Disclaimer: Why bother when I don't own it?
Note: Thanks a lot to Teufel1987 and oOXylionOo, who have been rocks for me throughout the story. Without them, Chapter 14 and the rest of the story might never have made it up. Cheers to them!
Chapter 14: The Berserker and the Toad
The morning after the Triwizard Ceremony found Harry in the trophy room, trying to find any information he could about the elusive Rosabella Carver. So far, all he'd found out about her was that she was one of the champions of the original Triwizard Tournament...and that was it.
He sighed with frustration, running his hand through his hair. Other than a plaque which had her name in the list of Champions who'd brought Hogwarts glory in the Tournament, there was no mention of her anywhere.
He found it extremely ridiculous. Every witch and wizard of note had their own set of awards in the room, so it was almost laughable that a Champion of the tournament did not have any laurels besides that one triumph – he himself had one for the Chamber of Secrets incident.
"Mr. Potter?" he turned to find Professor McGonagall, and he greeted her politely. "What might you be doing down here?"
"Oh, just wanted to see my name on the plaque," he said with a sheepish grin.
Her lips twitched, "I hope you don't get an inflated head, Mr. Potter, your father's arrogance was enough to deal with."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Professor," he said, and then asked, "Did you follow me down here?"
"As a matter of fact, I did," she said, "you were down here for quite a while, and I couldn't help but wonder what you were doing. Do you not have class in fifteen minutes?"
He grimaced, and she continued, "Judging from the expression on your face, I trust you have Potions with Severus today?"
He nodded, and she gave him one of her rare smiles. "Hang in there, Potter," she told him, "you aren't the only one who's displeased with Severus nowadays; his tenure at Hogwarts is near an end."
Having said that, she turned and walked stately up the stairs; leaving Harry standing down there open-mouthed.
"Potter!" two minutes into the first Potions class of the year, and Snape was already being his usual insufferable self towards Harry. Harry, on the other hand, had been expecting it – he suspected him throwing Snape into a wall and duelling him had gained him no brownie points with the man - and so he'd come prepared. "What would I get if I added three rat spleens, crushed mint roots, syrup of hellebore, moonstones and a dash of nightshade to essence of Wormwood?"
"I'd imagine you'd get the Draught of Moonlight, sir, a powerful antidote for insomnia," replied Harry, unusually respectful for once. "Though adding a dash of lime juice to counteract the alkali in the solution would make it easier on the tongue."
Several Sytherins gaped, while the Gryffindors blinked owlishly at his answer; the fact that Potter, with his abysmal record in Potions, could understand how different groups of plants and animals reacted with each other, along with the chemical properties of the final solution was too much for them to digest.
Snape, however, paused for a second, before his lip curled and he resumed his attack. "Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for presuming to add on your own, unwanted expertise to the recipes given in your books." There were groans of protest, which died down quickly with a glare from Snape. "You would do well to know that effectiveness in Potions matters more than taste, but it seems four years of education have been wasted on you."
Glad that the class was back to normal, the Slytherins sniggered meekly for their Head of House.
Harry, his face set, exerted great self-control and only nodded in reply; but Snape wasn't done yet.
"State the ingredients for Polyjuice Potion," said Snape with a sneer, "and tell me how long it takes for the entire process, and why."
"The ingredients would be fluxweed, knotgrass, leeches, lacewing flies, boomslang skin and bicorn horn, along with any body part of the person you wanted to change into," answered Harry, "the entire process takes about a month, thanks to the fact that the lacewing flies must be stewed for twenty-one days before the Potion is made, and only fluxweed picked by the light of a full moon is acceptable."
Harry knew that he would never be a brilliant Potioneer, so he hadn't really read up much on the subject. Thankfully, his adventures during second year had enlightened him all about Polyjuice Potion, and his need for research into it was only reinforced thanks to the events of the year before.
A vein bulged in Snape's forehead, and he spat out, "Incorrect, Potter! The fluxweed should be picked on a full moon; the foolish concept of picking it in the moonlight has no effect on the fluxweed."
"But sir," said Harry innocently, "I merely quoted the book, since it would be unwise of me to add on my own expertise to the recipe given in it."
Snape snarled in reply, "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter! Tell me the seventh and most important use of Dragon Blood!"
His interrogation continued in this fashion for some time, with both Harry and Snape growing more and more agitated. A year or two ago, Harry would have snapped and insulted, or maybe even pulled out his wand and cursed Snape; but he was only now beginning to appreciate the use of Occlumency as Calli had suggested. His magic was singing, pushing him to take out his wand and hex Snape to oblivion, and only his shields allowed him to keep his calm. Even so, his tenuous hold on them was slipping, despite his best efforts to remain cool.
It was finally when Snape asked the recipe for Veritaserum did Harry back down.
"I'm afraid I don't know, sir," he said, hate surging through him. Occlumency or no Occlumency, this man would always get under his skin.
Snape grinned maliciously, his eyes lighting up. "Tut, tut, Potter," he drawled in delight, "as dunderheaded as ever. Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!"
For a second, Harry's face contorted in rage, until Calli's face flashed in his mind. With an extreme effort, he took a deep breath and forced down his anger, concentrating on his shield.
A headache was building up again, helped on its way by the noxious fumes coming from Snape's office at one end of the room.
Black eyes met green. The challenge was clear.
I dare you, Potter.
Harry narrowed his eyes, but instead of the expected outburst, Snape was a bit unnerved to see a smirk grow on his face.
"Of course, you're right, Sir," said Harry smoothly, "but if you could tell me the recipe, I wouldn't make the same mistake again."
At that instant, Snape knew that he was well and truly cornered. The recipe and procedure for making Veritaserum was so complex that he'd only made small vial-fulls of the stuff for himself, that too by painstakingly following every step of the way from a book.
Potter, it seemed, was well aware of the fact that this potion was near-alchemical in its difficulty to make.
Knowing he had no other choice, Snape went on the defensive. Which, of course, involved attacking Harry.
"Five points for presuming you could even comprehend the recipe, Potter!" spat Snape, "it is much above the level of even a Hogwarts graduate!"
There was a split second of silence as the entire class processed what Snape had just said. The greasy haired Potions Masters' eyes widened for a second before he slammed his mouth shut, knowing that he'd been manipulated masterfully.
"Then why would you ask me such a question, Professor?" asked Harry innocently, though his eyes suggested anything but.
Silence again. The Gryffindors looked delighted, while the Slytherins looked like they'd been forced to swallow a sour lemon. In fact, some of them even looked doubtfully at their own Head of House.
"Enough!" spat Snape, "get on with your work." Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he continued, "You shall be working in pairs this year, because I am quite sure that you dunderheads," he glared at Neville, who shrunk into himself, "will mess up if you are to make Potions of this level alone. You shall be paired in alphabetical order, so select a workstation with your partner now!"
"Pair up now," he ordered, and there was a bit of nervous shuffling around until Snape roared, "Order! I have never dealt with a group of students so asinine that they cannot arrange themselves in order of their names!"
Taking out his register, he began calling out names in pair, resulting in a lot of hilarious reactions, most noticeably when Seamus got paired with Goyle, Hermione with Daphne Greengrass, and Parvati with Pansy.
Harry leaned forward after Parvati's name was called, "Harry Potter," said Snape, his lip curling. "Seeing as there are nineteen people in this class, and Mr. Potter has demonstrated his extensive knowledge of Potions, I trust he will have no difficulties working alone for the rest of the year?"
The Slytherins snorted, but Harry paid no heed. He gathered his things, not glancing at Snape lest he fall apart and attack the man, and he didn't even laugh at the look on Ron's face when he was paired with Zabini.
Something was irking him in one corner of his mind, a doubt which was niggling at his brain.
He got started on his Potion, bringing up the heat before he started chopping his valerian roots.
He still couldn't figure out what was bothering him so, not until he saw Hermione bent over her Potion, muttering something to her blond partner.
Only then did he remember another, slightly taller girl with dirty blonde hair and pigtails, who'd gotten sorted before him in his first year. He was so nervous that he'd barely noticed it was his turn until the whispering broke out.
"Professor?" he asked Snape, "where's Sally-Anne?"
The Professor, who was hovering over him like the overgrown bat he was, looked incredulous. "Who?"
"Sally- Anne Perks, the Slytherin," he asked, wondering why Snape was so keen on playing dumb.
"Potter, what do you think you are playing at?! Five points from Gryffindor for this ridiculous prank, and I suggest you check the Potions fumes you have been inhaling!"
"But she was sorted before me my first year," Harry protested, "she should be my partner for the year!"
There was a moment of silence, where all the students had stopped working, and were staring at Harry and Snape in silence.
"This has gone on too far, Potter!" snarled Snape, "thirty points from Gryffindor for your foolish prank! Now, unless you have any more figments of your imagination to share with us, I suggest you go back to your work. That mess," he said, pointing to Harry's potion, "is no longer acceptable. Evanesco!"
"Harry?" asked Parvati tentatively from next to him, ignoring the sniggering Pansy, "are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah – yeah, I'm fine," assured Harry a bit hurriedly, "had a bit too much to drink in celebration last night, I think," he told her with a grin, and she giggled.
"So, Harry," she said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger, "I was wondering..."
He looked up absently, from his nightshade, and looked at her questioningly, "Hmmm?" His mind was racing a mile a minute, and he couldn't shake of the feeling that there was something more to this mystery than met the eye, some deeper connection between the two disappearing students.
So it was with half a ear that he listened to whatever Parvati was telling him, something about 'time' and 'do it again?'
"That's right," he said absently, trying to gather whatever knowledge he had of Rosabella and Sally-Anne in his mind, "you'll have to wait fifteen minutes before you set the cauldron on the fire again after adding the Wormwood."
Pansy couldn't help it, she let out a shriek of laughter and Harry looked up in earnest this time. Parvati was glaring at him, looking affronted.
"Is everything ok?" he asked anxiously. "I think I told you the correct method, but I can't guarantee perfection, I wasn't really paying attention."
"I can see that," said Parvati frostily, before turning her glare on the pug-faced Slytherin next to her, who was finding the entire thing highly funny. "Maybe some other time, Harry."
He went back to his Potion, not even bothering to try and work out the mystery that was a woman.
The only connection he could find between the two girls was that both of their first names consisted of two names put together, and that wasn't much of a connection to begin with.
Could I have been placed under a spell? He wondered, his eyes widening. Were those two girls just figments of his imagination? Merlin knew he'd been through enough horror in his life to conjure up a person or two in his mind...
He shook his head. No, Angelina had definitely known about Rosabella, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain had told him that the girl would be trying out for the Keeper's spot on the team this year.
The only other solution his mind could offer was too ridiculous to even consider. If he wasn't the one under a spell, then the person who had kidnapped the two of them must have placed the entire school under a spell.
There was no witch or wizard capable of controlling that amount of magic in the castle except for the Headmaster himself.
His eyes narrowed. Could this be one of the Headmaster's newfangled plots to test and see how far Harry had come on his journey as the weapon against Voldemort?
He shook himself awake just in time to take the Potion off the fire before the Wormwood could absorb too much heat. Even though he had to begin his potion again, he'd pulled ahead of the others, having made the Bone-Healer potion himself under Lupin's tutelage before.
Dumbledore wouldn't kidnap other students just to create a mystery to test Harry's capabilities, would he? But then again, this was the man who'd allowed Ginny to be put in danger, who'd allowed him to live a life of abuse at Number Four, Privet Drive...
A loud explosion tore him out of his thoughts, and he turned around to find Ron and Zabini stirring weakly on the floor.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, "I suppose you didn't take the Potion off the fire quick enough, Weasley! Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a week's detention for putting another student in the way of harm!"
Shouts of protest rang out from the Lions, but Snape paid them no heed. "Potter!" he spat, "take them to the hospital wing! You're done for this lesson too!"
"My potion isn't complete, Sir," he offered, and indeed, it required just five more minutes of simmering before he had to add the aconite and stir seven times.
"Five points from Gryffindor for thinking to refute a teacher, Potter! I'm quite sure that you have concocted one mess or the other, and I have no desire to mark you on it! Evane-"
Harry's wand was out, and a Shield Charm cast before Snape could finish the spell. "I don't think so, Professor," he said, "I will finish this potion in four minutes, and then I will gladly take them to the Hospital Wing."
"Potter! You dare ignore me!"
"Please, Professor," piped up Hermione, looking between the two of them in panic; the hatred between them was legendary. "I'm finished here, I'll take them to Madam Pomfrey."
"Stay where you are, you foolish girl!" he snarled, before turning to Harry. "Now, Potter –"
"Professor Snape!" came a voice from the door, and everybody turned away from the ongoing drama to see an irate Professor McGonagall standing at the back of the class. "What is the meaning of this? Put away your wand at once! Need I remind you that you are on probation, and attacking a student won't help your case?"
The silence that followed was so thick that Harry was sure he could cut into it if he just took his silver knife out from his Potions kit.
"Minerva," said Snape, forcing himself to be pleasant, "Potter here –"
"I was here long enough to see what happened, Severus. I had come here looking for a word with Ms. Granger since I knew she had class in the dungeons, but I am appalled at what I found!" said McGonagall. "Potter, when you are done with your Potion, you are free to take the two of them to the Hospital Wing. Severus, you will come with me to the Headmaster at once!"
"I hardly think that will be necess –"
"You will come along, before I fire you at once, man!" said McGonagall, and Harry felt a rush of affection towards her. "And you know very well that you cannot hand out punishments or take points when you are on probation!"
The silence only seemed to deepen, before it was broken by a strange sound. Seamus stuffed a fist into his mouth, and Dean gave a weird snort before following his example.
"Minerva, I will not have you entering my class and undermining my authority," said Snape, looking livid.
"Severus," said McGonagall extremely coldly, "you can either follow me to Dumbledore, or you can go to your office and start packing your things."
Snape paused for a second, drawing himself up to full height. He met McGonagall's stare for a long, long moment, before he turned and swept towards his office.
He was followed there by shocked gasps from his own students, and cheers from the Lions; even Hermione cracked a tiny smile.
The bell rung, but nobody made any effort to move. Ron had just started coming around, and he looked up groggily and asked, "Whazgoingon?"
"Snape's getting the sack, mate," said Seamus bluntly, never one for subtlety.
Ron's eyes widened almost comically, before his face fell and he asked, "This is a dream, isn't it?"
"I assure you it is not, Mr. Weasley," said Snape silkily, coming up from behind and making Ron jump.
"Professor, you cannot be leaving!" protested Draco in horror, "my father will not allow it!"
"You will find, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall imperiously, "that the joint decision of the staff and the Deputy Headmistress can overthrow the decision of the Board as well as the Headmaster. Severus' presence is no longer welcomed at Hogwarts, an event which has been long in coming."
"Well, Slytherin will most certainly not stand for this!" retorted the blonde pompously. "We'll see you back yet, Professor." He told Snape, who gave the slightest of smirks and an approving nod.
"I look forward to seeing you try, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall shortly, "I would also like to take this opportunity to remind you that no student at Hogwarts is indispensable."
Draco looked like he'd been slapped across the face and made to swallow a particularly sour lemon.
"Well," said McGonagall, turning to Snape and tilting her head, "I trust you are ready to leave?"
Snape nodded, following her out of the room in silence, but not before throwing Harry a look of the deepest loathing.
Harry, feeling hugely victorious, merely winked and gave him a grin.
This had to be the greatest Potions class ever.
Word travelled around the castle like wildfire. Within fifteen minutes, the entire castle knew what had happened. Lunch was an exciting affair, with every student in the castle waiting for the verdict, and the teachers bar three seated stiffly at the Head Table.
Snape was still holed up in the Headmaster's room with McGonagall, and the teacher's were expecting their summons any time now. Looking up at the Head Table, Harry could see that most teachers were rather glad to see the Potions Master leave, with two major exceptions –
Flitwick remained neutral, though Harry was sure he would go along with the majority if they leaned that way; the jovial Professor wouldn't want any antagonistic relationships with any of his colleagues.
The other was...Umbridge. The woman was a wildcard, and there was no way to know which way she'd vote. She had no reason to vote for Snape's firing, in fact, the man was notorious for his ill treatment of Harry, and Harry was sure that she'd take every opportunity to see this treatment continued.
"Caught on, have you?" said a voice behind him, and he found turned to see the Weasley twins grinning down at him. "Walk with us, Harry."
He complied, recognizing the look in their eyes. "Closer, Harry," said George.
"Yes, that's it, lean in and make it look like we're plotting something nefarious," said Fred with a smirk.
Harry threw them an incredulous look, but complied at their insistent stared. They guided him towards the Head Table, towards the Trophy Room, in fact, where he had been only this morning.
"As you have no doubt realized, the Toad may just side with the Bat to make life hell for us innocent students," said George, and Harry snorted at the application of the word 'innocent' in conjunction with the twins.
Fred put on a mock-affronted look, but continued, "Which is why we put our heads together and came up with a brilliant plan."
"Which is?" asked Harry, as they walked past the table – he noticed Umbridge glaring at them – and entered the Trophy Room, heads still together.
"Misdirection and lies, Harry," said George with a grin, "misdirection and lies. Just play along."
Harry noticed that they'd conveniently left the door ajar, and wondered at it.
They sat there amongst the trophies, Harry inspecting the one with Rosabella's name on it again, all the while wondering what the hell the twins were up to.
They heard a creak as the door opened and the shaft of light coming in through the door widened. A shadow cast itself on the opposite wall, and suddenly Fred began to talk loudly.
"It's obvious Dumbledore won't let Snape go," he said, as if explaining something to a five year old. "Snape's Dumbledore's lapdog, everybody knows that."
"Y'know, Harry," George said seriously, though his eyes were shining with mirth, "if I didn't know better, I'd say that the two of them were even planning something together."
Harry caught on, his eyes widening, before he grinned at the sheer brilliance of the plan that the Twins had cooked up.
"But the Headmaster's decision won't matter in the end, will it?" asked Harry, joining in on the act. "If the entire staff band together and ask for Snape's removal, he'll have no choice but to let him go. Even the board can't do anything!"
"Is that so?" said Fred, winking at Harry. "But why would Umbridge want Snape gone? She's new, and has nothing against him, from what I see."
"Freddie," replied George ruefully, "Umbridge may be new, but she's smart," the shadow at the door shifted, and George mimed vomiting before he continued. "Dumbledore's stronghold is Hogwarts, he has the faith of all the students of every house, except –"
"Slytherin," said Harry, marvelling at the sheer brilliance of the Twins, "and that's where Snape comes in. The Snakes will do whatever Snape asks them," he said, and Fred made a noise of comprehension. "And as long as Snape's under Dumbledore –"
"The Slytherins are under Dumbledore," said George, "and Hogwarts can present a united front against the Ministry's attempts at change"
The door shut ever so quietly, and Harry grinned widely, it seemed Umbridge had heard enough.
"Think she took the bait?" he whispered, and the Twins grinned.
"Knowing the incompetence of the Ministry," said Fred, "she fell for it Hook –"
"Line –" said George.
"And sinker," finished Harry, his own grin threatening to split his face open. "Brilliant, guys!"
"We aim to please," they replied with a joint bow. "The least we could do for our illustrious inventor! And now, we must go visit our brother in the Hospital Wing."
Harry was suddenly reminded of his other obligations as they made their way back up and out. "Do you think Ron'll make it to practice today?"
"I think he will," said Fred, rubbing his chin.
"Though I don't think he'll make much of a difference," said George sadly. "Our brother, who we may add, may not really be our brother –"
"Investigation into this matter is still ongoing, and until that time, we are reluctant to acknowledge him as family –"
"Or until he saves a goal at practice –"
"Is quite pathetic, really..." trailed off Fred, and Harry shook his head in confusion.
"I think it's just nerves," offered Harry doubtfully, Ron was never one for acting under pressure. "Maybe if he loosened up a bit, it'd help?"
"You have far too much faith in people, Harry," piped up another voice next to him, and he grinned at Ginny. "I saw him at tryouts; I could've done better on a toy broomstick."
"Mighty high opinion you got of yourself there, Weasley," said Harry dryly, and Ginny just flicked her hair at him.
"You will find, Potter, that it is an opinion well deserved," she said in a snooty voice, "and before I forget, when's your first class with Flitwick?"
"This afternoon, two hours after lunch," said Harry, he was quite looking forward to it. "You?" He was quite amazed at how normally she was behaving around him; he was expecting at least a minor reaction from her.
Their eyes met, and Harry instantly knew that she'd not forgotten. "Sunday," she said lightly, "but I'm having a bit of trouble with the Flame Whip charm, have you mastered it yet?"
At his nod, she brightened visibly. "Great, then you can help me with it! Come along now!"
"Er, I was actually going to the Hospital Wing –"
"Whatever for, Ron's still being a prat, isn't he?" Before he could protest, she'd pulled him away, and Fred and George waved at him with mournful expressions on their face, saying how they'd never see Harry again.
Harry and Ginny gave them the joint finger.
"So," said Ginny, looking out over the grounds. "So."
"So?" asked Harry testily. Did this confrontation have to be back in the Astronomy Tower?
"Would you, by any chance, happen to know a Sally-Anne Perks or a Rosabella Marie Carver?" he asked hopefully before she had a chance to begin her tirade.
"No," she said, looking puzzled. "Should I?"
"That would depend," he replied evasively. "Now, you were saying?"
"Yeah, about your summer," said Ginny, perking up.
He held up his hand before she could continue. "Gin, I don't think I really need to hear a lecture right now," he said.
She looked at him as though he'd gone off his rocker. "Why would I lecture you?" she asked incredulously. "I don't care if you shagged a horse cross-eyed during the holidays! All I care about –"
"Wait, what?" asked Harry, amused. "Why would I shag a horse?"
"Why wouldn't you?" she retorted. "You've done stranger things. Now, as I was saying, do you think I could undergo your training as well?"
He looked at him, startled. He gazed upon her for a moment, and he was surprised to see that he had the mildest urge to reach out for her and...
He shook his head, pushing such thoughts away rapidly. "I – I don't think so," he said, and her face fell. He hadn't given her all the details of his training, so he said, "Calli did something to me, but she said that only extremely powerful wizards, and those with extreme mental fortitude could do it. Apparently, others have tried to do it, and died."
"Others have tried?" asked Ginny, interested.
"They have, through different means," replied Harry, "but Calli says that the only other person who managed it successfully underwent it the same way."
"Who?" she asked, mystified.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck, "Er, Merlin," he said with a sheepish grin, and she gasped.
"Of course, that would make sense, wouldn't it?" the redhead muttered to herself as she paced atop the wooden floor. "So," she said in interest, "you're magically stronger now?"
He shook his head, and she appeared even more puzzled now. "What do you mean?" she asked, "you said it yourself, you felt more powerful!"
"I am more powerful than before," said Harry, "it's just that I can connect with magic better, if you can understand."
Judging by her expression, she didn't. "Try meditating sometime," he offered, "really, really meditate. You'll be able to sense the magic within you, around you; you'll understand what I'm talking about then."
"So the training basically did jack except help you connect with your magic?" she asked, frowning. "That doesn't sound to exciting..." she trailed off, looking doubtful.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Harry said lightly, and she bristled immediately.
"Oh, that's fine!" she huffed, "don't tell little Ginny Weasley, because she won't understand! She's the baby of the family! I'm sick of people treating me like a china princess!"
Harry was amused at her tantrum. "I don't think anyone could understand what I'm going through. Your magical strength can't increase, Ginny," he tried to explain, "you can boost it for certain periods of time, you can call upon it better, but your base power remains the same; how else would you explain Squibs? I just got lucky that I'm powerful," he finished with a grin.
She rolled her eyes, and he continued, "And you are still little, you know?" he added with a teasing grin.
"I stopped being little when I was 11, Harry," she replied coldly, and Harry shut up rapidly.
There was an awkward silence for a long time after that.
Ginny was the one who finally broke it, "So, who are Sally-Anne and Rosabella, and why should I know them?" she asked him.
Harry hestitated, and she rolled her eyes. "Harry, I swear I'll cut your bollocks off if you lie to me or avoid the question," she insisted, "I think I've been a friend to you long enough that you involve me in one of your crazy adventures."
"I'd like to see you try," he retorted, grinning.
She pulled her wand out, and fingered it lightly. "I was lying about not mastering the Flame Whip Charm, you know, Potter?" she said idly, "I could chop off and cauterize your balls."
"Language, language, Weasley," tutted Harry with a grin, he could always depend on Ginny for a laugh. "What would your mother say?"
Ginny looked thoughtful. "You know, that is a point. She'd be quite upset if she lost your bollocks..." she sat up with a grin, "especially since she has this idea that the two of us will end up married and with a Quidditch team full of children."
Harry spluttered, and Ginny giggled as he looked at her with wide eyes. "Are you serious?" he asked in horror.
She laughed out loud at his expression, and nodded, "Why else do you think she tries to mother you so much? I tell you, she's trying to condition you into calling her 'Mum' just as practice. Of course," she said, flashing him a bright smile, "she could be completely wrong, and you'd end up as Ron's bride..."
"Only in your wet dreams, Weasley," snorted Harry.
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "My sweet dreams wouldn't involve my brother," she protested, "though I can vouch for the fact that every girl in the castle, myself included, has dreamt about you and Malfoy getting down and dirty at some point or the other."
Harry looked like he'd stepped in on Umbridge taking a bath, "You're kidding, right?" he asked, feeling mildly ill.
"Would I lie about this?" she asked, looking up at him with wide, innocent brown eyes.
"Yes, you would," replied Harry fervently.
"I'm wounded, Potter," said Ginny, clutching her heart good-naturedly, "I am, after all, Molly Weasley's innocent babe."
"According to Fred and George, you haven't been innocent since you were six," said Harry.
"They're just sore because that's when I started stealing their socks," she replied without missing a beat. "Would you rather I wear my boy-who-lived ones?"
"I knew that fangirl would emerge sometime again!" Harry crowed with laughter, and doubled over as Ginny punched him in the stomach.
"I am not a fangirl, Potter!" she protested angrily.
"His eyes are as green as fresh pickled –OWW! That hurt!" he rubbed his arm where she'd hit him with an extremely powerful Stinging Hex. "Watch your hexes, that could have taken my arm off!"
She hadn't replied, though; instead, she chose to walk up to the edge of the tower and lean against the railing, looking out again.
After an intermittent period, she turned around and leaned on the railing, staring at him with an inexplicable expression on her face.
"What?" he asked, feeling a bit nervous.
She hestitated. "D – do you ever get the feeling that you're being controlled?" she asked, biting her lower lip.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about, Ginny?"
"I – I don't know how to explain it," she said, and Harry grimaced at the irony, he'd been the one saying the same thing only minutes ago.
"I think I can understand," said Harry, "and yes, I know I was being controlled. Dumbledore, remember? I spent months trying to get out of his control, and I'm pretty damn sure that I'm pretty much free of his influences now."
She shook her head, her flaming red hair flying about. "Not that," she said, sounding frustrated, "like someone is controlling how you feel, how you think?"
Harry sat up straight, "Are you talking about the diary?" he asked, panic rising within him.
She shook her head again, "No, forget it, Harry," she said, "I'm probably just having a bad day."
Harry wanted to protest, but he caught the look in her eye, and remained silent obediently.
"Thanks," she said gratefully.
"No problem," he said smoothly, getting up and dusting himself off. He was quite pleased that the topic of the missing students had been avoided somehow, as Ginny looked to be deep in thought.
"I'm going to head down now," he said, "see if Snape's been kicked out yet."
She smiled a little at that, but her eyes were still distant. "You go on," she said, "I think I'll stay up here for a bit."
"You'll be okay?" he asked, and she nodded.
"Yeah, I just need some time alone."
He could respect that sentiment, having experienced it himself. He was about to descend the staircase when she called to him –
"Harry, wait!" he turned, and found her staring at him with that inexplicable expression again. It looked...anxious, almost.
"Yeah?"
"There's a storm coming, Harry..." she said, her face shadowed. She looked out over the horizon, and continued. "I don't know how to say it. Dad always said that there was a bit of Seer blood in the family; but something big is around the corner. And I don't think it's a good thing," she finished, looking at him with searching eyes.
He left the tower with his head even messed up than before.
"You can't be serious!" hissed Snape angrily, "after all I've done, you're kicking me out of the castle?"
"My hands are tied, Severus, and this is for the greater good. We need you outside in the field again!"
"I'm a spy! What will I tell the Dark Lord when he asks why I am no longer a part of the Staff?"
"You will say, as we have rehearsed, that the Order has you working full time as a spy now, so you can be around the Dark Lord and know his secrets better, especially since he is weaker now."
Snape stared in disdain at the aged person sitting heavily before him. "My loyalty to the Light is starting to wear thin again," he said, his lips thinning, "one day, I might just find that the Dark Side has more to offer me."
"You know as well as I do that you will never join the Dark side again, Severus," was the weary reply, "but I need you and your considerable tracking skills immensely now."
Snape showed no emotion, but he tilted his head in reluctant acceptance anyway.
"My sources indicate that Harry somehow found himself in the company of a Succubus this summer, Severus," and even Snape looked shocked for a second.
"Yes, that was my reaction as well. I need you to find her, at any cost; we cannot have Harry escaping from our grasp thanks to some foreign influence. His path is set, despite what he thinks, and he cannot stray from it now."
"Very well," said Snape, "mail me all relevant information at Spinner's End, I don't want to stay here a second longer than necessary."
"Don't fret, Severus," came the calm reply, "I daresay you won't be lonely for long. Dolores is after the Head position, and I fear I cannot hold her off for too long."
Snape snorted at the understatement.
Harry walked down the fifth floor corridor under his cloak, making sure not to make any noise. Reaching the Hospital Wing, he slowly pushed the door open, and looked inside.
The room was empty. Feeling relieved, he snuck inside quickly, shutting the door behind him. He paused for a second, and when there was no sign of Madam Pomfrey, he cast a Silencing Charm, and rushed over to the cupboards.
Rifling through them, he was frustrated to find only Potions and other paraphernalia, but no sign of any medical records, like he'd hoped.
He came to the conclusion that no files were stored in the Hospital Wing, which left –
He turned towards Madam Pomfrey's office, and gulped slightly. A plan formed in his mind, and he quietly reached into one of the cupboards and picked up a Potion which he was intimately familiar with, the Dreamless Sleep potion.
Tiptoeing over to her office door, he cracked it open a smidgen. She was sitting on her chair, engrossed in the Daily Prophet. Feeling intensely guilty for what he was about to do, he stepped slightly to the side, and pointed his wand at the beds, thinking, 'Confringo!'
Madam Pomfrey shrieked and nearly fell from her chair at the resulting explosion, and she grabbed her wand and dashed past him, leaving the door wide open.
Ignoring her screams of horror, he rushed over to the cup of tea she had on the table, and poured a bit of the Potion into it, enough to keep her asleep for an hour or so. He knew from experience that the Potion was tasteless, so she wouldn't notice the addition.
He was back out of the door and waiting in a matter of seconds, watching with a mix of amusement and guilt as she repaired everything with a wide wave of her wand, raging and ranting at Peeves.
The poltergeist would no doubt thank Harry for creating havoc in his name if he ever got wind of what had happened, Harry thought with a grin, as he waited patiently in his corner.
His efforts were rewarded fifteen minutes later, by which time an angry Pomfrey had returned to her office and sought for solace in her cup of tea.
When the sound of light snoring reached his ears, he crept into the office. Pulling off his cloak, he opened the cupboard directly above her head, and was immediately rewarded by a neat column of files.
After searching through them for some time, Harry realized that it was foolish of him to search for them the Muggle way. Pulling his wand, he summoned both Sally-Anne and Rosabella's files to himself, but was crestfallen when his spell had no effect.
He tried again, summoning Ron's file to see if maybe Pomfrey had put some charms on the files to prevent them from being summoned, or if the files he was searching for had really been removed.
However, no sooner had he flicked his wand and thought the spell did the file bearing Ron's name come flying out. Banishing it back, Harry felt his puzzlement grow. Either Sally-Anne and Rosabella had never been to the Hospital Wing, which was unheard of for a Hogwarts student, or their files had been removed.
On a whim, he raised his wand again.
'Accio Harry Potter's medical file' yielded no result as well.
Harry felt the shadows around him grow, and he wasn't reassured by the notion at all.
"Sirius?" asked Remus, waving his hand before his friend's face, "Sirius?"
The Black patriarch was clearly hammered, Remus decided, as he saw his friend's face, and hollow expression. It looked like Sirius had another of his Azkaban episodes, and had gone on a drinking spree to drown his memories.
"Are you all right?" No answer, only a blank stare. Only days ago, Sirius had been his old youthful and charming self, he'd even vowed to get ahold of his life; he'd even started his planning to that end. And now...now, he was drifting back to his old state again.
Sometimes, Remus wondered whether the only reason Sirius was still alive was Harry. He grimaced at the thought of his young friend.
If Sirius returned back to the state he'd been in when Harry had rescued him from the Dementors, Harry would be crushed. Sirius, along with Remus, was one of the only adults who Harry could trust and lean upon in this world.
If Sirius failed in his role as Harry's guardian, only he, Remus, would be the remaining rock for the young wizard.
Remus shivered.
Hermione couldn't help but cheer slightly along with the other students when Professor Snape walked out the gates of Hogwarts, his ever-present sneer still marring his face.
Even though both she and Snape were on the same side in the war, she could never bring herself to like that man.
Speaking of which, where was Harry? She'd searched for her old friend, but he was nowhere to be found. Of all the people at the school, she'd thought that Harry would have enjoyed seeing his least favourite teacher leave the school...
The young wizard in question was currently sitting alone in the Room of Requirement, concentrating on his Occlumency shields.
Harry didn't know when, he didn't know how, but somehow, he suddenly found that he no longer loved the castle like he once did. He'd been through too much here, and even now, it was looking like he was caught up in the web of something new.
The faces of both the missing girls flashed before his eyes, one of them clear, and the other only a pale memory. He sighed, cradling his head in his hand.
Despite his conversation with Ginny, he couldn't help but feel that his life was spiralling out of control again.
And her words had struck a deep chord within him.
There's a storm coming, Harry...He couldn't help but agree. There was a mystery afoot, and he had a feeling he wouldn't like it when it finally solved itself.
And there was always that blasted niggling headache at the back of his mind!
Despite everything that was going on, Harry couldn't help but feel elated as he walked to Flitwick's office for his first lesson. Snape was gone, and there was talk that a new Potions master had already been contacted to take over the job. He would have liked to see the bat leave the castle for good, but one couldn't have everything in life. His need to control his Occlumency had been far greater.
He mused, though, as he walked to Flitwick's office, that he may just have found a reliable adult in Minerva McGonagall.
So it was with fond thoughts of her in his head, and a smile on his lips, that Harry knocked on Flitwick's door.
"Ah, Harry!" squeaked the tiny Professor, "come in, come in! How are you this fine afternoon?"
"I'm good, Professor, and you?"
"Brilliant, brilliant!" beamed the Professor, "now, let us get to our lesson at once, I can hardly wait!"
"Likewise, Professor," said Harry with a grin, and Flitwick's smile widened. The Charms teacher led him over to his desk, where a curious basin like object was floating a few inches off the wooden surface.
"I don't know if you're familiar with it, but this is a –"
"A Pensieve," supplied Harry, pleasing Flitwick to know end, "yes, I'm acquainted with them, Professor. What do you plan on doing with them?"
"Today," said Flitwick, "we shall be working on your duelling," and Harry straightened in anticipation. "But before we begin, we must select a style that you find appealing, and then modify it to create your own style."
Harry was intrigued. "Is that what the memories are for, then?" he asked, and Flitwick nodded. "They're the collection of some of the better duellists I've seen in action, each with a style of their own. For your own benefit, some of them are quite familiar to you –"
Harry's eyes lit up as he noticed two vials on them immediately, one labelled Lily Potter, and the other 'James Potter and Sirius Black'.
He pouted, though, when Flitwick chuckled and said, "I think we'll be saving those for last," he said, "lest you get distracted. Now, moving on to the first memory," he lifted one.
"Albus Dumbledore," Harry read off the label, his eyes widening. Flitwick poured the memory into the basin, and Harry touched his face to the surface –
He landed in the middle of a war-torn city, and ducked out of the way by reflex when a huge, fiery phoenix dived out of nowhere. It took him a few seconds to remember that he was in a memory, and he straightened, grinning sheepishly.
"Quite all right, Mr. Potter," chuckled Flitwick, "in fact, I should give you credit for your reflexes. Now," he continued, turning business-like, and motioning towards the ongoing duel, "while I couldn't procure a memory of his fight against Grindelwald, this is Albus against one of his greatest Lieutenants. You'll notice that Albus relies heavily on Transfiguration, and other, more esoteric branches of magic to duel. His style of attack has been commonly, and rather unoriginally named the Conjurer," And true to his words, Harry watched as his Headmaster, looking younger by far than Harry had seen him, conjured an enormous lion and sent it at his quarry.
Without waiting as the animal was blasted apart, he waved his wand and a huge stream of water appeared before him, which he froze and then shattered, banishing the ice spears at his opponent.
Harry was overwhelmed by the sheer power he was displaying, but he couldn't imagine himself fighting like that – the Headmaster's style was completely different from his own. While he hoped that he could one day match the Headmaster in power, he couldn't imagine relying heavily on Transfiguration.
He found himself outside in the office once the memory had played out, and he said, "I don't think that's it, Professor. While he certainly fights like a man possessed, he's too slow for my taste."
Flitwick beamed at him, "I'm unsurprised, Mr. Potter, in fact, I would be most displeased if you'd picked his style, the posture and attacking is all wrong for you. Shall we move on, then?"
And so master and student dove into the Pensieve once more, sorting through the memories of wizards and witches through the ages.
Harry felt like he couldn't connect with any of them – was it his training, he wondered, or had he already developed a style of his own. He rejected nearly everything he'd seen so far, even Flitwick's own style, citing speed, power, defense, bulk and even gender as an excuse.
Instead of growing incensed, though, Flitwick only got more and more excited, much like Ollivander when he had tested Harry for his wands.
"Right," said Flitwick, at five o' clock in the evening, "we're down to the last three now, Mr. Potter."
While Harry was excited to finally see his parents and Godfather fight, his heart sank a bit as he saw the label on the third-to-last vial.
They landed in the base of the Pensieve again, and Harry found himself in a place he recognized. The fight was at Hogsmeade, and Death Eaters were leading a riot against the Order of the Phoenix.
He realized with a jolt that he was witnessing the fall of Gideon and Fabian Prewett, as he saw two red-haired men snarling and fighting like cornered animals, taking down Death Eaters left and right.
"Move aside," came the command from behind, and the ranks parted to allow Lord Voldemort passage. Harry shivered as he beheld the snake-like face, the red eyes and the lipless, cruel smile.
Voldemort merely tilted his head at the two wizards, before he struck with the speed and ferocity of a Snake. Harry, who was used to Voldemort merely slinging around Avada Kedavra's, came to a horrific realization as he saw Voldemort fight.
He was nothing more than an annoyance to Voldemort, a fly on the windshield – the Dark Lord had never taken him seriously enough to engage him in a proper duel.
Voldemort duelled – dare he say it – with all the arrogance of a true Lord. He stood his ground in the middle of battle, and his face betrayed no emotion as he sent out curses and hexes as unbelievable speeds and raised shields with nary a glance. Harry almost backpedalled in fear when Voldemort inhaled before blowing on his outstretched palm, and a Basilisk of pure fire emerged out of his mouth; he could almost feel the phantom heat from the massive behemoth before him.
The Prewett brothers never stood a chance. One of them screamed in horrific pain as he was burnt beyond recognition, and landed with a morbid finality.
Seeing the form of his fallen brother, the other man charged Voldemort in anger, sending out curses so fast that Harry had to shield his eyes from the light.
Voldemort barely reacted, he raised a shield which absorbed every spell thrown at him, and Harry was surprised to see a cold grin on his face.
The bastard wasn't even threatened, he was enjoying this.
Voldemort waited until his attacker was almost upon him, before he disarmed him with one fluid movement, and without breaking stride, he plunged his wand into the man's heart and muttered a final word, his first in the entire duel.
Harry recognized the exploding curse, and he turned his eyes away as the remains of the Prewett brother landed on the ground, feeling sick to the very core of his stomach.
"His style is known as the Giant," said Flitwick quietly, "he stands like a tree in the battlefield and uses raw power to overwhelm everything in his way."
Harry could feel the beginnings of a panic attack coming on...he was supposed to fight and defeat that? At that moment, he was painfully aware of his own inexperience and lack of skill before Voldemort.
The Dark Lord had been careless, weakened from his resurrection, and complacent so far. Harry had an ominous feeling that all three factors would soon be dealt with.
"Harry?" he heard a gentle voice, and turned to see Flitwick looking at him anxiously. No doubt the professor thought that he was shaken up by the memory of his parents' murdered fighting.
"I don't think that's the one for me, Professor," he said weakly, "on to the next one?"
Flitwick smiled, "You'll enjoy this."
And enjoy it he did.
His first impression of his mother was a swathe of red hair whirling about him, before a gust of wind blew her attackers off their feet. Harry was pleased to recognize the white-blonde hair of Lucius Malfoy among them.
He watched as his mother raised an extremely strong shield, weathering all attacks while she muttered something under her breath. Nearly ten seconds later, when her defense was starting to crumble, she finished her spell.
Harry gave a gasp of wonder as arcs of lightning flashed out from her wand, targeting and electrocuting her opponents. Lily sagged noticeably, but backup had already arrived by that point, and the memory had ended.
"Short, but it gets the point across," said Flitwick, and Harry had to nod in agreement. "Your mother was a lover of old and forgotten charms, which were often crude but long, but made up what they lacked in finesse in raw power. However, she was never really much of a duellist, she only ever raised her wand to get herself and her loved ones out of trouble. As you can see, she has a distinct counterattacking style, and you can see her proficiency at Charms at the very beginning," finished the Professor a bit proudly.
"Still not the one for me, Professor," said Harry a bit sadly, and Flitwick couldn't help but sigh.
"One could only hope," he said wistfully, "but maybe the last one is meant to be? If not, we'll figure your own style out together, Mr. Potter. But fear not, I have a feeling you'll find this one to your liking."
His first impression of the memory was of chaos. It was everywhere, and a sea of spells made its way past him, slamming into the Death Eaters at random. His father came into view, hurling out spells from his wand incessantly, a scary grin on his face.
Next to him, Sirius showed the more Classical Pureblood style of duelling Flitwick had shown him earlier, twirling and waving his wand like a baton, though he was mainly concentrating on shielding his friend.
James, however, was entropy given form on the battlefield. He never paused to think; relying on Sirius to back him up and shield him from danger, he cast spell out after spell without pausing. The fact remained that none of them were overtly powerful, but a mixture of some of the craziest spells he'd ever seen.
Harry watched in utter fascination as a Death Eater was petrified and forced into a pink tutu, while another was transformed into a rabbit with extremely large teeth. The heads of one of the Death Eaters inflated until it was the size of a large balloon, while one more ended up hanging upside down in midair, breathing bubbles whenever he opened his mouth.
Harry was in love.
"Professor," he said with a grin eerily reminiscent of the one his father had been wearing in the memory, "I think this is the one for me. What's it called?"
"We'll come to that shortly, Mr. Potter," said Flitwick with a pleased smile, "I had a feeling after the first few memories that this would be the one for you. Since James never had any formal training, I believe that with some proper guidance, you could modify this style to build your own, one which will –"
"Have some more defense, yeah," said Harry, and Flitwick nodded.
"Out with your wand, then, Mr. Potter," said the Professor, and Harry complied. "We shall be duelling immediately, and see if this style will work out for you first, though."
"Now?" asked Harry, surprised, as Flitwick waved his wand and the entire room cleared. The Professor had obviously planned this.
"Now," admitted Flitwick with a suddenly feral grin before he struck.
Harry barely managed to get a rudimentary shield up before the hex grazed past him. As it was, he felt his cheek get sliced open and a trickle of blood flow down his cheek.
He grit his teeth as he was forced on the defensive, while Flitwick seemed to be dominating the fight without any effort. The Charms teacher was prodigiously fast, snapping out spells so fast that Harry lost his head and started to block and dodge wildly.
After some time, though, he reverted back to his crisis mode, as he had fondly named it.
"Is that the best you can do, Mr. Potter?" taunted Flitwick in his squeaky voice, "I confess myself disappointed."
Harry's temper rose, and he raised a shield and closed his eyes for a second, remembering his lessons with Calli.
He immediately felt foolish, his magic was right where it had been since he had completed his training, ready to use and raring to go. Immersing himself in it, he grinned as he felt the power rush through him, and his Occlumency shields lightened ever so slightly.
Almost at once, it seemed the duel had been slowed down, as his magic-induced reflexes, honed thanks to his training with Calli, kicked in. He smoothly dodged a Hurling Hex, batted aside a Disarmer and twisted away from a unknown yellow spell.
It still wasn't enough, though; he felt a sting as Flitwick's Flame Whip connected with his arm, and he hissed in pain.
He pushed further into his magic, and slowly, he managed to raise a proper shield, and get an attack or two in. His efforts, though, were batted aside as though they were nothing but mere flies.
His anger growing despite the warnings from his mentor, Harry lowered his Occlumency shields and plunged into the very depths of himself.
Flitwick paused slightly as the power level in the room bypassed the normal and started climbing so fast that he felt the floor crack below his feet. Harry's eyes glazed over slightly as he found his very core, found the two ever-spinning lights within him, and he forced all his concentration on two words.
Magicus –
Harry, No!Yin's terrified voice rang out in his head, but he paid no heed.
Extremos.
Harry's world went red in an instant as pure power exploded outwards from him. He could suddenly feel the presence of his very soul clearly, like his two guardians were next to him in the fight.
His lips curled into a feral grin, and a blast of phoenix song, terrifying and elating at the same time, filled the room. He raised his wand and sent a Blasting Hex at the Professor.
Flitwick's eyes widened as he saw the enormous purple jet shoot at him; he barely had time to raise a shield before it impacted. Even so, the backlash forced him back several paces, and his shield shattered, forcing him to roll away from the next two spells.
Harry was relentless, a crazy grin on his face, and he didn't let up for a second. Wave after wave of magic flew out from his wand, and he laughed in exhilaration as he conjured a wall of fire and blasted it outwards at Flitwick.
It was no Basilisk, but it was a start.
Harry, release the spell at once!Shouted Yang, but Harry was so drunk on power that he paid them no heed.
Do not fall to the lure,protested Yin, but he saw no reason to deny the magic that was singing in his veins.
NO! You are better than this!
He faltered as images overloaded his mind, of Sirius and Remus, of Calli, and Ginny, Fred and George, Ron in his compartment on the train to Hogwarts.
He felt the red haze around him lighten, and his eyes widened as he saw the carnage he'd wrought. The benches around the perimeter had been reduced to shrapnel, the floor beneath him was cracking, the windows shattered and the paintings on the wall in pieces.
Horror rising in him, he struggled with the stream of magic which was threatening to overtake him, until finally, with a near inhuman effort, he was able to wrench himself away from it.\
The resulting backlash sent him off his feet and crashing onto the floor, where he groaned as he felt extremely lightheaded as once.
He sat up, clutching his head, and was shocked to see a battered looking and slightly smoking Flitwick do the same near the door.
"I was merely taunting you, Mr. Potter," squeaked the Professor, "you were doing admirably for an amateur, since I never hold back during my test duels. But just in case you wanted to know, your father's style, and the style which I'm sure you'll adapt,"
Flitwick paused, and Harry looked at him expectantly. "-was known as the Berserker."
Harry grinned.
Though tired, the spring in his step remained as Harry made his way up to the fifth floor for his first detention with Umbridge. Flitwick had assured him that he had shown signs that he could master the style of duelling without resorting to any extreme means, though it would take some practice.
Harry still couldn't wipe the shit-eating grin off his face, for some reason. Having so much power flowing through him just felt good.
He knocked on the door, waiting for the Professor to invite him in.
When no reply came, he pushed the door open and looked inside. His eyes widened in horror.
The broken form of his Defense Teacher lay on the floor, blood seeping out of her head. Her eyes were wide open and staring upwards unfocusedly.
Dolores Umbridge was dead.
Author's Note: Before you give me flak, or rejoice at Umbridge's death, let me assure you, her murderer will blow your minds when the reveal happens. I swear it will. Begin guessing...while I laugh my evil laugh.
Actually, I'm not really in a laughing mood right now. My grandmother passed away on Sunday, and days have been tough. Writing became my refuge, which is why you have this chapter out much before I planned to publish it. Overlook any mistakes you come across, I'm not really in the best mindset.
That said, you can't really complain about this, can you? It has a mystery, badass action, some teen awkwardness interspersed with HEAVY foreshadowing, and a cliffie at the end.
Review, because I really want to know your reactions to this one! Engage me with your wonderful theories!