Disclaimer: Don't own this, don't own that, don't own nothing.
AN: Miserere mei, my Latin's a bit rusty, and I was only ever educated in ecclesiastical Latin, so the Latin blurb in this chapter - riddled with grammatical errors.
Chapter 11: Of Exorcisms and Eggs
"Psst! Michael! Over here!"
Neither Harry nor Michael were where they were supposed to be – at midnight, all students were supposed to be snuggled in their dorms, drifting off into slumber, but at the moment, the two mischievous Ravenclaws were in the Restricted Section, looking through the cluttered, dusty shelves for books on spirit exorcisms. Terry had remained in the Ravenclaw common room on standby, ready to make up a valid excuse for their absence should need arise, whilst the other two members of the Brotherhood of Binns Exorcists, Harry and Michael, had sneaked off under the cover of Harry's invisibility cloak, taking great pleasure in walking right past a skulking, suspicious looking Filch without being noticed. They had even stuck their tongues out at the disgruntled squib for good measure.
Dropping his own text, Michael crawled over, looking over Harry's shoulder. Harry flipped the cover over for Michael to see – Propter Animas – and then showed him to the chapter he had found on exorcisms.
He pointed to the forty-seventh page, at a short paragraph and below it a lengthy Latin soliloquy.
Michael gaped at the page. "All of that? We have to memorize the whole two pages?"
Harry scowled, "It's not that long, and it'll be split in three, anyway – all we have to do is point our wands at Binns while he's lecturing, whisper our parts in the exorcism, and poof! Binns is gone. And the best part," he tapped the paragraph at the top of the page, "It isn't traceable like the other exorcism I found, which only requires one caster – it won't even show up with a Prior Incantato spell, so nothing short of veritaserum could incriminate us." Harry smirked. "It's perfect. Don't you think?"
Michael's eyes were wide. "It is…I wonder what the theory behind it is?"
Harry shrugged. "It's the right sort for human spirits, but that's all I know – Hermione and I managed to figure out the key Latin phrases in different sorts of spiritual texts."
"How'd you get her to help without tattling?"
"Well I obviously didn't tell her what it was for."
"Right. But what's the actual working theory behind the spell?"
"No time to figure it out – let's copy the incantation down and get out of here, before Filch finds us."
The two boys copied the spell down quickly in Harry's notebook and shoved the old library book back onto the shelf, creeping out of the Restriction Section and making the journey back up to Ravenclaw Tower undetected under Harry's cloak.
Terry looked up from the place he had been dozing off in front of the hearth when they climbed through the portrait hole, removing the invisibility cloak.
"You got the spell?" he asked excitedly, rising to his feet.
Harry nodded, pulling the notebook he had copied the spell into out of his robe pocket. He opened it to the correct page and handed it to Terry, as the three of them made their way up the stairs to their dorm.
Terry gaped at the page. "It's so long!"
Michael rolled his eyes. "That's what I said, but Harry says we only have to say one part each."
Terry mulled that over briefly, biting his lip and screwing up his face in deep thought. "Oh, that's not so bad, then." He handed the notebook back to Harry, who tore the page out and ripped it into three, handing Michael and Terry a piece each.
"Have this memorized by history class tomorrow morning," he whispered as they entered the dorm, "Twenty minutes into class, I'll say my part, and I'll turn the page in my history book when I'm finished. When I do that, Michael can say his part, and do the same, and Terry, you can go last, agreed?"
They nodded determinedly, muttering a quick good night and heading off to their beds, careful to be quiet lest they wake their other dorm mates.
Harry hopped into his own bed, immediately closing his curtain and casting a quick muffliato, taking out Jean's portrait out from underneath his pillow.
"Jean! I found an exorcism!" he exclaimed excitedly.
The portrait raised an eyebrow. "Really? One you can use in class?"
"Yeah, there's no wand movements, and the incantation can be whispered – it only requires three casters, too."
Jean grinned. "Well, well, your little operation's really shaping up, isn't it?"
Harry nodded eagerly. "By next year, we'll have a brand new teacher, one that's really alive, and can actually teach…but…"
"What?"
Harry frowned. "I read part of the introduction to the book it was in, and based on my research with Hermione as well, a bound spirit can be affected by the area it is bound in – just like a soul is very much affected by its vessel, according to some theorists – and since Binns as bound to Hogwarts, which is heavily warded…"
"You think that an exorcism, which is based on invocation and ultimately works by enchanting the spirit into letting go and moving on, will be insufficient within the Hogwarts warding."
Harry nodded. "But exorcisms are the only spells wizards have that deal with spirits besides actual necromancy, so I don't know what else could work…unless…"
Jean chuckled, "What could you possibly be thinking up now?"
"There's only one other spell that directly deals with souls, also with the purpose of detaching the soul from the body – the Killing Curse."
Jean sobered immediately. "Now, Harry, don't even think of that."
"But why, Jean? I mean, it's not like I'd actually be killing anyone if I shot it at Binns, so I wouldn't be murdering anyone, and it might not even work…"
Jean shook his head. "Why do you think the Killing Curse was made unforgivable in 1717, Harry?"
"Well, it can't be blocked, so it's not exactly fair in a duel…"
Jean rolled his eyes. "Do you think the Ministry of Magic was only concerned about death tolls within tournaments? No. After all, the Killing Curse appears to be the most humane methods of execution wizards have come up with – it doesn't even leave a mark on the body; victims look perfectly healthy, except, you know, that they're dead. No, it's because of the nature of the curse, Harry."
Harry squinted. "The nature of the curse? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
Jean scowled. "What happened to all that research you did? Did it somehow leak out of your brain or something?"
Harry only blinked.
"Damn, you're such an idiot sometimes, brat – what does the Killing Curse do?"
Harry glared. "It rips the soul from the body."
"Exactly! The soul!" Jean looked at him pointedly. "It's soul magic, Harry – crude, rough, unexact, intent-based soul magic, but soul magic nonetheless."
Harry's eyes widened.
"Killing Curse messes with the soul, Harry – in a sloppy, forceful way. And believe me, messing with souls is not something you want to do, especially without knowing exactly what you're doing; it's risky, unbelievably cruel to the victim, but moreover, it taints the soul of a caster, mangling it beyond repair. The Killing Curse requires a ridiculous amount magical power and control and the sort of hatred that changes a person's soul – it's not only Dark Arts, Harry, it's pure evil."
Harry took a deep breath and nodded shakily. "So, no Killing Curse then."
"Right, no Killing Curse."
Harry nodded, more surely this time, and then yawned tiredly.
"Anyway, you been feeling alright lately?"
Harry nodded carelessly. "Haven't had any of those creepy dreams since Christmas break – been sleeping much better."
"And your headaches?"
"Still only in Defence Against the Dark Arts class…you really think it has something to do with Professor Quirrell?"
Jean shrugged. "I don't know much about curse scars…my current theory is that it might burn in the presence of other things that have been touched by similar evil – being the defence teacher, Quirrell must have some experience dealing with the dark arts…perhaps they left a mark on him, too, and you're just sensing that?"
"That's a terrible theory, Jean, it's all speculation and based on circumstantial evidence."
Jean scowled at him. "Oh yeah? Well then, let's hear yours, oh great one!"
Harry sniffed. "I'm withholding my judgement until further evidence arises. Besides, I don't want to be a bloody evil detector for the rest of my life! It'd be sort of depressing…"
Jean laughed. "On a less depressing note, then, how goes the plan to get past Fluffy?"
Harry scowled. "I've found nothing in the library – Cerberi are extremely rare, and people tend to stay away from them. I've given up on research, I'll have to rely on guess work, I suppose…."
"Guess work?" Jean exclaimed incredulously, "You're a lot of things, brat, but I never thought you to be suicidal!"
Harry glowered at the portrait. "Well you think of something, then! It's not like I want to become hell-puppy chow! But honestly, I'm more scared of Death than Fluffy the hellhound!"
Jean frowned. "We're still not sure it was Death that contacted you…"
"I'm pretty bloody sure, Jean – Apollo feels different, and has been ignoring me lately, bless his stone-cold heart, and the Fates are female. And Jean, you didn't see him, or feel it – everything froze, like time went dead for a moment. It was terrifying – I'm still scared to look in a mirror for too long."
Jean grimaced. "Jeez, coz, what is it with you attracting the big scaries?"
Harry sighed. "Bad luck Jean, pure bad luck…"
The next day, Harry barely ate anything at breakfast – the anticipation for the events he would initiate in history class was too great. He vaguely noticed that Michael and Terry also looked quite excited, as they sat quietly on the other side of the table, playing with their bacon and eggs. The other first years seemed to notice, and while Padma, Sue, and Stephen didn't seem to care, and Lisa was oblivious, Anthony, Kevin, and Mandy glared at them suspiciously in between bites of their breakfast, the intensity only broken when Hermione and Neville sat down beside Harry, as had become a habit of theirs since after Christmas holidays.
"What are you so happy about?" Hermione asked primly.
Harry blinked, confused by her put-off tone. "What's wrong?"
Hermione scowled. "You weren't at study group on Wednesday. Michael wasn't, either."
Harry nodded, suddenly understanding. Halfway through the spring semester, Hermione, with his assistance, had started a study group with several first and second years from all the houses. She and Harry, particularly, had spent quite a bit of time studying together. But Harry and Michael, who regularly attended, had the previous Wednesday skipped out to plan their secret expedition to the restricted section.
"I wanted to work on our project!" Hermione complained.
Terry frowned. "What project? I didn't think we had anything to hand in…"
Harry shook his head. "No, we're trying to find a way to get muggle devices to work inside Hogwarts, with the use of charms – it's still very much in the research stage, though –"
"But they've already got pages of notes!" Neville said, wide eyed, "It's pretty amazing, actually. Even Professor Flitwick was impressed when they showed him their ideas."
Hermione blushed. "Oh, Neville, it's not that great…we haven't even decided what charms to use yet….there's so many possibilities!"
"Not really," Harry groused, "Wizards have barely any spells related to electricity or magnetism – it's like spell crafting stopped after the invention of the light bulb!"
Hermione slapped his arm. "It's not that bad, honestly! You just don't look hard enough – you leaf through a book and toss it away when you don't like the writing style or the way the table of contents is organized or something silly like that!"
Harry sniffed. "Writing style is very important to the reader's comprehension of the work. If the author didn't put any work into making his books readable, then he obviously didn't have anything important to say."
"Or he was trying to weed out all the superficial idiots!"
"Are you calling me an idiot?"
"What, just like you called me one the other day?" Hermione sneered.
"I didn't! I said you were closed minded!"
"Same thing!"
"That's not true!" Harry snapped.
"Yes it –"
They were interrupted by the sound of Neville and Terry laughing. Michael and Anthony seemed barely able to hold in their laughter as well. They glared at the four snickering students, perplexed.
"Honestly, you two," Neville giggled, "This is why Madame Pince tossed you out of the library the other day – because you get in these spats every time you do research together!"
"You're like an old married couple!" Terry laughed, ignoring the twin glowers sent his way.
Michael smirked. "Yeah, they go at it every week."
Terry looked over at him. "Yeah? Maybe I should start coming to this study group..."
"You should," Hermione interjected, "Anthony comes, so does Padma and her sister Pavarti. Cho Chang comes, so does Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbot."
"Don't forget me…" Neville mumbled.
"Of course not, Neville!" Hermione exclaimed, "Neville sometimes tutors us all in Herbology, he's really quite good – he's already reading the third year texts."
Neville blushed.
"Really?" Harry asked, turning to him, "Never told me that. Found any cool man-eating plants in there yet?"
Neville's blush disappeared and he perked up. "Yes, actually. There's one called a Dragon Fern, that actually needs the calcium from an animal's or human's body to survive. They grow in Mongolia. I was also reading about Devil's Snare the other day – it was once used for assassination."
Harry's eyes widened. "And it's not a poison?"
Neville shook his head. "It's semi-sentient, and will suffocate anything it catches – the only way to repel it is sunlight."
Harry filed that away mentally. "Remind me to come to you, Neville, if I'm ever trying to kill someone."
Neville grimaced, squeaking when Hermione slapped them both.
"Enough! You two! This is the breakfast table!"
"Yeah," Terry added, "I'm starting to think you poisoned the food."
"Honestly," Harry said pompously, "I have more tact than that."
"Do you?"
"Well," Anthony spoke up pointedly, "If he was poisoning the food, that would explain his conspiratorial anxiety, but not yours and Michael's."
"Conspiratorial anxiety?" Terry repeated. "What's that even mean?"
"It means that I know you three are planning something. And you had better not be planning something that will lose us house points."
Harry grinned cheekily. "I won't tell if you won't."
Anthony only groaned, hitting his head on the table.
The history classroom filled up quickly in the last minute before class started, as usual, Binns's ghost drifting in a moment later, starting to drone on in his dull, grating voice about the Goblin Wars.
Harry watched with satisfaction as Stephen, who sat beside him, started to nod, finally falling to sleep only fifteen minutes after class had started. Once he was sure Stephen was fast asleep, as the boy started to mumble incoherently about quidditch and pumpkin juice, Harry leaned over on his desk, supporting his head with one arm, slipping his wand into the sleeve of the other. Pointing it at Binns, and tracing the ghosts motion as it slowly paced back and forth, he began to chant quietly,
"Anima Invoco,
Anima obligatus Invoco,
Anima, huc venis,
Verba mea percipite…"
Doing his very best to not stumble over the Latin, Harry finished the next two paragraphs quietly, causally sitting back in his chair and turning the page in his history textbook. He glanced over to Michael, who met his eye, placed his hand on his desk, and began to move his lips.
Harry leaned back, keeping his eyes on Binns, only looking over at Terry when he heard Michael's page turn. A grimace was marring Terry's face as he clearly over-pronounced the Latin, getting him strange looks from Anthony a few seats over. Nevertheless, he managed to get through his three paragraphs in only a few minutes. Harry leaned forward, as, a few moments later, Binns's figure began to shimmer, and then, glow quite brightly; cracks appeared in his form, and it looked as though he was shattering, and would fall apart – until the walls of the classroom began to glow as well. A myriad of webbed tendrils climbed out of the wall, shooting out and seizing Binns, who had begun to stutter through his lecture, and with one bright flash, the cracks were gone, and Binns went on, lecturing as though nothing had happened.
Harry collapsed back in his chair, a horrified expression on his face – for just once in his life, he wanted to be wrong, he wanted the exorcism to work despite what the rational side of his brain had told him. But no, the Fates were quite happy to screw him over, again. Damn Hogwarts wards!
After class had ended, Michael and Terry immediately made their way over to him, looking quite perplexed.
"What went wrong?" Michael asked, looking quite put out.
"It wasn't me, I swear!" Terry hissed furiously.
Harry gritted his teeth, not at all in the mood to talk about it. "Bloody castle wards."
Terry and Michael, however, seemed to understand exactly what the statement meant, as they eyes widened and they both groaned in disappointment.
Harry was silent all through Charms class, getting concerned looks from the other Ravenclaws and even Professor Flitwick – Harry was often very vocal in Charms class, as his Head of House seemed to be the only teacher who appreciated what he had to say, no matter how inappropriate it was. Nonetheless, Harry continued to sulk throughout the whole class, and then through lunch also, stabbing his potatoes and beans viciously, barely listening in as Michael and Terry desperately tried to convince Anthony that the incident during history class had absolutely nothing to do with them.
After lunch was Potions with the Hufflepuffs – even Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry's sombre mood, and even when he smirked amusedly at Harry's dark glance his way, Harry was too depressed to bring himself to care.
About a half-hour into class, Professor Snape had begun his first rant, telling poor Hannah Abbot off for nearly adding some improperly chopped holly berries to her potion. Halfway through his angry spiel, he glanced in Harry's direction.
"Potter!" he snapped, shocking every student but Harry, "What would have happened had I not prevented Abbot from dropping these…lumps into her potion?"
Harry sighed tiredly, not looking up from his work. "A violent reaction would have ensued, causing the potion to bubble up, possibly into her face."
"And what would have happened had the potion hit her face, Potter?" the professor continued nastily.
"The potion is quite corrosive, at this stage," Harry said blandly, "So worst case scenario, it would have burned through her epidermis, reacted with the enzymes in her living cells underneath, causing them to turn on themselves and attack each other – in short, her face would eat itself."
The entire class looked quite pale, horror clearly shimmering in their eyes, as Hannah Abbot gasped and fainted in her seat.
"Thank you, Potter, for that succinct, descriptive explanation," the professor smirked, then glanced over at poor Hannah, who was still out cold. "Macmillan! Take Abbot to the infirmary, before she breaks her neck, sitting like that!"
The poor blonde Hufflepuff jumped, face turning bright red, picking Hannah up and scurrying out of the Potions classroom as quickly as he could.
The rest of the class went smoothly; it ended quickly, with all of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws casting Harry uneasy glances as he stalked out of the classroom glumly.
By the time they had made it to the Great Hall for dinner, each of the first year Ravenclaws had drastically paled, and would sneak a glance at Harry so often, as though they were waiting for him to blow up in some terrible, gruesome way that would most likely take them with him. None of them dared to utter a word, until Terry, completely fed up, sighed and fixed Harry with his best reprimanding glare.
"Come on, mate, cheer up! It's not the end of the world, you know!"
Everyone but Michael looked quite confused at the statement, seeing as they had no clue as to what had instigated Harry's dour mood, but decided not to comment.
Harry just continued to violently stab his steak.
"I mean, if you keep trying to murder that piece of steak like it's a living thing, people will start to think you've finally cracked!"
At that moment, Harry dropped his fork, unmoving as it clattered to his plate. "Cracked…" he whispered in awe, "Like…white, round, eggs…"
Terry turned frantically to Michael, who also looked quite concerned. "Oh Merlin, he's finally gone off the deep end, hasn't he?"
Suddenly, Harry snapped to attention, causing the other first years to jump. He turned to Penelope. "Hey, Penelope, where are the Hogwarts kitchens located?"
The blonde prefect glanced over to him. "The kitchens? Right underneath the Great Hall, not far from the Hufflepuff common room, Harry."
"Thanks," Harry said, nodding thoughtfully.
"Harry," said Anthony warningly, "You're not planning anything, are you?"
Harry shrugged, chewing on his steak with a musing expression on his face. "Just a little revenge…on Hogwarts."
The next morning, the other first years were utterly bewildered when they saw Harry carrying a blue and purple polka-dotted umbrella to breakfast.
"Where did you get that?" Lisa asked him as they entered the Great Hall.
Harry glanced over at her. "I transfigured it out of my pillow."
She frowned at him. "Why's it blue and purple?"
Padma interrupted. "Never mind that, why've you got an umbrella at all?"
Harry shrugged. "You never know when it might rain."
"Inside?"
"Stranger things have happened."
The first years sat down at the Ravenclaw table, all keeping a wary distance from Harry, except Kevin, who for some reason didn't seem to think it that strange that Harry apparently expected it to start raining in the Great Hall any moment.
"I told you," Terry whispered to Michael and Anthony, "He's lost his marbles."
The other two nodded, looking rather uneasy when Harry looked up from his marmalade-covered sausages and smiled at them.
"Say, Kevin," Harry said, looking at the boy beside him, "What's the time? Exactly."
Kevin looked down at his watch. "Fourteen past eight and twenty two seconds."
Harry nodded. "Shove over a bit, will you." When Kevin did so, he picked up the umbrella from where it lay beside him, opening it and twirling it daintily as he fixed it over his head. "Five, four, three, two…"
Within moments, the entire student body and staff were fleeing from the Great Hall, covered with raw eggs and broken eggshells, bar one Harry James Potter, who was sitting happily under his umbrella, sipping his tea, humming an incoherent medley of 'It's Raining, It's Pouring' and 'Humpty Dumpty' with a pleased smile on his face.
That day would therefrom be known as the day of the Mass Hogwarts Egging.
If happy moments are chocolate chip cookies, then reviews are a very nice flavour of chocolate chips.
-words of wisdom by me :)
