhelming verification.
The room was full of young adults dressed to impress. She herself, a shade within a memory, even felt underdressed. Provocative dancing ensued near the middle and huddling groups of dizzy teenagers and perhaps young 20s adults talked animatedly.
Hermione found herself feeling quite nostalgic.
She suddenly noticed that Harry wasn't looking at everything that was happening, but one place in particular.
One girl, in particular, she amended herself.
A slow smile formed upon her face.
She was - as pretty girls tend to do - talking to a fair sum of guys. Her carefree smile was framed by dark wavy hair tied prettily with a dark red ribbon, and a lilting laugh accented her pleasing form.
Always the brunettes, hmm Harry?
She wasn't a knockout by any means, but she was beautiful in an everyday, hardly-trying sort of fashion. In other words, the dangerous kind. The ones that don't just steal your fantasies, but your heart as well.
She did, Hermione mused, carry herself well. Flirty, no doubt, but not too much to where she over-presented herself.
Hermione suddenly looked back at Harry, who was still staring at her.
He's seen her before.
She hadn't the slightest clue as to what way he had done so, but she knew this to be a fact.
Suddenly the pretty girl broke away from her group and made her way toward where they were standing. Harry immediately tensed and with a moment's hesitation immediately went invisible.
Impressive magic notwithstanding, Hermione smiled sadly as she watched Harry's shyness pervade his obviously ulterior motives. She cast the necessary spell for her to see the invisible Harry and continued watching.
The girl walked by them briskly, fiddling with her hair. She made her way to a nearby room where she took the ribbon out and began fixing her hair in a mirror.
Oh please.
Honestly... she seriously thinks there's something wrong with her hair?
She understood teenage insecurities and self-image issues, she really did. But this was just ridiculous.
What possibly is there to fix? If this girl only knew what she had to go through to look like the girl's apparently "messed up" hair did now...
She continued huffing for a bit but then chuckled when she caught Harry's face. For him, watching this girl play and re-do her hair was extremely sensual, if his awestruck face had anything to say about it.
Someone shouting the girl's name excitedly telling her to come quickly jolted both her and Harry from their visual, and the girl quickly walked from the room.
She had left her ribbon.
Harry suddenly looked away, and backed from the doorway. With a deep breath he once again flickered into visibility.
Sudden hope shot through Hermione.
Come on Harry... you can do it! Just say hi... that's all you would need to do, you've got the perfect excuse now...
Harry walked/ran to the ribbon, picked it up, and once again paused by the threshold. Hermione could basically hear his heartbeat.
His face was in a pained expression - an emotional war was playing within him and it was painfully clear to see.
Suddenly he leaned back on the heels of his feet.
No Harry... go...
Hermione suddenly noticed that it wasn't just a war of his nerves - his eyes were suddenly tainted with decisions that should have never crossed his mind for years, if ever...
With a dramatic and quick flourish, he threw the ribbon upon the floor, flickered out of sight, and made his way quickly from the house. She followed him in hot pursuit, as he literally ran out of the house.
She yelled out for him to stop, to just say hello to the pretty girl, but of course he couldn't hear.
The moment he made his way into a wooded region he apparated - silently - and she went with him.
She appeared in front of a house that again she did not recognize and he walked through the door. Dumbledore was inside the room to the right, writing intently in the same notebook she had seen before.
Harry paused at the parlor room, a big decision being made in his mind. He made an initial movement to walk up the stairs to his left, but paused once more. With careful and slow precision he made his way to the right, eventually taking a seat in front of Dumbledore.
When he looked up, Hermione gasped, for his eyes were red with emotion, nearly on the verge of tears.
Dumbledore slowly put down his notebook, his eyes full of compassion, somber and grave.
"What's wrong, Harry?"
It took a long time before Harry could answer.
"There's been this... " his voice choked, "... girl... that I've noticed lately."
Dumbledore merely nodded, his eyes telling Hermione and Harry that he too, knew this already. But he kept quiet, and was the attentive listener Harry needed.
"During one the stealth exercises you put me through, I've seen this girl... she's really nice from what I can tell..."
Dumbledore nodded in soft encouragement.
"and last night - when practicing the silent walking thing - I had overheard her saying that there was this party she was going to... and that anyone was invited..."
He paused once more.
"I only... I only wanted to say hi, or something... I wanted to.. I dunno..."
Oh Harry...
"Act your age?" Dumbledore offered softly, "Be normal, let down your worries... be... free?"
"Yes." Harry answered, the emotional truth in his simple one word reply heartbreaking to hear.
Silence pervaded.
"I had the chance to talk to her, Albus... I did, it was perfect... I just... I began to think, rationally" he said with distaste and venom, "... and I realized..."
He ran his hands through his hair, afraid to speak more lest he loose complete emotional control.
"Harry..." said Dumbledore, and Hermione felt a terrible feeling come across her, "those stealth exercises weren't for stealth."
Harry looked at Dumbledore with bloodshot eyes, the edges of which were pooling dangerously with tears.
"It was a test."
Harry's face tensed with anger, and he looked away as he stood up in indignation and began pacing around the room.
Dumbledore continued, his face tragically sad, "Harry... there comes a point for a select number of wizards, when their magical and personal achievements and progress call in question the balancing of... not so much priorities or ambitions... but dreams."
Harry stopped pacing, his back to the Dumbledore.
"... where the killing of one dream allow the fulfilling of another."
Harry spun around, yelling "But shouldn't we - shouldn't I have a choice?"
Dumbledore still sat, "Harry... there's always a choice."
"Well then where is it?" yelled Harry.
Dumbledore stared sadly at Harry, seeing much farther than what was in front of him, "Harry... you just had - and made - your choice."
Harry's chest constricted as Dumbledore's words ran over him, the truth offering a cold, shocking feeling that completely numbed him. He brought his hands over his head, and walked around listlessly, as if having no intention whatsoever than moving.
"You don't understand..." mumbled Harry, the realization of truth still washing over him.
Dumbledore smiled sadly, "No Harry... trust me... I understand completely."
They stared at each other - one sitting the other standing, reveling in their sad similarities. Hermione knew she was witnessing one of the greatest moments in recent history, the plain and dark living room offering a strange and off-putting backdrop.
She watched as one solitary tear fell down Harry's stricken face, as he nodded in solemn understanding - and forgiveness.
Dumbledore and Harry's eyes met, and Harry with brimming eyes choked back his body's desire to just cry outright. He began to slowly nod his head, still looking at Dumbledore, taking a deep breath as he opened his mouth.
"I know."
And a small, tear-flecked smile appeared upon his face, giving everything Dumbledore's beseeching looks of apology and forgiveness was asking for and more.
A stream of tears fell down her face as if they were on a returning mecca to her heart.
The now familiar blackness of an incoming memory once more took her from the room.
.
.
* * *The Fourth Memory * * *
.
.
She was in a bedroom.
It was the same house she had just been in - she could tell. Harry was laying in the bed, breathing slightly. Despite her initial thoughts, he was not in fact asleep. The dim moonlight flickered prettily off of his emerald eyes, reflecting the fact that no drowsiness laid within.
There was, however, the remnants of tears upon his pillow.
Her eyes picked out his discarded clothes he had worn that day lying on the floor beside his bed - they were the same as the ones he had worn in the last memory.
This was, she realized, later in the night of the last memory.
Suddenly, the door opened silently and she saw Harry's eyes close shut instantly.
Dumbledore walked through.
She watched as he paced over to Harry's bedside. He reached within his robes and laid something gently upon Harry's nightstand.
Hesitating only a little, he slowly walked back out. She could not catch the look in his eyes, but she did pick out what he had laid on the nightstand.
The dark red ribbon.
Hermione's heart lurched and swelled, closing her eyes as she dreaded watching Harry's reaction to its appearance.
She needn't have worried as once more she was torn to another memory.