Chapter Thirteen – Why Are We Learning These Things
Dumbledore got right to work instructing us, although he worked with me on my 'wild magic' before he practiced spells with all of us. I was surprised when he took ten minutes to practice Draco's semi-wild 'incendio'. He had Draco try the curse without a wand. It was just as powerful without as with a wand.
"Normally, wand training would dampen down your natural magic. That is a good thing. You can cause a lot of unintended damage with outbursts of wild magic. The goal at Hogwarts is normally to have your logical mind, rather than your raw emotion in control of your magical talents. The wand responds more to the logical mind than to your emotional self.
"In Emako's case, we must follow a different approach. I sense that the five of you are surrounded by great danger and must be able to protect yourself. It would be a shame to discard such a powerful weapon as Emako's natural magic. Instead, I will train you to control it. To do so, you must draw magic from two different places. When you work with your wand, you must think of the command for magic from your brain to cause magic to flow out of your arm and into your wand. You are used to controlling the muscles of your arm and hand to do fine work, such as sewing, so it is a direct extension to do fine magic like charms and transfiguration. You will use the same approach on the spells I teach you and the others. I suggest that you spend extra time practicing transfiguration and thinking of the magic being controlled through your arm and hand. Such magic also involves careful pronunciation, involving many muscles of your mouth.
"Now, your pushback magic. We have a spell which does this, but I won't tell you and don't want you to look up its name or how to perform it. To do so will focus you upon fine control and reduce the power of your magic. We'll think of this magic as arising in your chest, straight from the heart. Think of your emotion pouring raw power into your chest, until it cannot be contained any longer and rushes out through your arm and wand. Don't think of any muscles below your shoulder muscles, just point your wand without flicking or flourishing it and imagine all that power being cut loose."
"I think I can do that," I promised Dumbledore. I saw what he meant about the muscles of the lower arm and hand. Everything we had learned thus far in class involved very precise flicks and flourishes of the wand, as well as precisely mouthing the words.
"What about me and wild magic?" Draco asked Dumbledore.
"I don't know. You seem as good with the wand as without on that one, but it never hurts to have something in reserve if your wand is taken. Now for your wand lesson," Dumbledore addressed all five of us.
He wanted all of us to learn 'expelliarmus' and 'incendio'. Dumbledore had great insight into the little errors we made while attempting these spells. The individualized instruction helped and he kept us at it for nearly three hours. Each of us was at least barely able to perform both spells by the time we finished. Hermione was quite good at both. Draco who came into the room able to perform both of these spells, left as a master of each of them.
"Before you go," Dumbledore stopped us. "I'll see you a week from today for further practice. After tomorrow's Quidditch match, and I'm sure all of you will want to watch Harry's first match, I want the five of you to stop by Hagrid's hut. Your safety may well depend upon your mobility and Hagrid has found a ride for each of you."
"Emako, practice the pushback on your own. For now, don't use your wand. Just point with your whole arm, with your hand in a tight fist. I'm not sure whether just pointing with your arm or throwing an overhand punch with it will work best. Try both. Practice on objects, not people. We'll work on it together in a week."
As we walked back toward Slytherin, Draco surprised me with the suggestion "I'll practice wild magic with you. I don't know how Dumbledore knew, but my wild magic has always involved fire. Strange that our headmaster is giving us so much attention, don't you think?"
I did think. I thought entirely too much. My mood was rapidly souring. What Draco said about Dumbledore was true. The powerful Wizard who had tried to banish infant me to the most anonymous, awful orphanage he could find, the Wizard who was determined to keep me out of Hogwarts, the Wizard who thought he had safely parked me in Slytherin – that Wizard was now taking charge of my training. Yes, I have strong wild magical powers, but why was my training to be so different from that of my four friends?
"Am I wrong to think of Dumbledore as my mortal enemy?" I asked Draco.
"Not wrong, but perhaps a touch simplistic. Dumbledore is a very complicated Wizard. Father calls him 'the grand enemy chess master' and says he is always running schemes within schemes."
As we entered the Slytherin common room, Draco and I headed to our favorite spot: the soft black leather sofa hidden away in the darkest corner of the room. Draco sat in the corner and I lay down with my head in his lap. Normally I enjoyed his stroking my hair, shoulders, and the side of my neck. Usually, this could calm down any tension I was feeling. Today it wasn't working. For a few minutes, Draco pretended not to notice, then he looked me in the eyes with a worried look.
"Are you angry with me? What did I say?"
"You didn't say anything. I was thinking about Dumbledore and our date to watch Slytherin play Gryffindor. That can't possibly go well. It has to be awful."
"Because you have divided loyalties."
"Because watching my brother play for Gryffindor just makes me realize how much I don't belong here and how much the other Slytherins hate me for being Muggle-born and now the sister of the enemy Seeker. Do you realize how awful it will be if Gryffindor wins? It's more than that. I'm afraid Harry is going to be hurt. Is it really possible that he's a good flyer? He is the only first-year on a team. He first learned that Quidditch exists on the Hogwarts Express. He never touched a broom, until the exact same time that I did. I can't fly a lick. Even if he can fly, he's so small and you know how big our players are. 'The boy who lived' – how many of the players I eat with every day are determined that Harry not live beyond this day?
"I've heard the whispers as I come into the common room. How can I possibly root for Slytherin? I don't give a damn about Quidditch. I won't cheer for Harry to win. I just want him to survive. Really, I just hate how selfish he is being. He doesn't need Quidditch. He's already famous and for something he doesn't even remember. He just isn't thinking of my feelings at all. I'm going to suffer for this. I'm going to suffer a lot."
"I also will just root for nobody getting hurt. I'm a little jealous of Harry. I know how he feels. I'm a Malfoy. Just being a Malfoy gives me a lot of weight in Slytherin. It's not like I've done anything to deserve it. When you have fame and power just because of your parents… you can't imagine how empty that makes you feel. I want to be famous and popular for what I do. Most days I hate my father. He treats mother like crap. I never meet his expectations. It's tough. I'll tell you about my childhood some other time, but just consider this: how many fathers do you suppose use the Cruciatus Curse on their own ten-year-old sons? Mine did."
"That's horrible! I'm surprised that hasn't terribly warped you. You can't just leave it like that. You have to tell me more."
"No, now's not the time. We both need to be wearing our happy faces at today's match."
"So we're going to try to appear happy as we suffer our way through today's match?"
"Appearances are important. Be brave – I know how brave you can be."
Draco chose a relatively empty area in the Slytherin section of the stands. I leaned up against him, while Crabbe and Goyle kept a respectful distance on his other side.
I marveled as Harry soared around the pitch on his broom.
"It's strange that Harry has flown so well from day one. Neither of us touched a broom until that first flying lesson with Madam Hooch. The broom doesn't have a rocket on the end or any other power source. Harry has to be supplying the magic to make that broom fly. I can't fly at all. I've barely gotten off the ground in class. How can Harry be so good?" I asked Draco plaintively.
"You think like a Muggle, Harry doesn't think like a Muggle about flying a broom. If you expect to be able to fly a broom and see it as normal, like magical people do, then you can fly. You've read too many Muggle books and over-thought this. Your Muggle physics doesn't apply here. Flying is magical. The rules of magic are what govern it. When you believe you are able to fly, you will fly."
"But Harry is the only first-year on a Quidditch team. Others first-years have flown brooms half their lives. They don't even think of it as prohibited magic. I know Ron is really jealous of Harry."
"Of course under-age broom flying isn't against the rules. It's not that kind of magic. It's not dangerous. Everybody can ride a broom. I'll teach you. I think Madam Hooch intimidates you. Very stern Witches can have that effect.
"Your twin is on the Gryffindor team, because the Gryffindor team stinks and had no other choice. And McGonagall thought I was taking advantage of Neville and Harry and is having her fun with me."
I perked up as I saw Harry swoop down to chase the snitch. I guess I made an excited gesture, because as I did so as a Slytherin seated right behind me shouted 'that's the way Finch, murder Potter', when what struck me as a sneaky play by Marcus Finch almost sent my twin plummeting to his death. Draco put his hand on my arm, which was all that prevented me from turning around and practicing my pushback on the offending girl.
"Ignoring me, Potter?" She almost whispered in my ear. I turned around to spy a smirking Pansy Parkinson.
"Did you say something?" I asked her sweetly.
"I really wouldn't advise saying anything else," Draco hissed at Pansy.
I turned around to watch the rest of the match and found Harry doing his best to keep his broom from shaking him free.
"Somebody has interfered with Harry's broom," Draco told me.
"Harry is it?" Pansy mocked him, then shouted to one and all "Draco is concerned for Harry Potter! He's his new best buddy. Can you imagine that, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter."
"Just shut it," Draco warned her.
Pansy dared Draco: "Or what? What are…" as Goyle and Crabbe each grabbed her under a shoulder and carried her away.
I heard a general intake of breath from those around me.
When I looked back toward the pitch, Harry was hanging from his broom and attempting to remount it, but at least the broom seemed to be behaving.
When Harry remounted his broom, I was surprised to feel how tense and sweated-up I had become. The game continued. Harry caught the Snitch. Gryffindor won. I didn't care. My twin hadn't died today. In the depths of my heart, I had been certain that he would die.
I felt Draco nudge my arm. "Let's get out of here, before half of Slytherin wants to know why Goyle and Crabbe carried Pansy away from us."
"Straight to Hagrid's hut?" I asked. "We can wait there in peace."
"Yes! We can even have a good snog. I'm not up for answering the questions of my fellow house members just now."
We encountered Crabbe and Goyle as we left the stands. "Thanks guys. I'll see you later. I have some private boyfriend stuff to do."
I saw him give Goyle a wink as he said that and wondered just what sort of boyfriend stuff Draco had in mind.
It was too wet to lie on the ground outside Hagrid's hut and we hadn't even brought a blanket, although a lot of fans routinely carried a blanket to Quidditch matches. We just leaned up against a tree trunk, and snogged. Draco's hands didn't leave my waist and hips. All was good.
"Why did your father use the Cruciatus on you?" I asked as we took a break from snogging.
"We were playing one-on-one Quidditch and I was getting tired. I fell of my broom twice. Each time, father insisted that I re-mount and continue our battle – that's what he called it, our battle. I didn't really fall off the first time. He pushed me. We were twenty feet in the air, although we were above the swimming pool. I finally told him: "enough! We can pick this up tomorrow."
"That's when he cursed me. He told me that Malfoy men aren't quitters and they certainly aren't cowards and that as my father it was his duty to toughen me up. There was a reason other Wizards looked up to him. He accepted slights from nobody. Then he released his curse and my wild magic burst out. One second he was berating me and the next he was fully aflame and jumping into the pool. I expected another Cruciatus when he hauled himself out of the pool, but he just looked at me and said: 'finally!' and stomped back to the house. So that's as much of my childhood story as you get today. You were the one who was so troubled earlier. You should be the one talking."
"Ever since I've been at Hogwarts, except in Slytherin – really I'm talking about the professors, the whole matter of whether I belong here, whether I'm really Harry's twin, whether I'm real – it has all come down to how much everyone thinks I look like or don't look like my mother. I never knew my mother. There were no pictures of her at the Dursleys. I have no idea what she looked like, so when I look in the mirror, I have no idea whether or not I look like my parents. I know that, except for the eyes, I don't look a lot like Harry. He's dark, I'm ginger. Our skin is different. There are days when I feel like an imposter. Harry showed me a picture of my father in a trophy case on the second floor. I've explored a lot of trophy cases, but I haven't found a picture of my mother. Don't you find that odd?"
"Hogwarts celebrates Quidditch. Your mother didn't play Quidditch. Try the library, there might be pictures of former graduating classes."
"That's a brilliant idea, I'll…." I saw Harry and the others walking up to us.
"You play Quidditch like a complete fool who hopes to die," I accused Harry. "If you don't want to live, at least have a concern about how I would feel watching you fall to your death."
"Sorry," Harry replied insincerely, a confused look upon his face. "Is Hagrid back yet."
"We didn't check," Draco replied, earning three confused looks from the Gryffindors.
"Snape tried to kill Harry!" suddenly burst from Hermionie's lips. As Hagrid walked up to us, she the repeated the accusation for his benefit.
"I saw him focusing on Harry, without ever blinking, and all the time mumbling a complex curse I didn't recognize. The more he mumbled, the more Harry's broom tried to throw him off. I lit Snape's robes on fire. As soon as he broke eye contact, the broom behaved properly."
"That's nonsense, Professor Snape would never harm Harry."
"It's true!" Hermione blustered. "Tell him Harry! Tell him about Snape being bitten by the three-headed dog."
"Well," Harry started to explain, "Snape did have a nasty gash on his leg and he went to Filch to bandage it. I think he tried to steal the package the dog is protecting, the one you brought back from Gringotts."
"Nonsense. Professor Snape is helping Dumbledore guard the package. All the professors are helping. Don't think of the package. That's between Dumbledore and the Flamels. Forget I said that, I have something more important to show you. Around back, just inside the forest."
We followed Hagrid into the forest. In a clearing was a split-log fence and inside the fence were five very large, very fierce-looking, bird-like THINGS.
"WHAT are they?" Ron asked. "WHY are you showing them to us."
"You're going to ride them, of course. They're Hippogriffs and they're very friendly once you get to know them properly. Today is just introductions. Next week you ride them."
Great! Just great.