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Pain, Pleasure and Etiquette

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And teach he did. Meeting Harry's eyes, Salazar allowed himself a small smirk. Things were progressing in new and delightful ways, and a gifted, angry protégé had practically fallen into his hands. Little could be better.

"Stand, little one," he commanded, and with no hesitation Harry rose. "You have much to learn, and still more to perfect. With your knowledge of spells and wandwork suspended, you have the chance of learning magic in its purest form." He paused, eyeing the dark haired youth before him critically. "Create light," he commanded.

"Light?" Harry repeated, thrown off course. Frowning, he swallowed the 'how' on the tip of his tongue and forced himself to look at the problem objectively.

He tried to run over what Mercury had told him of Wandless Magic, but once more encountered the space where his knowledge should be. His face twisted briefly in irritation as he swept through his memories for some hint of how to proceed.

The answer came to him ten minutes later, as he recalled himself attempting a similar problem. The day he was due to meet Sirius and Remus he had sat beside the lake, concentrating on altering a simple…light charm? Hadn't he found some way to change it, if only a little?

Focus on the lake, he thought to himself, closing his eyes. The lake is my magic, and all I need to do is lift a droplet of it out.

"Your magic is of far greater similarity to a chasm that runs from the surface of the lake to midway through the earth, but use whatever visualisations may help you," Salazar replied blandly.

Harry blinked a little, but altered his vision so that the depths of the lake stretched far further than his eyes could follow. He felt a mild trepidation as he thought of what could lurk below the surface, and was remained unpleasantly of the second task, but stopped himself. What was hidden in the deep of his magic was his own, and answered to him. He'd be damned if he were going to be afraid.

Raising his hand, he looked at his fingertips, willing them to glow. Not perturbed when nothing happened, he tried to mentally pour more of his magic into the feat.

Nothing.

Biting back his gradually building frustration, he imagined the magical reservoir rushing into the tips of his hands, pouring, cracking, breaking, tumbling from its confines in terrible waves that washed away everything in their path…

"Stop."

Shaking his head, concentration gone, he looked up and met Salazar's eyes. The Founder was regarding him with careful consideration.

"Only a droplet," he chastened, "nothing more is needed."

Nodding, and biting back his irritation, he tried again.

And again.

And again.

Time seemed to have contrived to race forwards whilst pacing out each of his failures, and Harry had yet to create even a glimmer. His brow was lightly beaded with moisture and his hand shook slightly from hours of holding it outstretched, attempting to 'create light'.

"Again," Salazar commanded from his favoured armchair.

"Look," Harry snapped eyes narrowing, "this really isn't working."

Salazar sent him a level gaze. "Do you remember what I told you of anger? You will show a little more control in future."

Oh, I will, will I? Harry snarled in his head, raising his hand and trying to focus on making his fingertips glow. How the fuck is this helping me? Stupid bastard-

With a gasp, Harry retracted his hands to clutch at his head. It felt as if a burning was spreading from his forehead and throughout his veins. He could only briefly compare it to the Cruciatus before that was swept from his mind by the overwhelming pain of it. His veins were alight; he was burning with liquid fire from the inside out, lacerating his skin, spreading over his body like millions of tiny needles rushing through his blood, and the driving pulse wasn't coming from his heart but from his head, which reacted like white hot metal being pushed into the soft flesh of his brain…

When the pain stopped, Harry gave an involuntary retch and tried to draw air into his parched lungs. He felt as if his nerve endings had been fried, and for a few moments he found his vision severely lacking. White and black spots danced across his eyes, forcing him to grope around with his hands in search of something to steady him.

It took him awhile to realise that he had collapsed, and even longer to understand that the floor beneath him wasn't of the same material it had been moments ago.

He barely had time to comprehend that fact before he felt a hand grasp his hair, pulling his head back. Cold. Cold hands.

"Indeed," was the soft reply. He felt he should know the voice, but things had become rather indistinct. One hand gripped his jaw, and he found his eyes meeting a set made of unending blue.

"I am not a ghost in your own mind," he whispered softly. "I told you before, didn't I? I gave you warnings, little one, and you chose to tempt the consequences. Yet again." There was an amused twist to his voice as he said that. "Although there is a lesson in this also, and not the obvious one."

The hands released him, and he slumped bonelessly back onto the floor. Salazar stood, flexing his hands slightly, before reaching up to his face to caress his features and breathe a sigh of satisfaction.

"To be back in the flesh…" he murmured, "if only as an illusion. Ah," he inhaled, "nothing can compare." He looked down at Harry with a chilling smile. "In the realms of the mind, I truly do remain as I always was."

Harry groaned and used trembling hands to lift himself into a sitting position. Wincing, he raised one hand to massage his temples, but a touch sent a spasm of pain across his forehead, so he swiftly dropped his hands back to the floor.

"What…did you do?" he rasped. Salazar chuckled.

"Curious even now," he said with pleasure. "Power is subjective, little one, and in your mind I am free to act as I please. In answer to your question," he paused to look at the boy sprawled before him with a smile, "I overloaded your pain receptors."

Despite himself, Harry led out a bitter laugh. "A ghost put me to my knees, and I'm…" he paused to let out a painful cough, half surprised that he didn't taste blood on his tongue, "and everyone thinks I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort?"

"Experience is your greatest teacher," Salazar said with an unreadable smile, "and you will no doubt draw on this one."

The rocky tunnels seemed to dissolve around them, and Harry found himself in a heap on the floor, curious snake-like eyes watching him from the furniture and the carpet pressed to his face. Shaking slightly still, he pulled himself to his feet and cast a wary glance towards the ghost of Slytherin, who sat in the same position as before Harry had left.

"That was…" he hesitated, biting back the words he had wanted to say, the memory of the punishment too fresh in his mind. "Unpleasant," he croaked.

"What did you learn from it?" Salazar asked, and Harry gave him a strange look.

"Not to insult you," he said with a hoarse laugh, before pausing to consider the question seriously. "That…" he began, "spells aren't the only way to achieve what you want."

Salazar nodded approvingly, before his expression changed to one of slyness. "And now it is time to flip the coin," he said softly.

Harry braced himself another dose of pain, but this time he received an entirely different burning in his veins. A lance of lust went through him, rushing in his blood and pooling in his groin. Moaning, he dropped to the floor again, white light coming over his vision as his body was overcome with desire.

In an odd parody of his last mental excursion, he came to himself slumped on the cold rock floor of the caves. Laughing at the irony of it all, he turned to where Salazar was regarding him with an amused smirk.

"That was a cheap trick," Harry said irritably, but there was a traitorous part of his brain that wished that he could do that particular cheap trick to himself.

"Oh no," Salazar countered, a gleam returning to his eyes. "That is a most useful trick. One of two. Pain and pleasure make and break a man. I have just shown you your two most powerful tools."

Harry felt rather sobered. Beyond that, he was unsure of what to feel at all. On the one hand, he had the possibility of gaining that power over people, yet on the other…

"It doesn't seem right," he said quietly. Salazar laughed.

"No doubt you simply don't want to recreate the effect I just caused on your precious headmaster," he said with a disarming grin. Harry recoiled with a gagging sound.

"That's possibly the most horrible thing I've heard you say yet," he said, but a chuckled escaped his lips nonetheless.

"Indeed," the Founder countered, laughter fading, "but we'll go over the details of torture at a later date."

Grimacing slightly, Harry began to retort, but the scene dissolved once more, and he found himself back on the carpeted floor before the fire. Blinking owlishly at the sudden change, he pulled himself to his feet and awkwardly sat himself back on the sofa. The mixture of pleasure and pain had set his nerves into an unpleasantly sensitive state. Salazar just smirked at him.

"Now," he began, "you have had you brief interlude." He paused and his smirk widened. "Create light."

Harry laughed. He had to.

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His education seemed to take a sudden and most difficult turn. Harry quickly learnt the consequences of losing his temper, but wasn't able to apply that knowledge in any useful way. He spent the majority of his time with his hands clasped around his aching head or mentally damning the man who had removed his spells. His arms ached from the time he spent holding them out and attempting to make his fingers glow.

And throughout it all, Salazar remained steadfastly and blandly amused.

Many days had passed, or so he guessed since he hadn't exactly been counting, all spent on the sole task mastering wandless magic. With a pang, Harry wondered how his friends were faring, and not for the first time he wondered whether he had made the right decision.

"The time will come, little one," Salazar said softly, walking past him to resume his usual seat.

Salazar didn't act like a normal ghost, Harry reflected. Most of them appeared to prefer to glide about, but Salazar walked and moved as if he were merely a translucent living being. Not once had he let Harry walk through him, and the only times he had seen the Founder moving through things was when he might rise up from the floor or appear out of walls. There were very few signs to show that he was dead at all, despite outward appearances.

His portraits seemed to have vacated themselves, and his painted counterpart rarely remained in the rooms for any length of time anymore. When Harry had asked, Salazar had told him that he was using his resources.

"Spying you mean," Harry said scathingly.

"Among other things," Salazar said secretively. "It might interest you to know that the Headmaster has been besides himself. It is a great weakness talking out loud to familiars where anybody could be listening."

"The old headmasters let your portrait in?" Harry asked, curious. Salazar smiled.

"Of course. Even if they refused, the castle would not deny its creators entry. However, I am able to be persuasive when I wish.

Harry frowned for a moment. "What am I supposed to do about Godric?" he asked quietly.

"For the moment, you will learn to master your magic," Salazar told him with disinterest. "Once you have laid the foundations, you may spend you time searching for him." Standing, Salazar stretched languorously. "For now, however, you will focus on controlling your magic."

Ah, here it comes, Harry thought. How he was learning to hate those instructions.

"Create light."

Biting back his irritation, Harry focused on clearing his mind and drawing upon that reservoir of magic. He imagined a tiny thread of power rising from it and trailing to the tips of his fingers. He imagined the cool of it in his veins as it moved to his hand.

'Wait.' Said a soft voice in his head. Surprised, Harry opened his eyes and looked at the man before him, meeting that overpowering gaze. 'Perhaps, you are simply approaching it in the wrong manner,' the voice suggested thoughtfully. Harry couldn't help but reflect that there was something far more intimate about having a voice appear directly in your mind, and found that in some ways it was a more pleasant way to conduct a conversation.

'How should I be approaching it?' he thought.

'Perhaps…' Salazar trailed off, watching him with unblinking eyes. Harry felt as if he had been caught like a deer in headlights, and could only watch frozen as the ghost stood, walking leisurely towards him. Slowly, ever so slowly, he raised his hands and Harry felt the familiar chill as they rested insubstantially on his temples.

There was no sudden rush of memories, but Harry felt himself gently fading away, slipping into a very particular one. He was standing on one of the staircases, and he could hear the steady rush and pounding of water against the castle's walls, growing steadily closer with every passing second. There was a moment where he could almost see the air ripple with the invisible currents, before he found himself surrounded with that comforting, dazed cool that had become so achingly familiar.

'Create light,' the soft command drifted into his mind as if from a great height, and Harry lifted his hand without protest. He could see that raised thread of magic from the lake moulding with this cocoon of cold, and before his eyes a gentle glow spun from his fingertips.

Sometime later, when Harry had returned to himself, he sat staring at his hands. His fingertips were still lit with threads of light that wound their way along his hand like luminescent blood vessels. In fact, when he turned his digits this way and that, the tiny red capillaries in his skin were lit up as if there was a torch beneath his hand.

It brought a smile to his face as he remembered the discovery of torches. One night he had been handed one and sent out into the Dursley's back garden to clear away the tools that he had forgotten to put back into the shed. He remembered sitting in the dark and pressing the light to his palm in wonder, watching the way it threw his hands into sharp, red edged relief.

Finally tearing his gaze away from his bright fingers, he directed a glance at Salazar, who sat in the opposite chair, watching him.

"I suppose I change them back now then?" Harry asked regretfully. He rather liked the way his hands looked.

Salazar chuckled, and he knew instinctively that the man had been listening to his thoughts. "If you wish to continue, we shall," he offered.

"I do my whole hands then?" Harry asked.

"As you wish," Salazar replied blandly. Harry cocked a brow at him before chuckling.

"I suppose at least I won't have to listen to you saying 'create light' anymore," he said playfully.

"Oh, indeed little one, but you might consider that a thousand years gives one a long time to broaden the vocabulary," Salazar said idly.

"Oh, so it's going to be 'create a sparkle' now is it?" Harry teased.

"I was personally considering 'create incandescence'."

"Oh no," Harry groaned.

"Or possibly 'create radiance' or even 'create refulgence'," Salazar continued seriously.

"Is that even a word?" Harry laughed.

"Ah, I see we will have to work on your own vocabulary along with your manners," Salazar told him, eyes glinting with amusement. Harry made to reply, but Salazar countered him, correctly reading his expression of not-completely-faked horror. "Oh yes, we will indeed be having lessons on etiquette."

"What? Why?" Harry spluttered. Salazar sent him a scrutinising gaze.

"For that precise reason. Not protégé of mine will flounder for words or conduct themselves in a less than brilliant manner," he said lazily. "It is unseemly."

"Oh, I suppose it adds to the whole 'evil demeanour'," said Harry sarcastically.

"The most skilful of evils is one unnoticed," Salazar said, before snapping his fingers. A second later, Winky appeared before him. When she saw the ghost of the Founder, she let out a squeak before bowing and pinching one of her ears in penance. Slytherin ignored it all.

"Bring the little one up dinner and the appropriate cutlery for a relaxed meal," he instructed, before pausing in thought. "And two glasses of Oakbeam Liqueur and lime."

Winky bowed once to Harry, and then did an incredibly low bow to Salazar before popping away. Harry directed an inquiring glance at Salazar, but the man held up his hand.

"Wait until your food arrives. A little celebratory meal, if you will."

Harry regarded his glowing fingertips for several minutes more before the promised dinner appeared on a table that Harry was sure hadn't been present a moment before. Shrugging, he headed over to his seat and made to sit down.

"Ah, ah," Salazar chided, stopping Harry mid-step. "You may consider this your first lesson in Etiquette. It is traditional to remain standing until those of greater recognition are seated. As you mentor, and as the Founder of one of the first wizarding schools, I naturally take my seat first."

Harry raised a brow at him but played along, waiting until Salazar had taken his seat. The food arrayed before him looked delicious after a day of failed attempts at magic, but the set of cutlery before him was unusual.

"Are you sure this is necessary?" he asked, a little daunted. Salazar rested his chin on his hands and regarded him.

"Let us imagine a situation," he said dryly. "The war is in full swing, and a very important neutral family is prepared to consider your entreaty for their help. You are sent a cordial invitation to a formal dinner, where no doubt several other interested families will also attend. You will be expected to bring a dining partner, and several other well versed friends and associates."

He paused, gesturing idly. "Now, let us suggest that you are untrained in formal etiquette. Not only would your companions be inappropriate, but your conversation skills will be lacking, as will your manners. The formalities of eating, order and respect will confound you. Let me assure you – an error such as the one you were about to make would be seen as outrageous and offensive in such a setting."

"I couldn't just wing it then," Harry remarked feebly.

"Let me ask you little one, do you understand the layout of the food on the table in regards to social standing?"

"No," Harry replied quietly.

"And can you recognise the minute gestures of respect or disdain from fellow guests?"

"No," he admitted. "Fine. I see your point. Etiquette it is," Harry conceded with a sigh.

"It is much to your advantage to notice such details," said Salazar. "Besides, from what little I have seen of your memories, your experience with Wizarding food is incredibly limited."

"So it won't all be horrible then," Harry teased.

"It will be quite pleasant," Salazar told him. "We will be improving your grasp of language also."

Harry's head snapped up at him, affronted. "What's wrong with the way I speak?"

Salazar raised on disdainful silvery brow. "You do not enunciate, your sentence structure is often poor, your vocabulary is limited, and such things will inevitably have a negative effect in conversations with those who expect such things from you."

There was a moment of silence between them where Harry worked to bury his scowl before he spoke again. "Why did you order two glasses?"

"Ah," Salazar began, a glimmer of something in his eyes. "One of the few of life's pleasures I am left to enjoy."

The glass exploded.

Harry jerked back in shock, watching the shards shatter and fall as if in slow motion. What surprised him even more was the fact that they really were slowing down, until they hung immobile in mid-air. Before his eyes, Salazar reached out an elegant hand and in one smooth motion snatched something that only he could see.

The glass disappeared, and Harry let out a soft exhalation at the sight before him. Salazar watched him, smirking and holding a silvery replica of the glass that had just been destroyed.

"How…" Harry began, but was silenced by a chuckle from the nearby portrait. The painted counterpart of the man before him winked and disappeared from the frame.

"It is a shame that it is only possible with liquor," Salazar said regretfully. "And of course, it is only a shadow of its former glory," he said with a grin.

Harry chuckled a little, still in awe of the feat of ripping the drink into the ghost world. "So, what's the secret?"

"Trying to pry my successes from me little one?" Salazar asked, but there was a glimmer of humour in his eyes.

"For when I die," Harry deadpanned.

"Ah, then I am honour bound to teach you," said Salazar.

"Slytherins have honour?" Harry asked innocently. The Founder's expression darkened a little.

"Stumble not too far little one," he mocked. "For you question, every substance has a trace of magic in it. Even your 'Muggles', although not enough to utilise consciously and they do not, therefore, produce ghosts. Stone holds far more, having been formed over many years, unlike glass, which is formed in an instant." His smile returned as he remembered something only he could see. "For many years I was forced to order my drinks in stone goblets."

Harry chuckled. "So why only liquor?"

"Magical liquor is distilled with magical components, and the years of its maturing leech magic from the surroundings. When it is destroyed, it is possible to drag the essence of the object into the ghostly realm."

A thought occurred to him, and Harry couldn't help but let out an impulsive laugh. "So you're telling me that Voldemort is really just brewing an intensely strong barrel of alcohol near the castle, and that's what's got everyone in a twist?"

Salazar blinked once before letting out his own delighted laugh. "Oh, how very refreshing it is going to be to teach you," he said, before waving a carefree hand at the food. "Now begin, and I will point out your flaws and explain to you the etiquette of a meal in relaxed company."

As it turned out, even in a relaxed meal there was a great deal of teaching to be done. To begin with, Salazar explained that it was a three-course meal, and showed him how to hold the cutlery. To Harry's great surprise, the cutlery transfigured itself at the end of each course, becoming clean once more.

As he ate, Harry found himself constantly being corrected. He was eating too sloppily, too slowly, too fast, drinking wrong, holding his glass wrong, holding his knife wrong.

"Your posture has become inelegant again," Salazar said idly, from where he was sipping his drink. Grumbling, Harry readjusted from his slouch and into an upright position for the fifth time. Angrily, he deposited his cutlery haphazardly against his plate and reached for the glass, taking a large, defiant swallow.

Before he began to cough and choke.

"Oakbeam Liqueur is not something to drink hastily if one is unused to it," Salazar informed him. "And you cutlery is unpleasantly arranged once more."

Gasping in a lungful of air, Harry could only give him a watery-eyed nod and set about neatening his eating utensils. With a sigh, he wiped his eyes and took another bite of his food, mentally running through the deluge of instructions he had been given.

"It is proper in a formal meal to space the first drink out through until the second course, whereupon you will be served a second to complement the food, and a third with the third course," Salazar told him as Harry finished his desert.

"Well, I'm not going to manage to remember all that," Harry said, overwhelmed by the veritable ton of information.

"Little one, when you leave it will be second nature," said Salazar assured him with a smile.

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