Hello again, ladies, gentlemen, and sentient disgusting-mass-of-rotting-flesh-and-crudely-sewn-together-cadavers. Well, here's the next chapter… in other news, I am now attempting to become ambidextrous. O: Yes, I am going to be manipulating the mouse (among other things) with my left hand. Ph33r.
Also, sorry about my 'April Fool's' Chapter Ten… it was 6 AM, I was sleep-deprived, and I couldn't resist. Yes, it was an April Fool's Day prank. Geez… For those of you who saw my little joke for what it was, you get a cookie.
URGENT: Relative to its hits, the fake chapter got the most reviews out of any... Scratch that, the most reviews out of any period. O.o WHAT THE FUCK?
A Nameless Heretic Production
Crimson
Chapter Ten: Master O
Harry felt an overwhelming sense of vertigo as the floor disappeared, and he fell backwards. The walls of the room were torn apart in a maelstrom of colors and light, like a flock of birds hastily fleeing from a disturbed pond. There was no wind going through his hair or into his ears… he was just falling. He tried to breath, and found that he couldn't.
He twitched in mid-fall.
The cry of pain died in his throat as he felt a splitting headache dominate his skull, as if his forehead were being torn open by a drunken butcher. His eyes widened considerably, and his back arched, as a myriad of images assaulted his mind. Harry saw flashes of… something… He smelled, which should have been impossible due to the lack of any air, blood… he smelled smoke… he smelled death… he smelled rage…
'Can you smell rage?'
There was a flash of imagery; flames; black, furious, all-consuming flames that could only emanate from the very core of the underworld.
A battle cry of a thousand warriors roared in his ear, screaming for blood and victory… victory, or death.
Two swords clanged against each other, sending angry sparks into the air around them.
A hail of arrows flew into the air, blotting out the sun, and formed a barrage falling down upon a horde of warriors, shields raised in defense.
Opposing battalions of epic proportions charged at each other.
A wolf leapt at its prey, sinking his fangs into its neck, and his brethren joined in the assault.
A serpent struck his own prey.
A man ducked below the swing of a sword, and drove his own weapon into his opponent's chest.
'What's going on?'
Violet light pulsed from a rod, and shot out at unfathomable speeds towards a massive beast.
A sword carved into a neck.
'Why am I seeing this?'
Blood splattered across a rock.
'What does it mean?'
Wind tore through an armored behemoth, rendering him only bloody dust to be blown away by the gales.
'WHAT'S GOING ON?'
"Ah, so you've finally opened it."
Harry opened his eyes, feeling exhausted. He weakly raised his head, and was greeted by an old man sitting in front of him, backside resting upon his trunk. The man was indeed ancient, certainly enough to give even Dumbledore a run for his money. His gray beard was so long it touched the ground as he sat, and he held himself with a hunched-over posture and leant on a twisted walking-stick that could've been a dead branch or a piece of drift wood. His eyes, if they were there, were not visible beneath the strip of black cloth over his marred and wrinkled face. He was dressed simply; in old-fashioned robes that looked liked they'd withstood a fair share of the elements.
"What's the matter? Has that little encounter robbed you of your ability to speak?" he asked good naturedly, indulging in a chuckle. Harry sat up straight, rubbing his head in pain.
"What was that?" asked Harry in a daze. He held his hand in front of his face, trying to count how many fingers he had… they were so blurry.
"Do take off those blasted things, child," said the man. "You won't be needing them anymore." He raised his hand, and Harry's glasses flew into his awaiting palm. Harry's eyes widened. The man chuckled. "Don't look so shocked, child. Such simple acts can be done easily without external aide." He pointed at Harry's wand, which was being tightly clutched. "I must say, that is quite an instrument you have there; what make is it? Vulcan?"
Harry shook his head. "Ollivander's…" he said, starting to wake up a bit more.
"Ah… I'd just recently heard of him, but I've never seen his work in person. I suppose it comes as no surprise; I've been trapped in that blasted book for who knows how long," said the man, stroking his beard. He looked over Harry appraisingly, as if he were analyzing a scientific specimen.
Harry stood and twisted his head from side to side, working out kinks in his neck. He froze, stiffened, and then pointed his wand readily at the old man. The old man looked amused, and smiled.
"How could you even see my wand? Or know that I would wake up?" he asked. "And what in the bloody hell happened to me?"
"There are more ways to see than with your eyes, Mr. Potter," said the old man mysteriously, his voice a mere whisper. He smiled congenially. "As for what 'in the bloody hell happened' to you… Well, just sit down for but a moment and I will explain." Whatever the old man was going to say would have to wait, for at that moment a loud bashing sound was heard.
Harry's head jerked towards the door to the room. It had to be Bellatrix… she must've heard the commotion and come running. He heard the muffled shriek of an incantation, and a part of the door exploded. Bellatrix peaked inside, a mad grin on her scorched face.
"Heeeere's BELLA!" she yelled with glee.
'…I wonder if she realizes she just imitated a muggle movie…' Harry wondered idly. He shook his head, and raised his wand in her direction.
"Bye now!" Harry sent a banishing charm her way, and she flew backwards and into the opposite wall. As she was knocked unconscious for the moment, Harry turned back to the old man.
All that was there was his trunk.
Harry grabbed his trunk, shrunk it, and exited the room in a rush.
"Damn," spat Harry. Bellatrix stood up, her wand in hand.
"You can't get rid of me that easily, Potter," she said with equal venom. "Try and banish this!" Bellatrix sent a shot of pink light at Harry, who ducked beneath it. The wall behind him was struck, and quickly began melting. The amorphous goop started leaking on the floor, even burning through it.
Harry countered with a severing curse at her ankles, but she managed to jump above the invisible strip of magic. The wall behind her received a deep gash. Bellatrix fired a stunner, and then surrounded herself with levitating items from throughout the hallway. Harry blocked the stunner with little difficulty, and then sent a barrage of minor hexes and jinxes at the de facto shield that was surrounding Bellatrix.
"Don't wear yourself out too much now, boy," she said. She grinned. "I'm feeling better than ever this particular morning… ripping you to shreds would be child's play. Ha! Child's play, playing with a child!" She cackled at her own joke.
Harry snorted, and conjured a tongue of flames, sending the stream of destructive magic at Bellatrix's wall. The more flammable objects, such as books and wooden stools, immediately lit up like torches. Bellatrix was now encased in a wall of fire.
Panting, Harry ran down the hallway with his arms hung limply at his sides. Whatever had happened earlier – which would be explained by the old man later, Harry knew that the old blighter knew – had royally wiped him out. Harry needed to conserve his magic… if he used too much, he'd probably slip into a coma as his body over-compensated to replenish his magical reserves. His body was using what nutrients he had consumed to not only feed his starving and growing body, but to also refuel his magic.
'Bloody muggles don't know how good they've got it,' Harry thought. Their bodies only had to worry about one thing to do with what nutrients they consumed. Statistically, muggles could live a week longer than the average wizard without food. Wizards eventually fell into a coma and their bodies were consumed to make magical power. That was why wizards ate such hardy and large meals… except for the French. They were weird.
After going down two flights of stairs, through five rooms and three corridors, and up three flights of stairs, all the while leaving behind obstacles in the form of fallen furniture, puddles of conjured oil, and magic trip lines, Harry finally found haven in what appeared to be an attic. The room was, of course, filled with dust, and everything was covered in off-white sheets. Harry closed the door, locked it, and even pushed several pieces of furniture in front of it before relaxing.
"My-my, a very good show you put on there, child," said a cheery voice. Harry sprung to his feet and fired a hex in the direction of the voice.
The old man had appeared again, and chuckled as the jet of light stopped in mid-air before him. He tapped it with a finger, and the light dissipated into oblivion. He stroked his beard, smiling in amusement.
"If it were anyone but you," he said, "I'd be insulted that they thought such a simple spell could overwhelm me. Really, a wave of swirling kinetic energy? Useful in some situations, I suppose, but I'd hardly call that a spell for a real battle."
Harry's eyes narrowed and he kept his wand steadily trained on the mysterious old man.
"Who are you?" he asked. The old man smiled kindly, scratching the side of his face.
"Interesting question…" he murmured. "Who am I? I suppose you may call me Master O." The elderly wizard (Harry assumed he was a wizard) stood and took a bow. Harry paid no notice, and kept his steely gaze locked on the old man, incantations already forming in his mind.
The man quirked an eyebrow and his smile deepened.
"A puncturing charm to my lungs, eh? Always at the ready, I see," he said to Harry, as if he were grading him for a school project. Harry gritted his teeth. Despite his months of practicing occlumency, this man before him had managed to infiltrate his mind with no difficulty whatsoever. Harry hadn't even felt his presence. Master O smiled benignly. "Oh, don't worry, child. You have mounds of potential… you just need a bit of a guiding hand to help refine that potential."
Harry's eyes locked with Master O's.
"…what are you proposing?" Harry asked, with his voice steely and clear. The man sat back, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "What, do you want me to your apprentice or something?" The man chuckled.
"I suppose you could call it that," said the man. "Ultimately, you would be teaching yourself… I would just be teaching you basics, although nowadays I doubt they could be considered 'basic' at all, and you would build off of that. Magic tends to work more efficiently when a person uses spells that they make themselves."
Harry's arm was getting tired, but he didn't lower it.
"…what are you, anyway? Where did you come from?" asked Harry. Master O's smile never wavered.
"I am a magical construct modeled after a long deceased wizard who made me and sealed me within a magical book so that I may teach future generations, provided they can get me out in the first place," he explained in one breath. "Your first test was the eye… had you not been worthy of teaching, the eye would have killed you. I would have come out of the book sooner, but Bellatrix's interference lead to complications. As for how I actually came into being, the book is like an anchor for me to this world, and I am projecting myself out from the book."
Harry blinked at the blunt, skin-and-bones explanation.
"Oh, okay."
(AN: That was supposed to be about it for this chapter… AND THAT IS COMPLETELY UNNACCAPTABLE. I want to break at least 60kilotbites with this chapter, like usual. I shall now use the remainder of this chapter for something that is severely lacking: Character development/screen time for Hermione, Su, Neville, and Malfoy)
0o0o0o0o0o0
It was a fine day for Neville Longbottom, The Boy Who Lived, Epitome of Gryffindor, and Champion of the Wizarding World. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, he was breezing through his classes thanks to his Grandfather's training over the summer as well as past few years, and best of all…
Harry Potter was not there.
Harry Potter, Slytherin, and bitter enemy (In Neville's eyes, at least), was not at Hogwarts. Now, Neville didn't hate Harry… he just didn't like him. Hatred was dark and evil, and Neville wasn't, so he really didn't hate anything. He just disliked some thing very, very, much; namely darkness, evil, and Slytherins… Harry Potter, under Neville's impression, happened to fit into all of these categories.
Neville had meant what he said to Hermione not too long ago; Potter was nothing but trouble. True, he didn't actually believe him to be a weakling. In fact, the young celebrity saw Potter as one of his greatest rivals. What was most frustrating was that Neville knew almost nothing of his powers. Sure, he saw Potter's handiwork on the troll, but that really wasn't much. Just staring into the eyes of the boy told Neville that there was more going on in that wild-haired head than most people realized…
"What does he want?" Neville murmured to himself as he jogged around the grounds. Ever since he was old enough, Dumbledore had had Neville go through a strict workout and training routine… In the mornings he would run and work out, the go to regular school, and then go through personal training with Dumbledore or one of the professors if he was not available.
'Is he going to be like Voldemort?' thought Neville. His face hardened, and he began jogging at a stronger pace. 'If so… I'll be there to stop him in his tracks. I won't let there be anymore children like me if I can help it.' His resolve strengthened and now like steal, Neville continued jogging with a newfound vigor. Nothing would stand in his way of serving the Wizarding World's people and defending it…
Nothing… not even his own stinking fear of failure.
After finishing his run, and running a cleansing Charm over himself, Neville went off to the great hall for some breakfast. He put on his robes which he had hidden just outside the castle, and entered the Great Hall looking as fresh as a daisy. Seeing Ron at the Gryffindor Table waving him over, Neville walked along the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor table before taking a seat, not too far from a certain sleeping Ravenclaw.
"Erm… Su?" asked Hermione. She poked the half-Chinese/Scottish girl with her wand, attempting to draw out a reaction from the lethargic witch. Su didn't budge, snoring into her morning bacon. After their friendship had deepened, Hermione had begun eating with Su at the Ravenclaw table. This proved to be a blessing (when Su wasn't in the situation she was in right now… unfortunately that happened a lot), as the Gryffindors dislike Hermione for the most part, and Neville and Ron always looked at her as if she were infected with a disease or something.
"Wuzzat?" asked Su sleepily, raising her head. Hermione sprayed a jet of water in her face, waking the girl up further. "I'm up, I'm up!" she cried.
"Honestly, Su, when did you go to sleep last night?" asked the Gryffindor 'Black Sheep' exasperatedly. Su sat up straighter, turning his stiff neck, popping her back, and stretching.
"Umm… when I sat down to eat my bacon," she said sheepishly, blushing. "I was up all night practicing spells…" She ate a piece of bacon, pointedly ignoring Hermione's shocked, and somewhat jealous, look. "…what?"
"You… y-you," sputtered Hermione. "Bloody hell, you're just like Harry!"
Two significant things just happened, ladies and gentlemen. One, Hermione said a curse word, and two, she just compared the rather meek and timid Su Li to Harry Potter. A wizard who was very powerful for his age, admired by few (in secret, mostly), and scorned by many.
"I am?" asked Su. "What do you mean?" Hermione sighed, sipping her pumpkin juice.
"Well, the both of you don't talk much and you both work ours into the night practicing magic… I just study and go to sleep," said Hermione in a deflated manner. She was oblivious as Su ravenously began consumption of any food in reach of her swift hands. After finishing, Su gave a nearly imperceptible belch (she just barely heard it), and gave a sigh of content.
"If it bothers you so much, we could study together at night," suggested Su tentatively, fingering her silver wear. "There's an empty classroom on the Second Floor that we can both get too," she continued. Hermione's eyes widened, and she shook her head furiously.
"No, we can't be caught out of bounds at night!" she practically screeched. Luckily, nobody paid enough attention to hear her. "And I can't practice magic in the tower… I'd wake Lavender and Parvati up, and they're nasty when they don't get their 'beauty' sleep. Practicing in the common room… I imagine Longbottom would notice and tell me to stop. He's practically a prefect, all the privileges he gets from Dumbledore!" she exclaimed.
It was true. Along with Neville's fame, he also got all the powers of any prefect concerning the school. Hermione reasoned that Dumbledore trusted his pseudo-grandson enough to use such power wisely and observe responsibility… and for the most part, he did. Key-word: Most part. He'd sometimes take off points or give detention for the littlest things, and kept Gryffindor such a tight-ship that many of them were considering requesting a house switch.
The bushy-haired girl looked down at her companion, who had once again fallen asleep.
Hermione sighed, checking her watch. Her Charm's class would be starting in seven minutes, and Su would have to get to Potions. Hermione tapped her wand on Su's head, sending a pulse of cold through her skin. The girl sat bolt-upright at the stimulation.
"Oh…" she said, blinking the tiredness from her eyes. "Thanks… bye for now." Su, still half-asleep somewhat, grabbed her back and made her way down to the dungeons, her feet knowing where to go by sheer habit.
As she continued walking, stilling a strange twilight between dream and reality, Su bumped into a large, squishy wall. Bouncing backwards, Su looked up and gulped.
He was a massive Slytherin boy… Goyle, if she remembered his name correctly. His fellow crony, Crabbe, and his leader Malfoy joined him in staring down at Su in distaste. Well… she thought it was distaste on the former two. It could've been constipation, but she was pretty sure it was distaste.
"What do we have here?" asked Malfoy rhetorically. "A little mudblood Ravenclaw, bumping into my friends, and no apology? How… unbecoming," he said, a pointy smirk forming on his face. He pulled out his wand.
Su became very aware of the fact that she was alone in this corridor, save for the less than enjoyable company of three certain Slytherin boys.
"I think we should teach her some manners, don't you agree?" he asked nonchalantly. Crabbe and Goyle nodded dumbly, pulling out their own wands. Su gulped, trying to retreat, but found that the three of them had backed her against a wall.
Panicking a little, Su grabbed her own wand and held it in front of her, shaking like an earthquake was running through her.
"Leave me alone! I'm sorry!" she said, her voice only just barely trembling. Malfoy smiled, and Su thought for a moment that he'd let her go and just be an ass about it… she was wrong.
"You still need to learn your place, mutt," said Malfoy. He waved his wand, saying, "Petrificus Totalus!"
A jet of yellow light shot at Su, but luckily she managed to duck under it.
Lost in a wave of adrenaline, Su acted without much thought;
With a flick of her wand, the stony floor beneath her rumbled, sending Malfoy and his goons flying across the corridor. Luckily, they all managed to hit the wall softly, cushioned by Crabbe and Goyle's combined fat with Malfoy in between.
Panting, Su picked up her book-bag again and made a break for it so she would not be late for class. She had been late once before… and it had not been pleasant. Snape was a cruel, unforgiving man…
'As is my room-mate,' thought Su in a tone somewhere between ruefulness and barely contained indignant rage.
Meanwhile, Malfoy and his cronies were laying all over each other in a rather, ahem, awkward position.
Trying to get up, Malfoy was blinded by a powerful, obscenely bright flash of a camera. He fell back again, shielding his eyes from the bright light. Blinking rapidly, he just caught site of a short, fleeing first year with a camera around his neck and mousy brown hair on his head. He turned the corner just as Malfoy managed to fully stand up with his soon-to-be-known-as-'Very-Good-Friends.'
"Get back here, you little mudblood!" shouted Malfoy loudly, sending jets of light down the corridor. But it was too late… the boy was gone.
Malfoy sighed, and looked at his watch.
"Let's go, Crabbe, Goyle," he said. "We only have a few minutes left to get to class…"
"What about the pictures?" asked Goyle, pointing down the hallway. Malfoy just 'tch'd.'
"We'll be pointed and laughed at for little more or less than a fortnight, and then everyone will forget about it," said Malfoy with confidence. "After all, I'm Draco Malfoy… they know better than to mess with me for too long." He scowled, and began stalking towards the Potion's lab, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.
'Idiot Gryffindor,' thought Malfoy nastily, his face betraying now emotion. 'He will get what is coming to him… that is for certain. Nobody makes a fool of Draco Malfoy and gets away with it.'
Hours passed, as did classes, and Malfoy soon once again found himself in the Great Hall, eating lunch while listening to the other Slytherins chatter on about homework, the latest rumors, how he was gay, how useless—Wait, back up.
"Yeah, they were all over each other!" whispered a new first year to her friend, who giggled while looking at Malfoy and his cronies. Malfoy gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Reacting angrily would only worsen the situation. He looked to his right.
'It is the lesser of two evils,' thought Malfoy dryly.
"Pansy," he said warmly, his eyes locked with the pug-faced Slytherin's. "I was wondering; would you like to join me in the library later today for some, ah, studying?" he asked.
The rumors ceased, although the talking didn't, and now Malfoy had but one problem; an ecstatic schoolgirl who looked like she was ready to wrap him up and take him home to her parents for the wedding.
He gave a soundless release of his breath.
'Oh well,' he thought. 'Reputation salvaged…'
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry sat against the wall, eating some chocolate frogs that were left over from last year that had been in his trunk. They were a bit stale, and their jumps had become more like twitches, but the treats were tasty nonetheless.
"So," asked Harry, "what exactly are we going to do?"
Master O just continued smiling, going through the book that was his apparent anchor to this plane of existence.
"Worry not, child," said Master O. "In but a moment, I shall begin the second test." Harry raised a dark eyebrow in confusion, but said nothing. After a few moments of searching, the elderly wizard exclaimed, "Aha! I've found it!"
Still silent, Harry merely stood and tilted his head, wand in hand. Master O continued to smile, his eyebrows rising above his head-band covering his eyes.
"Are you ready?" he asked. Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, his steely red and green gaze focused on the book in Master O's hands.
"That's a trick question, isn't it?" asked Harry, flipping his wand around in his hands. He was met with a booming laugh from Master O, who haphazardly through the book into the air.
The entire room was filled with a twisting gale of wind blowing at impossible speeds, and the book began to be torn apart in the wind… as was Master O.
"This won't be like most exams, Harry!" said the man's voice, sounding close and far away at the same time as his body disappeared into the wind and scattered pages filling the room. "But don't give up! If you pass, you may even learn something!"
Harry lifted a hand, shielding his face from flying pages of the book as the entire world around him turned into that yellow parchment color. Smells, sounds, sight… it all became useless in the torrent of parchment.
And then, just as it started, it stopped.
Harry turned, surrounded by darkness, an ominous feeling filling his body and shaking him to the very core. Oddly… he did not find himself to be scared or even a little nervous.
Harry grinned maniacally.
"I'm… excited."