Ch. 29 - The Title That Time Forgot
Nothing, Harry thought, as he let his body run through the warmup exercises Friday morning. Nearly a full week had passed since Kurama had sent him that message through Hiei, since Hiei had let slip that Kurama was sick of catering to Slytherin watchers, and... nothing. The Slytherin boy still behaved exactly as he had before.
Harry had noticed, now that he was paying attention. Kurama somehow always managed to be talking to Hiei, or Yuusuke, or Kuwabara - a faintly amused smile on his face as he drew reactions from them - before Potions and meals, and the rare times when he ran into the Gryffindors outside of class. The only other non-Slytherin student he actually had any regular contact with was Neville, in fact... and it was true, the school always did seem to be watching.
It hurt.
Now THAT'S an understatement of monstrous proportions, Potter, Harry told himself dryly. The fact that he was being shunned (avoided like the plague!), brought up a whole slew of 'hurt's. Even though he hadn't even noticed it... no, perhaps especially because he hadn't even noticed.
Resignation: it wasn't as if being shunned was new. Dudley in Muggle school, the Heir of Slytherin mess in second year, last year when almost no one believed Harry hadn't cheated to get into the Tournament...
Guilt over Cedric: association with Harry was potentially lethal. All my fault, and Kurama's just being sensible...
Anger at that: sensible it might be, but it would've been just as sensible for Ron and Hermione to have dumped him in first year, or second, or third, and THEY hadn't! Kurama was just being a sneaky little coward and... and... he wasn't a Gryffindor. Open bravery wasn't his defining characteristic - the Hat said so.
He hadn't had the guts to even tell Harry he was going to avoid him.
But he'd sent the message.
... why?
Hiei leapt to his feet, and Harry followed suit, standing more slowly as he shook free of his thoughts. He lifted his wooden sword as Hiei cast his usual flat gaze over the class.
"Today you are being tested," he announced. A chorus of groans broke out. Hiei ignored them. "I will call out either 'block' or 'strike', and a series of numbers. You will perform the correct movement."
A pause, and a noticeable sigh of relief spread through the class as they realized that was it for the instructions. Harry didn't think it sounded that hard; they'd only learned the first four movements of each type.
"Weapons up," Hiei ordered, and Harry lifted his weapon. "Begin. Block-Four. Two. Three. Three. One. Four." The numbers came at the pace they'd been using for weeks, and Harry quickly fell into the familiar rhythm. This was easy! Why was it a test? "Strike-Two. Four. Four. One. Three. Two. Four. Block-Two. Three. Strike-Four. Two. Three. One."
Five minutes of steady, measured counting later, Harry was starting to get the idea. This actually wasn't as easy as it sounded. You had to focus, but Hiei's monotone was about as interesting as Professor Binn's lectures, and he was using just six words. Six...
"Strike-One."
Boring...
"Three."
Dull...
"Four."
Flat...
"Strike-Two."
Harry, and most of the other students, fumbled, nearly performing block-two. Hey! No fair - Hiei had said strike twice in a row!
Harry yanked his wandering mind back to the routine. No more grumbling about how boring it was. Hiei could throw in that trick at any time...
"Block-Four. Three. Two. One. Three. One. Four. Strike-Four. Four. Four. Four. One. Three. Two. One. Block-Two. Three. One. Three. One. Three. Two. Strike-Two. One. Three. Four. Two. Three. One. Block-Three. Four. Two."
Ten more minutes, and Harry's forehead was lightly beaded with sweat, an ache developing between his eyebrows where his muscles were tense with concentration. Hiei had played his trick twice more, catching the entire class the last time.
"Strike-Two. Four. Three. One. Stop." Weapons clattered to the floor. Harry brought a hand to his head, wiping the sweat away and pushing at the aching muscles. If Hiei did this regularly, no wonder he wore that headband all the time.
Hiei crossed his arms, glaring at the class. "That was miserable," he said coldly. Harry winced in embarrassment. "What have you learned?"
"That you give hard tests!" one of the older Gryffindors laughed. Hiei's eyes snapped to him, and he gulped and subsided.
"Wrong," Hiei said. "Try again."
A Ravenclaw raised her hand, and Hiei nodded shortly at her.
"That we have to pay attention."
Hiei almost smiled. "You cannot afford to be distracted," he clarified. "If you get into the habit during your training, you will lose focus during a fight." A cold glance flicked over them. "That'll get you and your allies killed.
"Break yourselves of the habit over the next few weeks. Your next test will be faster." He paused as another groan went through the room. "There's willowbark tisane in the basket by the door. Drink it before Kuwabara's session if you have a headache." A final glance, and he gestured towards the racks. "Put your weapons away. Dismissed."
Harry put his weapon away, took a vial from the basket, and followed Hiei out; he wasn't in Kuwabara's session.
"How'd you get Snape to give this to the class?" he asked, taking a swig and trying not to taste the stuff. He almost succeeded, and made a face at the dry/fuzzy/bitter taste it left in his mouth.
"He didn't," Hiei answered flatly. Harry almost choked. Had Hiei raided Snape's office-?! "I asked Kurama."
Harry froze. "Kurama?"
"Yes." Hiei glanced back at him, eyes narrowed with confusion. "He grows the stuff anyway."
Oh. Yeah. Kurama made plants grow... and willow was freely available in the student cupboards, and water in every bathroom. Harry was being an idiot. "I, um, guess I was just surprised," Harry stammered. "That he would. Make this, I mean. What with that being-watched business."
Hiei shrugged. "If anyone asks, I paid him more than it was worth."
"Right."
-0-0-0
"LONGBOTTOM!"
Snape's roar echoed from the dungeon walls, carrying over the ringing in Kurama's ears. Neville's cauldron had just blown up in Potions. Again. Kurama wiped greenish sludge from his face as Snape swooped down on the unfortunate Gryffindor in a towering rage.
The Potions professor's already-unpleasant disposition had only soured - hard as that was to believe - in the two weeks since the Quidditch match. Rumor had it that Snape was furious about losing to the Gryffindors with Potter AND three Weasleys on the team, but Kurama was all too aware that it was his fault. And now his student was suffering for it, and Kurama didn't dare do a damn thing. Except pass one of his extra handkerchiefs to Hiei and wait for the storm to pass.
If it was anyone but Neville, Kurama thought as Snape hissed and glowered and terrified the Gryffindor witless, he would've deserved this. But him... damn Snape for being a blind, arrogant, petty fool of a human! Kurama had full control of his skills, but Neville didn't. Couldn't. In fact, had LESS control now that Kurama had begun the task of helping him unlock his abilities. How could Snape not realize this-?
"- and how your parents could spawn an incompetent dunderhead like yourself is beyond me!" Snape finished.
Silence fell over the classroom.
Shimatta...
The Slytherins behind and beside Kurama leaned forward, eager anticipation flowing from them in waves to crash against the rising sense of outrage on the Gryffindor side of the room. Kurama waited, expressionless, as the air began to hum with power: Yuusuke's, Neville's, Kuwabara's, everybody's except Hiei, Kurama, and Snape. Untrained mindblind humans, do they even feel it? Do they understand?
The cauldron next to Neville's exploded.
The students shrieked and ducked under desks again, their power snapping off like a light. Another in the row went up, and another. Kurama threw out his power, clamping down on every cell of plant matter in the classroom to counteract Neville's loss of control.
Snape's voice was like ice when he spoke again. "One hundred points from Gryffindor." A glob of the botched potion dripped from the end of his large nose with a dull splat. "Get. Out. Of. My. Sight." His gaze flicked around the room impartially. "Now!"
Neville bolted.
In the rush of students grabbing bags and escaping in Neville's wake, Kurama managed to get out first. Moss was already starting to grow from the walls on the corridor towards the surface; Kurama hushed it back into winter dormancy as he ran faster than a human could manage.
He caught up with Neville halfway up the stairs, and slowed to match the Gryffindor's speed, staying a half step behind. There was no need to stop Neville; Kurama could let the boy run himself out first.
They sped through the twisting hallways and grand, gothic rooms of Hogwarts, startling portraits and careening past statues - Kurama could swear that one statue's gaze followed them as they passed.
Shortly, on a staircase leading down to a side door, Neville tripped. Kurama caught the boy and pulled, countering his weight and momentum easily, preventing him from tumbling head-over-heels down the steps. Shocked eyes snapped to him - Neville hadn't even noticed Kurama was there.
"Wha...?" Neville began, staring as Kurama helped him regain his balance. A split second passed, muscles tense and shaking under Kurama's steadying hands, and Neville shook his head and yanked away.
Kurama let go, folding his hands before him as he realized Neville had bolted from rage... not terror. He quickly revised his approach.
"It's not healthy to suppress that," he said softly. "Come. We'll take this outside."
He turned away, avoiding Neville's bewildered eyes, knowing he had to act fast before the boy regained his feet emotionally and swallowed his fury. Footsteps on the stairs behind him brought a faint relief - Neville was following, obeying.
Outside, Kurama led Neville away from the school, to a flat area between the tower and the Forest. There, he knelt, pressing a seed into the autumn-chilled ground. "The name for this translates to 'frostgut'," he began, judiciously pouring power into it. As it sprouted, throwing out blue-white, spiky leaves, Kurama added, "It's a Reikai plant, a monocot, and it grows wild in subartic environments. The sap is useful on frostbite, and counteracts hypothermia when drunk. The nectar, though, induces fever, and is often used by shamans in dream divination." He stood, stepping back as the main stem passed the meter mark in height and budded.
He raised his eyes to meet Neville's. "Take control of it from me, and make it bloom."
"What-?"
"Fight me for control of the plant, Neville. I'll be holding it to this point; make it bloom."
Uncertainly, Neville touched a leaf, and his power reached into the frostgut. Kurama gently pushed it away. Neville's brow furrowed, and he tried again.
Kurama internally frowned. Neville was already burying his rage under shock - that was no good. It would just fester there.
"Think of Snape," Kurama said abruptly. Neville's eyes flicked from the leaves to meet Kurama's. "Remember every insult over the years, every belittling comment, every sneer. And it's all for NO REASON, Neville." Neville's magic froze against Kurama's, within the plant, then suddenly surged. "You don't need that class. You don't belong in that class - it's done nothing but hold you back. What do YOU need Potions for? You can get the same results and more without all that brewing and sneering and insulting, just putting a little magic into a seed." Neville's power was truly fighting Kurama's now, struggling to bring the plant to bloom against Kurama's grip. "Five years of Snape for NOTHING-" he bit back a hiss as Neville's power scraped against his own.
It didn't hurt, precisely. It wasn't strong enough to; about on the level of falling on the sidewalk, back when he was two and still hadn't quite gotten the hang of walking in human sneakers. But it startled him. He should be barely a D, even run by rage! But this is halfway to C-! Unless...? Kurama's eyes widened. He's... but I wasn't going to try to teach him that yet-!
Neville slumped to the ground on his hands and knees, panting.
Kurama stepped around the frostgut and knelt next to Neville. "You did well," he said softly. A low, bitter sound floated up from the boy's downturned face. "You did," Kurama pressed.
"I didn't make it bloom."
"I never expected you to." Silence greeted that. "What I wanted was for you to purge the anger, before it festered. What you did... I wasn't expecting this time. Neville, you USED your rage - turned it to work FOR you, rather than control you." Kurama paused, letting that sink in. "I don't know if you realize the magnitude of that... it's a lesson most people never learn."
"I still didn't make it bloom."
Oh, for... "Neville, I've been training with my core magic since I was old enough to crawl." And that was a thousand years ago when I was a pup! "You've been training for all of two months. Don't expect miracles; you did better than I would've expected of anyone."
Silence again, and Kurama stood. "Come on," he said, pulling Neville to his feet. "I'll take you back to Gryffindor Tower. Rest for the afternoon, and we'll start Ningenkai monocots next week."
-0-0-0
The sun had set during dinner, and the wind had picked up off the lake. Late November at Hogwarts was bloody cold, driving everyone to crowd in their common rooms and the library when they had the choice, and tonight was no different.
Harry had managed to beg off yet another game of chess with Ron, and now idly watched the redhead play against Keiko. It was better than doing - Merlin forbid - his homework.
Ron's chesspieces were starting to spook Harry. He wasn't entirely sure why; maybe it was the tiny apron on the queen.
... Apron? Since when did Ron's chess queen wear an apron?
-0-0-0
Snow. Lightly falling, soft and gentle, invisible past the warm glow of firelight coming from the windows of Hogwarts. In the clouded dark of a winter night, one could imagine there was nothing past the castle itself, except the tiny, soft sparkles.
Unless one had demon eyes to see the film of white thickening on the ground, or was simply not given to flights of fancy. Hope, yes. Illusion, delusion - possible. Deliberate imaginings that the rest of the world - and its dangers, its treasures - no.
Hiei snorted softly, and closed the window firmly. He casually tossed another log on the fire as he crossed the room, and took his usual seat on the low table before the couch, bringing one leg up to rest his foot on the polished wood.
The Patil twins, used to this behavior, simply waited, side-by-side on the couch.
"Ready state."
Under his eyes, their power flared, coursing over their skin to their hands, and resettled. To normal human vision, their breath slowed by half, and their eyes seemed to go blank.
"Good," Hiei said. "Come back." He waited the second required for their gazes to refocus on him, and pushed himself further back on the table and crossed his legs. Weeks before, before ever starting work with the girls, he'd drawn wardings into the edge. The chances of them picking him up on their viewing globes was minimal, as long as he was fully on the table.
"You're going to start attempting to control your observations today," he said. "You-" he pointed at Padma, "-have the easier job. We'll start with Dean Thomas. Focus on his name and identity, and try to push that knowledge into your globe."
His finger shifted to Parvati. "You have it harder. You are going to zero in on a specific time, but the visualization that works best is different for everyone. Some people can work with mathmatics - a fraction or percentage of the point they naturally focus in on, or a multiple of it - while some people find it easier to think in terms of looking at or hearing something a certain distance away. Your base range - the point in time you naturally look for - seems to be about ten years in the past. I want you to try for half that: five years, also on Thomas."
"Yessir," the girls said nervously.
"Ready state. Begin." They fell into their trance state, and their globes formed in the air. Hiei watched, silent, as Padma's flickered between images of a couple of Gryffindors in the common room above - two first years who'd managed to claim the couch, the picture centering uncertainly on one, then the other, as they wrestled over possession of a pillow - and an image of Dean, sketching near a window on the far side of the room.
Parvati's sphere remained blank, glowing a misty white.
A log snapped and fell in the fire, showering sparks up into the chimney. To soar like a spark... He stifled a smirk. Swipe Yuusuke's broom and train with the Bludgers... perhaps the human would fire Shotgun at him. He hadn't gotten a decent amount of training - a sparring match, or even a fight - since he'd gotten roped into this stupid mission. How could he stay sharp when he was stuck babysitting?
The image wavered - channel-surfing, in some slang parlance embedded in his earring. Dean, the first years, a third year swiping a pillow, Dean, a static-filled flicker, Dean... Padma was starting to sweat, her brow furrowing, but the picture remained on the Thomas boy, though it fuzzed and panned like Kurama's old television.
The mist in Parvati's globe began to clear, showing a little first-year boy, recognizably Dean. The Sorting Hat was on his head.
"Remember this feeling," Hiei said, voice pitched to not break their concentration. "Whatever you're doing to make this work, remember how it feels for next time. Now let it go."
They let their balls pop with identical sighs of relief. Hiei frowned at the exhaustion in those sighs. "Go."
"Yessir!" they squeaked, bolting.
Hiei rolled his eyes. Easily intimidated, weak, slow, baby humans... he needed a distraction. Or something.
Definitely going to swipe his broom.