DisclaimerI don't own Charmed or Harry Potter, and I make no profit by using the characters. But one of these days… ((returns to assassination of rightful-owner plots)) … No, wait. I don't want to kill Rowling until she finishes the last book… ((puts off assassination plots for a few months))
Chapter 7: Of Crappy Poisons and Occlumency
Whatever Harry had been expecting to find when he opened the curtains, it wasn't Chris sitting up, awake (as though he hadn't slept at all), with his hands pierced to the headboard behind/above him with a dagger, and thick crimson blood streaming slowly down his pallid arms.
Yet that was exactly what he did find.
"Oh my God," Harry gasped. "What happened?"
"Um… could you pull the dagger out?" Chris asked in that same strained voice, and now Harry knew it was from suppressed pain. "I would, but I don't exactly have a free hand."
Harry felt his stomach lurch, but pushed that thought aside. It had to be done, and, if helping Chris meant he'd be more compelled to answer questions, then more the better, because Harry wanted answers.
He leaned forward and, grimacing, grasped the hilt. He barely even noticed Chris brace himself, the movement was so subtle, just before he tore it out.
Chris inhaled sharply through his teeth and held his ripped and bloody hands in front of him, observing the damage as warm crimson splashed down onto his sheets. His expression, in Harry's opinion, was far too neutral to imply that this was an unexpected and unprovoked action against him.
Therefore, slightly suspicious again, Harry glanced around the area Chris was sitting for clues as to what he'd been doing and found an opened book on his bed; it looked like a book of historic battle strategies, judging from the names and diagrams. (Had he really been reading that? Why?) And on top of that, a curled piece of parchment was perched. He frowned, trying to make out what it said without opening it.
Chris, who had obviously noticed where Harry's attention had been drawn, peered in that direction, too, and was likewise perplexed. He leaned forward and picked the note up, careful to keep the flow of blood off it. Harry read over his shoulder.
Welcome to Hogwarts, Christopher.
Because I'm in a generous mood, I'll make you a deal: you leave and I won't tell my father you were ever here. If you stay, that information may just slip… all the way to the Dark Lord's ears.
With Love and Consideration,
Draco Malfoy
PS, How do you like my cute little wand, now?
Harry stared, beginning to read it over, while Chris rolled his eyes and made a noise similar to a growl and crumpled it up before Harry could finish.
Harry continued to stare, but now at Chris, and finally demanded, "What was that about? What the bloody hell happened?"
"Shh!" Chris scolded half-heartedly, making a vague gesture towards their sleeping classmates as he picked a piece of paper out of the bag he still hadn't unpacked.
He scribbled a short reply on it, but Harry couldn't read his handwriting, it was so sloppy from torn hand muscles and blood splotches. When he finished, he chanted something under his breath that sounded a lot like… a poem. The paper vanished in a whiff of smoke and Harry stared at him more demandingly than ever.
"Feel like explaining any of that to me, now?" he asked dryly, crossing his arms.
"Well, Draco Malfoy's an ass," Chris commented as if that explained everything.
"You're saying he got into our dorm room and knifed you to the headboard without waking any of us up?" Harry shot back skeptically, tapping his foot slowly and feeling every part the calmly unimpressed professor. Maybe he had learned something from McGonagall after all.
"No," Chris finally replied seriously as he studied his hands again, experimentally testing the fingers and wincing. "He conjured the dagger and did some other spell that raised my hands to the headboard, and then the knife went in. I never would have guessed he could perform magic like that from such a distance," he added, more to himself than to Harry.
"So that's what the PS was about," Harry mused to himself. Malfoy hadn't been in the Gryffindor house at all; he had just learned how to perform long-distance magic over the summer.
Seeing as Chris didn't seem surprised or offended to hear that he'd been reading over his shoulder, Harry took advantage of that mood and pressed, "So why would Voldemort be interested to know that you're here? What does he have to do with you?"
"Voldemort is also an ass and likes to think he knows everything," Chris responded dismissively, then asked, "Where's the infirmary?"
"You didn't answer my question," Harry stated bluntly.
"I know," Chris returned just as bluntly. When Harry continued to give him a rather pointed glare, Chris rolled his eyes and said, "You'll either have to forgive me for not spilling my life's story to people I've just met, or you'll have to make an enemy of me, because I'm not changing that policy, now. Please just tell me where the infirmary is."
Harry considered him for a moment. Could he really blame the guy for wanting to keep strangers out of his business? Especially when that business involved history with the Dark Lord himself…? Harry briefly wished he had that luxury, but in the end, decided he couldn't hold it against someone that actually did.
He sighed and walked back over to his bed, digging his shoes out from under his bed, and he saw Chris start to do the same, taking the hint. Harry pulled a dressing gown over his nightshirt and Chris put on a knee-length jacket over his pajamas, grimacing faintly as blood streaked the sleeves.
Harry pocketed his wand and led the way out of the dormitory.
XXxxXXxxXXxxXXxxXX
Chris followed, wishing he could just call his whitelighter to heal him and avoid all the fuss he knew this would make. However, he had remembered the anti-teleportation wards all around the school grounds and managed to restrain himself from yelling Harry's dead mother's name at the ceiling.
Harry's mother… Should he tell Lily that he was now going to school with her son? What would that change? She would definitely tell her husband, James, and there was no way Chris would have a moment of peace with either of them afterwards without them begging to know every detail of everything that happened… everyday… from then onward…
What if they wanted to warn Harry to stay away from him? What if they thought he was too much trouble… that he'd only get Harry hurt in the crossfire between him and his numerous enemies?
What if… what if he told Harry? Would Harry want to see them? He had only been a year old when they were killed… Of course he'd want to see them, and that was strictly forbidden by the Elders. Did Chris dare cross the Elders again? After what they did to Prue… What if that happened to Harry or Lily or, heck, even James? As much as Chris pretended he didn't like those people (okay, so he wasn't too bad to Harry), he didn't know if he could survive seeing any of them hurt…
Feeling a twist of guilt knot his heart, Chris consciously buried the thoughts. He'd just hold his tongue for the present. No one needed the drama of a family reunion at the moment. Not when he was so busy worrying about the Death Eaters' children at Hogwarts. His threat to Draco wouldn't keep them all at bay for long. He doubted if he even had days before one of them spilled to their parents, and in turn, Voldemort. …Possibly even, in turn, to Chris' dear brother. More than possibly. If Chris knew Wyatt, then Wyatt was extending all of his resources to find his rogue little brother… he'd know the instant Voldemort did, if not sooner.
Chris absentmindedly raked his fingers through his hair, feeling stress closing in on him from all angles like a claustrophobic person locked in a closet. How long would it be until he was fighting for his life against his own brother, again? How long until he was fighting for these kids' lives when the demons and Death Eaters inevitably struck?
Then Chris swore violently when he realized what he was doing. Harry turned to stare, puzzled.
"I just got blood all in my hair," Chris said flatly, frowning at the white locks now turned blotchy crimson-scarlet. He grinned suddenly. "I wonder if blood stains hair like it does clothes…?"
Harry apparently tried to stop himself from laughing, but failed. "Are you insane? You want to dye your hair red with your own blood?"
"Not all my hair," said Chris defensively, but he was still smiling, amused, as he surveyed the effects on his white hair. "Just this white part. I tried regular dye, potion dye, and even glamour, but nothing's worked…"
"You don't like it?" Harry's grin slid off his face as he watched Chris curiously.
Chris shook his head slightly. "Makes me immediately stick out in a crowd, makes people label me as a freak with a traumatizing life, and makes me very identifiable-- and accountable-- for everything I do. I hate it."
Harry nodded understandingly, and asked cautiously, "So how did it happen?"
Chris smirked and asked, "Did you miss the 'traumatizing' part in 'traumatizing life'?"
Harry glared at him, but the anger-effect was lost on Chris by the light-hearted twinkle in the Harry's eyes. So he hadn't really expected a serious answer…
This kid catches on fast, Chris mused and quietly shook his head, grinning. Maybe Harry wouldn't be as caught up on interrogating him as his parents were. However, something told Chris not to get his hopes up.
They made their way through the dark corridors by the light of Harry's wand, and within a few minutes were standing outside of a heavy oak door, brighter light spilling through the crack under the door.
"That's strange," Harry murmured, as he reached for the door handle. "Madam Pomfrey usually goes to bed around eleven…"
He swung the door open and they came face-to-face with two wide-awake adults-- a sturdy nurse and a deranged Headmaster.
Dumbledore looked up pleasantly from his conversation with Madam Pomfrey and stated, "I see I am not the only one who thought it was a nice night for a stroll to the hospital wing. --Mr. Halliwell, if you could go ahead and let Madam Pomfrey see you hands. She needs to check for any curses before she can mend them," he added, but unnecessarily, as the nurse was already bustling over Chris, pulling his hands out and twisting his arms to suit her convenience. Chris chose to ignore the bursts of pain that came from the odd positions she arranged his arms and wrists in.
"No curses, but there was a bit of poorly concocted Kninnik poison on the tip," Chris commented, and wasn't surprised when the nurse merely ignored his 'opinion' and continued muttering spells checking for curses. However, Dumbledore looked intrigued.
"You are not feeling the effects?"
Chris shrugged, which was harder to do than it seemed, with that woman pulling and turning his arms all over the place. "Like I said, it was really poorly made. I only recognized it by the color of the residue coupled with a bit of dizziness that wasn't just the blood loss."
"I see," Dumbledore looked pensive. "At any rate, I shall fetch the antidote, in case the symptoms are only delayed."
"You keep a stock of Kninnik antidote at this place?" Chris asked incredulously. "Dear God, how often do you have students throwing this stuff at each other?!"
"Do you have any idea how the particular student that did this to you got a hold of your blood to make the poison?" Dumbledore queried instead of answering, and Chris got the distinct impression he knew exactly which student had done this.
Chris gave him a calculating look, wondering how on earth this man knew so much, then replied tonelessly, "It wouldn't have been hard."
He took a slight bit of comfort in the knowledge that Dumbledore surely didn't know what he meant by that. And the headmaster didn't, he couldn't have, but he didn't ask. He just gave Chris a thoughtful look and disappeared into the back of the infirmary, sifting through the antidote cabinet.
"Okay, what is this nick-it stuff?" Harry asked, looking as though he had been about to burst if he held the question in any longer.
"Kninnik," Chris corrected absently, stumbling then glaring at the nurse as she had tried to twist his arm rather forcefully in a way that it just would not go. "It's a poison that is supposed to disorient the victim-- permanently. Like, the room is spinning at a hundred miles per hour and the floor is like a boat in rough seas kind of disorient. The victim usually dies of starvation in their bed because they're too dizzy to stand up and go eat, and too dizzy to hold a fork, even if they could get up. A good potion of the stuff is irreversible, but luckily, not a lot of people are that good at making blood potions."
"Er… blood potions?" Harry asked, and Chris empathically felt his embarrassment at knowing so little of what Chris was talking about.
"They're potions make using the intended victim's blood," Chris explained without mocking his ignorance, as he probably would have done to any one of his friends at the Resistance. "Whereas some potions are blessed by blood, others are cursed-- of sorts," he added when Madam Pomfrey made as though to cluck about being right about the curse part. He rolled his eyes at her look of indignation and Harry asked, completely bewildered,
"So how does the potion know if it's being blessed or cursed? Does that change the potion or anything?"
"Well, usually it's called a blessed potion if it's being used on a being of evil to destroy them, or if it's being used to protect someone or something. In that case, it isn't considered dark magic. But when a potion is using blood to hurt a person working for good, it's cursed, and it's dark magic, which usually condemns both souls to eternal hell after they die. The blessed and cursed part is really just point-of-view."
"What?! You and Malfoy are both going to Hell, now?" Harry gasped, horror-struck, but Chris rolled his eyes. Again.
"How many times have I said the potion was crap? It's only the good brewers that can achieve that particular side effect." The last words almost hurt coming out, especially when Chris realized how cold and unfeeling they sounded.
"Mr. Halliwell, I would appreciate it if you stop putting such notions into Mr. Potter's head," Madam Pomfrey snapped, seemingly done turning and yanking Chris' arms and wrists. She tapped his hands with her wand, muttering something in Latin, and the skin slowly began knitting itself back together. "Especially at this hour of night."
"What?" Chris smirked, despite the fact that he was inwardly feeling cold for some reason. "Are you afraid he'll have nightmares or something?"
He touched his hands and winced. They were incredibly tender and sore, but he kept it to himself, of course.
"Not everyone has such nonchalance about the idea of eternal damnation," she said rather coldly, and Chris felt the words stab him like a splinter in the heart.
Before he could stop himself, he gave her a look that could only be described as eerie, and muttered, "Nonchalance. Right."
She blinked, clearly surprised at that sardonic tone, but before either she or Harry could comment on it, Dumbledore was back and pressing a vial into Chris' hands.
Chris looked at it briefly before undoing the top and downing its contents.
"Mr. Halliwell, Mr. Potter, I hope you both have pleasant dreams," Dumbledore said by way of dismissing them as he took the vial back.
They got the point and gave their 'goodnights' then turned to leave.
"And Mr. Halliwell," Dumbledore added as he and Harry reached the door. Chris turned and arched an eyebrow expectantly. "Tea in my office tomorrow night-- or tonight, rather-- at eight."
Chris just stared at him for a moment before turning and leaving. A bewildered Harry hesitated in the doorway before following in his wake.
"Chris, what's your problem with Dumbledore?" Harry inquired as soon as they were out of sight of the infirmary. Apparently having been denied the first time he'd asked didn't stop him from asking again.
Chris shook his head distractedly. "He's just a manipulative old bat. Besides that, nothing, really."
"…Manipulative… old… bat…" Harry repeated shortly, tasting the words on his tongue. No. They didn't go together in accordance to Dumbledore. Not at all. "Why?"
"Many reasons on many levels."
"Are you trying to be infuriately vague?"
"Oh, believe me, I really am," Chris grinned.
Harry was the one to roll his eyes this time. Then he remembered something else he was going to ask. "How do you know so much about blood potions? So much about potions?"
"Dude, I grew up with the Charmed Ones," Chris said with a slight snort. "They were always brewing some potion or blessing some other potion… After sixteen years, a kid starts to catch on. Especially when the aforementioned Charmed Ones are kidnapped and its up to their young children to save them."
Harry blinked, processing that information. "Sounds exciting," he remarked honestly. It sounded much better than living with the Dursleys.
Chris shrugged. "Well, it… isn't… boring… but I don't know if exciting is the word I'd use. Kinda gets old… really old… after a while… you know… years."
Harry nodded. "Yeah… I could see that. You know, Hogwarts is never a boring place, either."
Chris smirked again. "You know, I was actually starting to get that impression, myself."
Harry snorted, and they continued walking in silence for a while. They were almost to the portrait of the slumbering Fat Lady when a thought randomly struck Chris. Something he had been going to ask but he'd forgotten.
"Hey, Harry, what made you wake up? You practically fell out of your bed."
Harry instantly stopped, swearing vehemently. At Chris' confused look, he elaborated, "Um… vision… I was going to ask Dumbledore about it but I forgot about it with the whole 'you' thing going on…"
"Vision?"
"Vision…"
Harry took another moment to swear before turning around and heading back the way they'd come. Chris frowned at the Potter's eloquence then jogged to catch up with him.
"You have visions?"
"Erm… more like dreams… of things that are already happening," Harry explained choppily, clearly not liking how the tables had turned on him. Chris couldn't help the smug smirk that fleeted across his lips. "And they're only tied to one person… Voldemort."
Needless to say, Chris was serious again. "You saw what Voldemort's doing now?"
"Well, I saw what he was doing before I woke up, oh, say, twenty minutes ago."
"Jee, I'm sorry for wasting time. I'll have to have a word with Draco about his timing," came the sarcastic response accompanied by an eye roll.
"Draco?" Harry repeated, clearly disgusted. "You two really do have history, then, don't you?"
"Did you think I was lying when I said I did?" Chris shot back, only mildly offended. He got that kind of display of trust too often to really care, anymore. It didn't really matter, anyway.
"Look, right now I couldn't care less about Draco Malfoy. I just need to tell Dumbledore about the vision. He'll know what to do."
Chris suppressed his skepticism at this, and just continued striding quickly to keep up with the black haired youth.
They barged back into the infirmary only seconds later to find that Dumbledore was already waiting for them. Again. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have gone to bed.
"Boys. What can I do for you, now?" he asked lightly, inviting them to sit in the other two chairs next to the empty hospital bed he sat at the foot of.
"Sir, I just remembered," Harry began, slightly breathless from his quick walking pace. "I had another vision. About Voldemort."
Though Dumbledore didn't look surprised, he appeared to be listening more seriously. "Indeed?"
"Yes, sir. He was talking to someone; I didn't catch a name, but Voldemort was acting like he was a servant to this man. And the man… Voldemort didn't like him, but he was afraid of him, so he was calling him 'my lord' and kneeling and everything. The other man was furious, he was looking for… for someone. I don't remember who, but that's not important. Sir, there's someone more powerful-- more evil than Voldemort, and they're working together."
Dumbledore and Chris shared a look, and Chris felt his heart noticeably drop as the impact of Harry's words sank in.
"Do you think it is him?" Dumbledore asked quietly, but clearly.
Chris nodded, not meeting his gaze. "There's not anyone else, unless Daeku developed a megalomania-complex. Harry, do you happen to remember what the man looked like?"
Harry frowned, concentrating on the remnants of the memory. It was slowly starting to slip away, like ashes through fingers. But… "Blonde, I think. And… and cold, very cold blue eyes."
Chris nodded, still not looking at Dumbledore or Harry. "Yeah, that's him."
"Who?" Harry asked as Dumbledore sighed softly and Chris found the pattern on the floor more intriguing than ever.
"The Source," answered Dumbledore, looking back to him.
Harry frowned. "The source? Of what?"
"Of all evil," muttered Chris, leaning back in his chair in a subconscious move of weariness, but still refusing to meet their eyes. The Source was looking for him (there was no doubt in his mind that it was him), and he was so pissed Voldemort was back to kneeling and flattery in order to keep him pacified… to an extent. Chris' brother was never wholly pacified.
"And you don't remember who the Source was looking for?" Dumbledore questioned, studying Harry.
Harry raked his brain even harder for every detail of that memory. Slightly frustrated with himself for not remembering more, he replied slowly, "Someone… he thought… belonged to him in some way. He used 'my'. Like… I dunno. My enemy, my friend, my slave… I just… I don't remember."
Someone he thought belonged to him, Chris repeated in his thoughts and suppressed a mirthless snort. Harry had no idea how right he was.
Chris felt Dumbledore's eyes turn back on him, so he forced himself to look up and meet the silently querying gaze.
He's looking for you? Dumbledore's unasked question hung in the air between them.
Chris' expression very clearly said, Duh.
Dumbledore nodded briefly, taking that into consideration as he contemplated his steepled fingers. The two boys waited silently for his next move.
At length, he began, "Harry… I would like you to resume your Occlumency lessons--"
"Professor!" Harry instantly blurted, aghast, before he could stop himself, and Chris asked, confused,
"Occlumency?"
There was a pause as Dumbledore let the beginning of this talk settle, then answered Chris' question in quite untroubled tones, "Occlumency is the defense of the mind against external penetration. It is a rather obscure branch of magic usually not taught in this school, but Professor Snape gave Harry private lessons last year when Harry made frequent wanderings into Lord Voldemort's mind, and vice versa."
"Snape?" Chris repeated flatly, seemingly more concerned about that part of the explanation than the fact that Harry and the Dark Lord shared an uncontrolled mental connection.
"Yes, Professor Snape," Dumbledore confirmed, and there was a slightly… expectant look in his eyes, now, as he watched Chris.
Chris noticed, and bright green eyes narrowed. "You're not seriously asking what I think you're asking," he stated, cold once more.
Harry looked between them, obviously lost. "What?"
"Christopher…" Dumbledore started, speaking to Harry while keeping Chris in his peripheral vision, "as I have neglected to mention thus far, is quite a superb Occlumens, himself. Perhaps, if you absolutely refuse to return to Professor Snape… and as Christopher does not approve of that, either…"
Chris was all out glaring, at this point, and Harry just looked baffled. "Even if I did agree to it, I don't know how to teach what I can do."
"Snape used Legilimency and told me to clear my mind. That's all," Harry offered, still looking as though he hadn't grasped all of what was going on, but he was catching up.
"Legilimency?" Chris repeated, arching an eyebrow. The word sounded familiar… something like one of the spells Voldemort had uttered, trying to knock down the walls around Chris' mind. Legilimens…
"The ability to extract feelings and memories from another person's mind," Dumbledore inserted, knowingly or unknowingly quoting Snape's definition. "I believe you possess two powers that could be combined to work towards such ends?"
Chris gave him a calculating look and asked, "How do you know about my power over memories?" It was obvious how Dumbledore knew about his empath power, but Chris couldn't recall mentioning or using his ability to observe others' memories.
Dumbledore just smiled. Chris glared yet again. "Even so," Chris stressed this line again, "I don't want to get inside Harry's head. Do you have any idea how much an invasion of privacy that is?" He paused to scoff, then finished cynically, "No, wait. Never mind. Look who I'm talking to."
"I thought we discussed this," Dumbledore returned jadedly, lacing his fingers together in his lap.
"You blamed your lack of control over your curiosity on senility and changed the subject," Chris snapped icily. "What a real talk that was."
"Then we shall finish discussing it later today over tea," Dumbledore replied and neither of the boys missed the note of severity in his voice.
Chris arched an eyebrow, but let the subject rest for the present.
"So, in regards to Harry's teacher…?" Dumbledore let the sentence hang, and Chris squirmed uncomfortably.
He could not describe how much he hated people forcing their way into his mind and raping him of that privacy inside his own head… He didn't think he could do that to another person; not when he understood exactly how much it would affect them…
But Snape.
How could he let Harry go back into that man's control, giving him the right to mess around inside Harry's mind? Putting him in that position of power?
Chris shuddered. He couldn't imagine how he'd be able to live with himself, knowing that he'd had the power to spare someone (it didn't matter who) from that man, but had chosen not to because he was too respectful for their privacy. Snape damn sure wasn't going to give Harry that respect. He'd probably drag up the worst possible memories just for the fun of it…
Before he really knew what he was doing, Chris muttered, "Fine. If Harry'd rather it me be poking around in his head than Snape… I'll try and teach him what I can."
A/N: Since I know this didn't have the most drama in it, here's a little preview of what I have planned within the next few chapters: Dementors, ENCOUNTER WITH WYATT, Snape's first class with Chris, and oviously Harry and Chris' first Occlumency lesson. As you can probably tell, I'm going to have a lot of fun with the Wyatt and Chris scene.
Review!