Chapter 5: Sirius Training
Harry ducked under a bright red spell, letting it splash harmlessly against the specially warded walls of the training room. The runes etched into the wall glowed briefly where the spell impacted as they absorbed its energy, funneling it back into the ward scheme and reinforcing it. He darted to the side, sending a quick triplet of spells at his Godfather; expelliarmus, body bind, stunner. He called it the Auror's Hello, and had drilled it into his head until he could cast the three spells back to back without any delay. It helped that he'd already known all three spells. It was just a matter of getting used to casting them so rapidly, and silently, that had given him any trouble at all.
Sirius, of course, sidestepped the first two with ease, but had to shield against the stunner when Harry predicted his movements. Latching onto the opportunity, Harry bombarded him with a stream of spellfire. First came a shieldbreaker, which he hadn't put enough power into and only cracked his Godfather's shield, then two stunners, cast so close together that you almost couldn't tell they were two separate spells until their slightly different trajectories separated them. The stunners were aimed at either side of Sirius, boxing him in, and were meant to trick him into either dodging into them, or staying put for the third that meant to head down the middle, right at him.
But he'd failed to break his shield, so he switched tracks, sending a low powered reducto to finally shatter Sirius' damn shield, and open him up to-
Next thing he knew, he was hanging upside down, wand gone, and Sirius was tsking at him playfully.
"Now pup, care to tell me how you goofed that time?" He asked, cock sure grin firmly pulling at his beard, and Harry sighed, going over the match in his head again.
"I shouldn't have tried to break your shield again after I cast the stunners. I should have switched strategies completely instead of barreling on." He groused, irritated with himself for failing to so much as break his Godfather's defenses. Again.
"Right in one! Down you go." Sirius flicked his wand, and Harry was on solid ground again. He shook his head, feeling a bit lightheaded from all the blood rushing to his head, and wondering if the slight coldness in his extremities means he should have had a blood replenisher after he and Celestine-
He clamped down on that thought, hoping that Sirius excuses his blush as a result of being upside down for the eighth time that afternoon. Focus, Harry. Focus on training for now, there will be time to bask in that memory later.
Fuck, but he can still feel how hot and wet she'd been, wrapped so tight around him as his blood pounded into her, where it belonged, and-
No! Focus. Training.
"I don't think that was the problem. Not really." Celestine mused from where she was watching, perched on the ceiling irrespective of gravity. She shot him a heated look that was there and gone in an instant, and he knew she knew what he'd been thinking.
Dammit, that's just making him more excited.
"Then what is?" He asked her, willfully suppressing his blush with everything he had. It wasn't working, and he gave it up as a bad job.
"You were holding back." She declared confidently, and Harry and Sirius both frowned.
"You sure about that? Those spells of his pack quite the punch. It takes everything I've got to hold out against his shieldbreakers." She just arched a single, expectant eyebrow at Harry, and he sighed.
"No, she's right. I've not been throwing everything I have into my spellwork." He admitted.
"Why not?" Sirius asked, bewildered.
"I don't want to hurt you by accident!" Harry nearly shouted, frustrated with himself.
"We aren't using anything that can actually hurt us here, pup. You don't have anything to worry about. A shieldbreaker might knock me on my ass if it punches through, but that's about it."
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know that, but I… I don't know." He's lying, and he knows it. He knows why he's holding back. Sirius is family, he would never forgive himself if he hurt him, and every time they get stuck into a duel, his instincts take him to magic, what little he knows, that hurts. Fuck's sake! That reducto, had it hit him directly, could have blown his chest wide open! He's not sure what that means about him as a person, but he doesn't think he likes it.
All it means is that you have the instincts of a bellator. A warrior. Celstine reassured him, and he sent her a grateful smile. Her hair, loose from its braid, hung around her like liquid ink, flowing in a nonexistent breeze, setting her face into shadow. All except for her eyes. They glowed like embers, bright and red with his blood. He could still feel her, even now, a dozen or more feet away. He could feel the buzz of her magic all around him, in every shadow, every darkened corner, in her blood where their power mixed and became one. He's confident that he could be rendered blind and deaf, and still he would be able to find her, no matter where she was.
That's not so bad. So, how do I keep from accidentally hurting the people I care about during training?
She flashed her fangs at him in a smile that sent a shudder of anticipation down his spine. "You need to trust us when we tell you that no harm will befall us during our sparring matches. More importantly, you must learn to trust yourself."
"She's right, pup. There's not much to it other than just training more until you get comfortable with it." Sirius shrugged apologetically.
"Fine then." Harry rolled his head, cracking his neck. "Then let's get to it."
A couple hours later, Harry was on his back, having lost again. With a frustrated growl he leapt to his feet, holding his hand out towards his wand, where it sat on the ground on the other side of the room, demanding that it return to him right that goddamn instant, and only being mildly surprised when it worked.
"Again." He assumed his duelist stance; wand held out and at the ready, turned slightly to the side to present a slighter profile, and make moving laterally easier. Celestine's idea, she'd tossed it out mid duel a while back, and he was surprised by how much easier it made his footwork and spacing. He supposed he shouldn't be though. It is a slightly modified version of a stance used by professional fencers, and a wand is basically just a laughably short rapier.
That casts magic.
Okay, so it's not at all similar, but the stance still works, and that's the important bit.
She's still rather smug about it, and he can't be anything other than charmed by it despite his best efforts.
Sirius held up a hand, bracing himself on his knees. "Hold up. I need a breather." He panted, and Harry finally noticed the sheen of sweat on his skin, and matting his hair down around his face. "We've been at this for four hours, how are you not even the least bit tired yet?" Sirius asked him, and Harry just shrugged, unsure of the answer himself.
"Ah, the benefits of youth. To be blessed by such stamina. Are you jealous, Sirius?" Celestine purred, appearing behind Harry and wrapping him up in her arms. He leaned into her embrace, grateful beyond words that she had decided to leave her armor in their room. This way, he could feel every delicious inch of her pressed against his back, and it was marvelous.
Sirius barked out a laugh. "Oh no, I'm not answering that innuendo masquerading as a question. I shan't even dignify it with a response. This is me ignoring you." Harry chuckled, reaching back to tangle his fingers in Celestine's shadowy hair. Her nose skimmed along his neck, breathing deep, her pleased hum vibrating against him everywhere they were touching.
Sirius looked on, expression soft, maybe even wistful, even as he shook his head ruefully. "You two remind me of your parents, pup. Right after James finally got Lily to agree to go out with him, you couldn't separate the two of them with a pry bar. Absolutely sickening, really." He made an overly dramatic retching noise, mischief in his eyes, and Harry laughed even as his face reddened.
"You're not at all bothered by, erm, us?" Harry asked, despite being pretty sure of the answer. He just has to know for sure.
Sirius shrugged. "A blind man could see that you two care for each other. Yeah, it's a mite bit faster than what some would call normal, but that's how Potters are."
"What do you mean?" Harry tilted his head curiously, accidentally baring his neck to Celestine, and she immediately swooped down to press a soft nip and kiss to his pulse point. He shivered as a rush of warmth spread out from where her lips touched him. Sirius arched an eyebrow at her as if to say 'really? I'm right here?' But answered his question regardless.
"James met Lily on the Express our first year. They had a short talk about houses and other ickle firstie things, and the moment she left he declared to the whole cabin that he was going to marry her someday." He shook his head, a fondly amused grin tugging at his beard that Harry mirrored. "You basically did the same thing, pup. Only difference is that Celestine here had the good sense not to argue with you about it for five bloody years!" They both barked out a laugh at that, Harry's a little shorter than his Godfather's.
"Our vow isn't quite the same as marriage though. Should we fix that?" Celestine breathed into his ear, too low for Sirius to hear, and he shot her a plainly shocked look. She can't be- No, that smile is all kinds of teasing. She's having him on! He glowered at her, but his lips were twitching, fighting a smile, and she chuckled lowly.
His eyes nearly fluttered shut at what that sound did to him.
"So," his voice came out too low, too breathy, so he hastily cleared his throat. "Why did mum and dad not get together right away?" He finished in what he was proud to say was a perfectly normal, inquisitive tone, even as Celestine's hand inched lower across his abs, sneaking under his shirt to drag her sharp nails across his skin. Their magic rushed together, combining with the sharp pleasure of her touch into something heady and utterly distracting.
"Ah, now that's a good question." Sirius said, leaning on the wall and sliding down it to sit, one knee drawn up to his chest, arm slung across it. His Godfather took a deep breath, letting it out in an explosive sigh, and that got both of their attention.
"We liked to call ourselves pranksters back then, and as much as I'd like to say that we only ever had a good laugh, we stepped over the line into outright bullying far too often." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the wall. "One of our favorite targets was the illustrious Severus Snape himself, who just so happened to be Lily's best friend. That didn't exactly endear any of us to her, and she was right to judge us so harshly."
"This is," Harry started, wide eyed. "A lot to take in. Severus Snape was my mum's best friend?" Sirius nodded his head, looking about as confused by that fact as Harry felt. "Then why the fuck does he treat me like subhuman garbage? I get why he'd have a grudge against my dad, but I'm as much Lily's son as James'."
Sirius snorted disdainfully. "That's because Snivellus is a misanthropic cunt who never got over the fact that Lily never saw him as anything more than a friend."
"Wait," Harry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Snape was in love with my mum?"
"No!" Sirius barked, short and sharp. "He absolutely did not love her. If he did, he would have never joined up with the Death Eaters in the first place. If he actually loved her, like James did, like we all did, then he would have gladly laid down his life for her instead of joining a crusade to commit genocide against people like her."
"Snape is a Death Eater?" Harry asked, voice low and dark. That greasy, traitorous, bastard! The next time Harry sees him, he'll tear his goddamn heart out and feed it to him! Celestine's lips peeled back over her fangs in a silent snarl as something, a knot of emotion Harry couldn't even begin to pick apart, prickled within her, just on the edge of his awareness.
That'd be too quick an end for one of his ilk. She hissed in his mind, and Harry got the distinct image of Severus Snape, flayed alive, being nailed to a cross and left to rot in the desert sun.
"Not according to Dumbledore," Sirius snorted derisively.
"What?" He and Celestine said in unison.
"He insists that Snivellus was a spy for the Order, for him really, since the very beginning. Load of shite, if you ask me."
"I'm inclined to believe you, but I'm biased. What makes you disbelieve that story?" Harry asked, trying to keep a rein on his temper by focusing on the facts. Celestine's arms tightened around him, her mind brushing against his. No thoughts, not really, just the general sense of her presence, a comforting thing.
"Because I fought the cunt during the war. Twice. He nearly killed me both times. He did kill my partner, George Rosewood, the second time. Disarmed him and hit him point blank with some cutting curse of his own creation. Took his head right off. Bam, just like that. No hesitation. If he was really a spy, he'd have used a stunner, or a bludgeoner, or something that might have been less than lethal. But no. Decapitation."
"Fuck," Harry breathed, wiping a hand down his face as he digested all this. "What is- how can Dumbledore let that man be anywhere within a hundred kilometers of children, let alone teach them?"
"I asked him that myself not long after you and Hermione sent me off on Buckbeak." Sirius shook his head, clearly frustrated. "Never did get a straight answer out of him. He just insisted that 'Severus has my full confidence.' Confidence to do what exactly remains a mystery."
Harry let his breath out in an explosive sigh. "I wish I didn't know this."
"Why?" Celestine asked him, leaning over his shoulder to catch his eye. "Identifying an enemy is often the most challenging step in a war, and now you know that he is one, without doubt."
"This isn't open war yet, though." He grit out, frustrated. "I have to sit in a classroom with the bastard several times a week, for two hours at a time, for the next nine months without trying to kill him." And knowing the truth of what kind of man he is, besides the petty, bullying, utterly shite professor he pretends to be, will just make that even harder than it already was.
She frowned, brows pinching down in thought. "Could you not simply drop his class?" At least until we bring him the end he is owed?
Harry opened his mouth to answer, realized he didn't actually know if that was an option or not, and shut it again. Her lips turned up in a smug grin, and he rolled his eyes.
"I'm not sure if I can, to be honest," though we're not killing him. That'd draw too much attention. Snape's not like his relatives. He's not a complete nobody with almost zero connection to the magical world. People would notice if he disappeared, not least of all being Dumbledore himself, and the last thing they want is the death of a high profile Hogwarts Professor being laid at her, a vampire's, feet.
They're trying to change people's minds, not reinforce their hatred and fear.
"Dammit, you're right," she whispered for his ears only, a barely there scowl drawing at her features, then, louder: "I have a feeling your friend Hermione would know, and failing that you can always send a letter of inquiry to the school."
"Suppose you're right," he tapped her arm and she let him step away, twirling his wand in his hand. "But for now I could really use a distraction. Up for another round or five, Sirius?"
His Godfather barked out a disbelieving laugh. "Afraid not, pup. I'm beat. We can pick up tomorrow, if you want?" Harry was nodding before Sirius was finished, his bright, excited grin conjuring a brother on his Godfather's face, even as disappointment flashed through Harry's heart. Damn, he really needs something to get his mind off of Snape, and duelling would be perfect.
"Sure thing. Maybe you oughta get some supper in you, yeah?"
Sirius groaned, throwing his head back against the wall with a loud thump. "I don't have the energy to deal with Molly if she decides to act up again."
"Have Kreacher bring you some food. Just make sure to order him not to tamper with it in any way first and it should be fine." Harry shrugged, and Sirius brightened immediately, doing just that. Kreacher popped in, received his orders with a scowl and a muttered curse, then was gone and back in an instant, a platter playing host to a plainly enormous bowl of hearty stew, several slices of warm bread, already buttered, and a glass of pumpkin juice in hand.
Sirius, apparently happy with eating where he was sat, dug in with gusto.
"I could show you a thing or two, delectamente mihi bellator, if you'd like?"
"What'd you have in mind?"
She hummed thoughtfully, leaning her weight on one hip as she gave him a lingering once over. He could feel her gaze sweeping over him, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"I wonder if you'd take to blood magic as easily as you took to telepathy?" She mused aloud, and Sirius made a choking sound, hacking up the bite of stew he'd just taken.
"I'm sorry, but did you just say that Harry knows telepathy?"
"Oh yes, he does. It's remarkably impressive how quickly you've picked up the skill," she purred to him, something smoldering in her eyes that Harry very much doubted to be innocent pride.
Sirius spluttered for a moment, before finally managing to string a whole sentence together. "How'd you learn that?"
"I did it by accident once, and then I just tried shit until I could do it on purpose." Harry shrugged, a bit bashful in the face of his Godfather's continually astounded demeanor. "Celestine said something about me maybe having vampiric ancestry, which would explain why it comes so easily to me."
"Among other things," she interjected.
"Like what?"
"Your eyes, for one." She reached out to cup his face in her hands, their magic flowing between them intoxicatingly, drawing him closer until their noses were nearly touching so she could examine his eyes properly. She blinked, the glimmering ruby hue of her eyes draining away to be replaced by the celestial silver glass she'd had when they met.
"I may have oversimplified things earlier, when I said that my eyes' natural color was red."
"How do you mean?" His hand came up, sliding into her hair and pulling her just the slightest bit closer without him really realizing it.
"I was born with silver eyes, and they remained that way until I partook of the life-blood of a human for the first time, several centuries into my life. Ever since, I have had to put forth some amount of effort to keep them like this. It has only gotten harder over the years." She blinked again, letting the silver glow fade once more, to be replaced with that deep vermillion that Harry found somehow even more mesmerizing.
"So, I take it that my eyes?"
"Denote you as the mostly human descendant of a pureblooded Striga, yes. The black of the sclera always fades upon the first generation of mixing, but the color remains for generations after."
"Striga?" He'd never heard that word before.
"That is what my people call themselves, outside of Wallachia and the rest of Eastern Europe, that is. Vampire is actually a rather new word, and only became widely used in the last hundred years."
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up! Are you telling me that Lily was a vampire?" Sirius cut in, slack jawed, from his position on the floor, food seemingly forgotten in his lap.
"Were her sclera black?" Celestine asked without looking away from Harry's eyes. This close, with adoration literally shining like a ruby in her eyes, the luminescence of her eyes is almost painful. Even so, he couldn't look away if he tried.
He doesn't want to try.
"Er, no. They weren't." Sirius answered, somewhat uncertainly. Harry had the sense that Sirius didn't know for sure what the sclera was. Anatomy wasn't something taught in magical schools, so he wouldn't be surprised if that's the case. Hell, the only reason he knew was because of a particular rant Hermione went on back in second year regarding the startling lack of health class at Hogwarts, which turned into an impromptu anatomy lesson.
She'd been very thorough.
"Then no." Celestine said, lips twitching as she fought a smile, having no doubt heard his musings and the memory attached to it. "She was certainly a descendant of a vampire if she is where Harry got his incredibly beautiful eyes from, but she wasn't one herself." Such a simple compliment should not be making him blush as hard as it is. It really shouldn't.
"Damn," Sirius muttered to himself, gaze going distant as he got lost in some memory or another.
"Guess I have a pretty illustrious lineage on both sides then, don't I?" He smiled wryly, and she huffed out an amused breath.
"We actually have a word for people like you and your mother." He tilted his head curiously, and despite being stronger than him by a fair amount -he thinks. Hell, even discounting the whole vampiric strength thing, she's fit as hell and he's barely more than a twig- her hands don't in any way impede his movement.
"The Nascent. That is what we call people like you. For you, unlike most, will not become one of the lesser Turned," he could hear the capitalisation of the word in her voice. "Upon undergoing the Rituale Mutare. No, you will become a Striga in truth, no different from myself."
She drew him into her even as she swooped down to meet him, their lips coming together in a brief yet scorching kiss. Her hands slid up into his hair, tangling there in an effort to somehow bring them even closer, even as she broke away to rest her forehead on his.
"I am looking forward to spending eternity with you, my Harry." She whispered breathlessly into his lips. His heart stuttered in his chest, eyes wide. He hadn't thought that far ahead, not really, and the fact that she had, and she was excited for that kind of future with him?
He couldn't contain his joy, and it shone out in what might have been the brightest smile of his life, accompanied appropriately by a breathless laugh.
"Now!" She pulled back, letting go of him to step back a few paces, with such excitement singing in her veins that he could feel it. "Let us see how well you take to blood magic!"
"Alright," he chuckled, taken by her excitement. "So, how does blood magic work?"
"Blood magic is an art form." Celestine started, clenching her hands into fists hard enough that her sharp nails drew blood, then gesturing elegantly with her hands. A fine red mist rose up from her hands in pulsing ribbons, twining between her fingers. "It is using the very essence of life itself to impose your will upon reality. Blood is the medium, and the fuel, ignited by your own innate magic-" the blood weaving around her fingers burst into flames, which continued to dance around her hands in time with her heartbeat. "And directed by nothing more than your own imagination. A blood mage needs no incantations, no special movements, nothing beyond themselves and the will to change the world, and they can do incredible things." She slashed her hand with finality, and the flames she had conjured dutifully doused themselves amidst a burst of wind that ruffled their hair, as if they had never been. "That is not to say that incantations and rituals are not helpful, especially to the novice, and when a very specific effect or ward is desired by the more experienced, but they are truly unnecessary. It is not all that different from wand magic, in theory, in that once one has achieved true mastery, such things fall away. Without the crutch of the wand, you gain control over your magic in totality."
"Alright, so how is it different in practice?"
"It requires some measure of sacrifice. Blood is spent to both channel and fuel the spell, and it can be exhausting if you are not careful. Or using another's blood instead of your own, but that is something no novice blood mage should be attempting." She warned gravely.
"Wait, you can use other people's blood to power your own magic? Why shouldn't I learn that right away?" It sounded incredibly useful. The ability to cast spells without tiring yourself out? Oh hell yes!
"Blood holds power, Harry, just as the wind, and fire do. It can be harnessed, but if done incorrectly it can have disastrous consequences. It can be all too easy to take too much or too little. The former proves deadly for those you are taking from, while the latter can cause the spell to fail and rebound back into the caster. It takes a delicate, experienced hand to do safely."
"Shite, yeah alright." He said, wide eyed. "So, using my own blood is easier?"
"Hmm, not exactly. Safer, yes, especially for experimentation and practice. Your own blood will respond somewhat more readily to your commands than another's, but you should instinctually shy away from doing anything that causes permanent damage to yourself. That instinct isn't present when using another's blood."
"Makes sense," Harry nodded his head. "Could I use animals to practice on? Using their blood, I mean." Celestine made a so-so gesture with her hand.
"You could, but you would need to kill them to manage even the most basic of spells. A simple fireball, which most wizards could conjure dozens of without tiring, would easily drain a goat of everything it has, and the result would be significantly weaker than what a few drops of wizard blood could produce."
"Right, well I learn best by doing, so how do I do this?"
She smirked, fangs glinting. "Let me show you."
They stood across from each other, Sirius having left some time ago to do some research in the library. Harry's wand was in his pocket, untouched for the last two hours, but the angry, bleeding cut in the palm of his wand hand had seen much use. His clothes were dotted with his own blood, already dried in most places, as was the floor of the training room.
Celestine smirked, a challenge in her eye and whispering in his mind. The shadows writhed nearly imperceptibly, eager to do her bidding. He'd thought duelling Sirius was frustrating, but he had nothing, nothing on Celestine. Though, to be fair, this wasn't a real duel. Merely an exercise. He gets to practice his blood magic, and she gets to shake the dust off her own defenses, so to speak. The challenge was simple: throw something at her that would force her to dodge.
He hadn't so much as gotten her to budge.
"Come now, mella. Don't tell me you're giving up." She taunted him good naturedly, and he huffed out a laugh. In answer, he raised his hand and slashed it through the air, feeling a distinct sort of pull deep in his core as his blood followed his thought, becoming a swirling vortex of fire, coalescing, tightening into an elegant whip which he gripped in his hand.
Only a single drop of excess blood fell from his hand and onto the floor that time. He smirked, proud of himself. His first few castings had been more waste than magic.
To use blood is to twist the energies of life to your own purpose, an extension and domination of natural forces, and as such it lends itself to the creation and manipulation of the elements especially well. With a flick of the wrist, the whip lashed out at her at what Harry thought was blinding speed, but she didn't so much as glance at it as her shadows sliced out, dispersing the flame whip in an instant.
He swears this is just an excuse for her to show off. He can't exactly blame her, if he's honest with himself. He can't wait to see Hermione's face when he shows off what he's learned so far.
It wasn't painful, having a blood construct dispelled like that, but it didn't exactly feel good either. He grit his teeth through the sensation, flicking his wrist to send first a fireball, which pulsed in time to the rapid beat of his heart, and then, reaching deep into himself and drawing directly from the wellspring of magic that was his soul, a searing bolt of emerald lightning in rapid succession. Just why the lightning he conjured was green rather than the typical blue, he had no idea. The fireball was swatted aside by her bare hand to explode against the far wall, where the runes glowed white hot from the amount of power they'd absorbed from it for several long moments. The wind created by the explosion set her hair fluttering around her face, the flash of light illuminating the nearly feral smile stretching her lips from ear to ear. She raised her other hand, and a nearly opaque shield of rippling crimson sprung into existence around her, just in time to deflect the lightning bolt up into the ceiling. It hit the warded ceiling with what could only be the sound of thunder; ear ringing in how calamitous it sounded in such an enclosed space.
Harry flinched, blinked, realized he was swaying on his feet, and lowered his hand.
"I think that might be all I have in me today, Celestine." He managed to get out between great heaving gulps of air, head swimming. Oh Merlin, he's overdone it. She was in front of him in an instant, cradling his head in her hands, concern knitting her brows together, the ferocious smile she had while they slung deadly magic around like playthings replaced by a tight frown.
"Oh Harry, forgive me. Come on." Wait, what? She guided him over to the wall, then gently pushed him down until he sank gratefully to sit, leaning against the wall. She kneeled before him, one hand carding through his hair while the other took up his own, still bleeding hand.
"I should have given you a blood replenisher after I drank from you, and I should have never let you practice such intense blood magic without one on hand. Forgive me, mella. I was overcome with excitement and my sense abandoned me." An instant later, and he knew that she'd used a small measure of her own power to heal the cut on his hand. That's the other thing blood magic is especially good at besides elemental manipulation: healing. Such an odd contrast, to be innately good at destruction and reconstitution. He still felt utterly ragged with exhaustion, but at least his hand felt better. He squeezed her hand, shooting her a reassuring smile. Or at least the best one he could manage with how drained he felt.
"No worries, Celestine. I haven't done any permanent harm to myself, have I?" She shook her head, a bit reluctantly. "Then it's no big deal. I'll be a bit tired for a while, and next time we'll remember to have a potion or two on hand."
She leaned down, lips descending on his in a slow, tender waltz. The spark of desire that always resided within him when she was near grew. Steadily, beat by beat, in time with the motion of their lips. Then her mind was there, touching his oh so delicately, and he could feel her self-recrimination, her worry, and her intense gratitude and relief she felt at his magnanimous forgiveness, all wrapped up around the blindingly bright surge of affection/care/longing she felt for him. He replied in kind, meeting her feelings for him with his own, and where they met their magic sang, and the song of their -could it be love? Harry isn't sure- reverberated in their blood, and set a low burning fire within them both.
They both saw it, both felt it, but there would be time for such things later. When Harry could be an active participant instead of a barely awake lump. Their kiss drifted lazily to an end, until, with one final nip on his lips, she leaned her forehead against his. Their breath mixed in the space between them, and her scent, that enticing aroma of iron and a flower he could not name, wrapped around him comfortingly; like a blanket.
"Pushed myself to exhaustion and still couldn't even so much as make you take a step in any direction." He chuckled, eyes sliding closed as he basked in the feeling of having her so close to him. Their magic reached out across the space between them, intertwining, mixing, flowing through them like a current.
"Harry," she sighed, affectionately exasperated, and then her lips were on his again, a fervent dance of desire and pride. There was a rush inside him, the current of their power increasing, turning to lightning in an instant and banishing his tiredness as if it had never been. She crawled into his lap, straddling him, and making him look almost straight up to keep their lips from separating. For once, the reminder of his small size didn't irritate him.
He rather likes how she can wrap herself so completely around him. How safe she can make him feel so easily just by being there. His arms snaked around her, holding her tight.
She broke the kiss to nibble her way up to his ear, drawing a low sound of want out of the deepest place in his chest. "You are far too hard on yourself, meae deliciae."
"Is that right?" He asked, breathless still, but for an entirely more pleasant reason now.
"Mhm. You summoned lightning within an hour of learning how to cast blood magic at all." Okay, he has to admit she has a point there. "And fire, and you used them creatively and rapidly."
Harry snorted. "What's so creative about a flame whip and a fireball?" Basic bitch levels of fire magic, in his book.
"Your fireball actually exploded." She pointed out, running her tongue over the shell of his ear to drive the point home. "Most people start off with fireballs that just ignite what they hit, or worse: just sort of sizzle lamely. And while the idea of the flame whip might not be revolutionary, the actual execution of it doesn't become any easier for having been imagined more often. For your first day practicing blood magic, you've done incredibly well."
"You might have a point, but I might need more convincing." He ventured, fingers tangling in her hair, heart thumping in his chest.
You'd think that he'd be less nervous about making a move on someone that literally climbed into his lap, and who he's already… been intimate with. Celestine snorted, burying her head in his neck as she shook with silent laughter. Harry blinked, confused.
"You're adorable, Harry." She nipped at his pulse point, and he jumped, startled. It was a pleasant sort of startle, but still. "Been intimate with, oh, my dear, sweet, Harry. Intimate is putting it lightly, don't you think?" We became one, did we not? Our minds, our bodies, our magic entwined until we could no easier tell ourselves apart as we could two grains of sand on the beach.
Her breath warmed his throat, carrying the faintest electric tingles of her magic, and there, just as she said, twisted up within what was so recognizable as her, was something undeniably him.
"You make it sound like we got married." She pulled back, spearing him with a heated look.
"Marriage has become nothing more than a shadow of the union it once was, and even then it was only ever a pale imitation of what we have done; of the bond we have forged between us." She whispered fervently, and no amount of self-doubt could make him think for a second that she regretted it.
"I'm not worthy of you." But that didn't mean that he felt deserving of her. She shook her head, and for the barest hint of a moment he thought she was agreeing with him.
"What makes you think that?" She asked, soft as can be.
He averted his eyes, looking down and away, suddenly ashamed of himself. He knows why. His reasons are carved into his skin; irrefutable proof of his weakness. If he couldn't stand up to his relatives, an insidious voice that sounds suspiciously similar to Uncle Vernon hisses in his mind, what hope does he have against the fear and bigotry of the entire wizarding world?
It's an unfair thought, and he knows it. She's already seen the scars. Heard the story behind them, likely seen the memory play out behind his eyes, now that he thinks about it, and still.
Here she is.
Straddling his lap. Letting him work through his feelings at his own pace, watching him with nothing but affectionate concern in her eyes. Bound together first in purpose and blood, then in passion and affection on a deeper level than he had ever imagined possible, and there is not a single hint of hesitance or regret in her.
He blew out an explosive sigh and raised his eyes to meet hers once again. "Were you listening to all that?" He tapped his temple.
She shook her head. "I try not to linger too much in the minds of those I hold a great deal of respect and affection for, especially during moments like this." That's… actually rather reassuring, and not a little bit touching. He's not bothered by the thought of her being in his head, oddly enough he finds it rather comforting knowing that she's a steady presence, but still. The privacy of his thoughts is one of the few things he's had his whole life, and he's glad to still have it.
He'd give it up if he had to to keep Celestine in his life, but he's glad he won't have to.
"Thank you," is all he said, concentrating for a moment to push everything he just felt about that across and into her. She blinked, concern replaced with a warm smile that was so soft and beautiful that he was leaning forward to capture her lips with his own before he realized what he was doing.
While their lips danced a slow, sensual dance, sending heat and electricity shooting through him, he bundled up his ridiculous feelings of inadequacy, his realization of how silly he was being, and his determination to be worthy of her despite what anyone, himself included, has to say. Then he took that bundle of thoughts and emotions, and pressed it out and into her mind.
There. That ought to answer her question.
She hummed, pulling away only just enough for their lips to part. "You have the self-awareness of a man thrice your age, meae lepores. Wisdom beyond your years."
"Suppose I'm an old soul."
She chuckled. "That makes two of us." Harry quirked a brow up sardonically.
"If you were born an old soul then you must be positively ancient by now." He said, sounding as over the top aghast as he could manage. Her lips twitched, clearly fighting an amused grin. Then her lips thinned, and she stuck her nose in the air haughtily.
"I've outlived the longest lived empire in history. I'm not just ancient, I am eternal." She said in a damn near perfect imitation of Hermione's imitation of Malfoy, and Harry immediately lost his shit entirely; doubling over with laughter that was more wheeze than laughter. His face pressed into her chest, and her arms snaked around him, holding him to her as she shook with her own, much more dignified, mirth.
"How," he sniggered some more before he could finish his thought. "How did you manage to imitate someone you've never even met so goddamn perfectly?"
"Hermione has a very good memory, and an impeccably well organized mind. But she thinks at such a rapid pace that I can only linger for a few moments before going cross-eyed." He could feel her shaking her head, astounded by the Brightest Witch of her Age like everyone else.
"I've always told her that she's scarily brilliant. The scariest part is that she knows it." If ever there was someone Harry was sure could and would change the world, it would be her.
The door to the training room opened, and his wand was in his hand and trained on the interloper in the same instant Celestine whipped her head around to spear them with an infuriated glower. Harry would have thought her reaction a bit extreme if it had been anyone else, but…
He could feel him. As if his magic was a weight on the air, pressing into the room and down on his chest; stealing away his breath for a moment before he could adjust. A titan of power and experience the likes of which he had only felt in the Dark Lord himself, on the day of his resurrection.
How such a powerful man had managed to so royally fuck so many things up is truly beyond him.
"Ah, hello my boy." Albus Dumbledore intoned from the doorway with a bland smile and an odd twinkle in his eye. His hands were folded behind his back, and Harry had a feeling his wand was in his hand, ready to cast a spell at a moment's notice. If he was in any way shocked by the position he found them in, or their reaction to his interruption, he didn't show it.
"Headmaster," Harry let his wand arm drop, but didn't put his wand away. We should probably disentangle ourselves, he grumbled to Celestine. There was a glint of rebelliousness in her eye, but, with a heavy sigh, she rose sinuously to her feet, extending a hand to help him up. Their fingers knit together without either of them making the conscious decision to do so, and he was glad for it. He had a feeling this was going to be a difficult conversation, and her touch would help him keep his head.
"What can we do for you?" He asked the Headmaster once he was on his feet. If there was a sureliness to his voice that hadn't ever been there when addressing the wizened wizard before, well Dumbledore had no one to blame for that but himself, really.
"I'd just like to talk to you, if now is a good time?" He replied sardonically, peering at them over his half moon spectacles. Celestine arched a single, unimpressed eyebrow.
He doesn't actually care whether now is a good time or not, he's just being polite. She hissed in his mind, her expression not giving away an ounce of the insult she feels at the lack of consideration.
Are you sure reading his mind of all people is a good idea? He glanced between Dumbledore and Celestine nervously. "Er, sure Headmaster. We can talk. What's on your mind?"
Oh, I didn't need to read his mind for that. Smugness radiated out from her every word, and Harry had to resist the urge to laugh. He settled for squeezing her hand and brushing against her mind with his own, suffusing her with his affection and mirth, the same way she'd done before. A barely noticeable shudder ran down her spine, and she shot him a heated look. Do that again, she whispered sultrily into his mind, and audience or no, I will take you here and now.
Harry tried to swallow his blush, failed spectacularly, and desperately tried not to be excited by her insane lack of shame. He failed at that too.
"I was rather hoping we could discuss your friend here, my boy." Dumbledore folded his hands in front of him, and Harry shook himself. Focus, Harry. Focus. Sure enough, his wand was there in his hand, casual as anything.
"Ah, right, you've not been introduced, have you? How rude of me. Headmaster Dumbledore, this is Celestine. Celestine, this is Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts." He explained, knowing full well that such an explanation was probably redundant but not knowing what else to say.
"Celestine, you say?" Dumbledore intoned with the slightest widening of the eyes being the only sign that he was in any way surprised. Maybe not as redundant as he thought. "Molly failed to mention your name when she owled me, I'm afraid." Ah. Yeah that'd do it.
"Somehow I'm not surprised." Celestine said, tone as dry as the Sahara. "Something gives me the impression she doesn't like me much, but I haven't the faintest clue why that would be." Harry snorted, bumping her with his shoulder playfully. Her lips quirked into a barely there smirk, but her gaze remained resolutely on the Headmaster. Her other hand flexed, and he had a feeling she was wishing she had her sword and armor at hand.
"Indeed." He examined her through his spectacles for a moment. "Apologies, but I simply must ask: are you the same Celestine that was once the companion of Julius Caesar?" She stiffened, hand spasming in Harry's before her grip turned painful, and he shot her a concerned look.
"I am." She admitted, somehow sounding stiffer than her posture had become. Huh, it hadn't occurred to him that she might have personally known historically important figures, though in retrospect it really should have. Hermione had probably already thought about it at length and is probably dying with curiosity. Harry is plenty curious himself, but her obvious discomfort with the Headmaster's line of questioning has him putting his curiosity aside in favor of giving Dumbledore a hard look; as if he could warn him off with his eyes alone.
"Fascinating," Dumbledore muttered, seemingly to himself. "Are the stories about him and Brutus-" There was a flare of what could only be raw agony from the vampire, and she cut him off sharply before he could finish his question.
"You didn't come here to discuss ancient gossip, Headmaster Dumbledore. What is your business with me?" Harry narrowed his eyes. He recognized that kind of pain. It was sharper, more intense than what he'd ever felt, but he felt something similar whenever he thought about his parents. It was an emptiness, a void in your heart where once a person lived, and a longing for something you can never have again. Dumbledore had stumbled into something incredibly raw, some loss that Celestine had never gotten over.
"Ah, too right, Lady Celestine, too right. I was rather wondering how the two of you came to meet?" Harry ground his teeth together, certain that had Celestine been human she would have gotten some sort of apology out of the Headmaster just then.
"Missus Weasley didn't say? I told her the whole story." Harry said, masking his irritation with over-wrought confusion. Well, she'd been present when he'd told his Godfather, but he had a feeling she hadn't exactly been listening.
"I'm afraid not, my boy. Would you care to enlighten me?"
"Sure," but he's getting the shortest version Harry can manage. "I had a dream-vision about Tommie boy doing something important, so I grabbed my cloak and followed him. Ended up in the Undercity, met Celestine and her father, convinced them to help us defeat the bastard," among other, more important things, "and brought her back here."
"How did you convince the vampire Lord to side against Tom?" Dumbledore asked, plainly shocked. "He hasn't interfered with human affairs since the Crusades."
"He promised me his first born." Celestine dead-panned. Dumbledore gave her an unamused look, like she was a misbehaving student, then turned expectantly to Harry, clearly waiting for him to answer his question. Something about that raised Harry's hackles, and he had to clench his teeth to keep from snarling.
"I swore to do anything and everything in my power to undo the Maledictus Creaturae placed upon their people." The Headmaster's bushy eyebrows climbed right up into his hairline.
"That is an ambitious undertaking, especially for one so young as you, my boy."
"I'm not a child, Headmaster." He bit out.
"Younger men than him have changed the world. What have you accomplished in your century and a quarter of life?" He and Celestine spoke at the same time, their words running over each other.
"You have been through trials and tribulations that a boy of your age should not have seen," Dumbledore started, ignoring Celestine's question entirely. "But you should not be so eager to take such responsibilities unto your shoulders."
"It's the right thing to do, Headmaster," Harry ground out, affronted by his Headmaster's attitude and utter disregard of Celestine. "I wouldn't be the kind of person I want to be if I did any different." Dumbledore just shook his head, as if he was somehow saddened by what Harry had just said. Celestine though, she washed a wave of affection and respect over him.
That right there is what I saw in you that had me bind us together as I did. It is what drew me to you. You are not just good, you choose to be good. You are a beautiful soul.
Fuck, how could something both feel like a punch to the gut and feel so bloody wonderful at the same time?
"And besides, Headmaster," Celestine cut in before Dumbledore could speak. "If men like you did their jobs, then Harry wouldn't have to shoulder such responsibility."
"Lady Celestine, I assure you I have done everything in my power to make the world a better place; to eliminate injustice wherever it may be found."
"And you have clearly failed." She shot back without hesitation. Harry blinked, startled by the sheer audacity it takes to call Albus freaking Dumbledore a failure right to his face. He doesn't disapprove, not by any stretch of the imagination, especially since she's absolutely right, far as he can tell. He's definitely going to be laughing his arse off at this later.
"Perhaps," he allowed, voice suddenly rather small and quiet. "But we must look to the future now, and it would be a better future if we could work together."
Celestine inclined her head as if in agreement, but her eyes told a very different story. Harry didn't need to read her mind to know that Celestine thought very little of the Headmaster, and for good reason. Still, there is one thing that his help would actually be invaluable with.
"In that same vein, Headmaster," Harry started. "There is something I was wondering."
The door opened again, and this time it was a harried Hermione who came in, slamming the door behind her, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly irritated. She must have finally escaped Missus Weasley's matronly clutches.
"I swear, if that woman says one more thing about you two to me I-" She stopped short, having finally looked up and noticed Dumbledore. "Headmaster, hello! I wasn't expecting to find you here."
"Miss Granger," the Headmaster inclined his head in greeting. "I just wanted to have a quick chat with Harry before the Order meeting. Speaking of: what was it you wanted to ask me, my boy?"
Harry took a deep breath, wondering how best to word it, before saying fuck it and just throwing it out there. "Is there any way for Celestine to attend Hogwarts in the upcoming term?" Hermione perked up, that knowing glint in her eye that foretold trouble or salvation, while the Headmaster very pointedly did not react to the question.
"Unfortunately not, I'm afraid. Striga and other Dark Creatures are barred from attending Hogwarts, and have been since the school's founding."
"That's not strictly true, actually." Hermione stepped forward, placing herself firmly at Harry's side. "She is his oath-bound protector, sworn to see to his safety, sealed in blood and magic. The by-laws of Hogwarts have provisions for just such a case, and specifically prohibit any members of staff from barring such protectors from having access to their charges."
Dumbledore looked between him and Celestine, wide eyed, for a long moment. "Truly?" Harry nodded his head. He brightened immediately, sending them a wide, toothy smile from beneath his enormous beard. "Well, in that case, yes. Lady Celestine will be welcome at Hogwarts come the start of term, and can, of course, accompany you on the Express."
That was… rather a lot simpler than Harry had been expecting, if he's being honest. I was expecting more resistance myself. Celestine murmured in his mind, clearly shocked. He's after something, I just don't know what.
"Now!" The Headmaster clapped his hands together, his wand conspicuous in its sudden absence. "I would like to extend an invitation to you, Lady Celestine, to join the Order of the Phoenix." Ah, that might be it.
"What would that entail?" She asked, tilting her head to regard him with shrewdly narrowed eyes.
"Nothing more than what you have already sworn to do." Harry narrowed his eyes. Nothing is ever that easy. And besides-
"Then what purpose would my joining serve for you?" Yes, that.
"It would help facilitate good relations between us, and by extension our people, and having our help would make protecting young Harry that much easier, as we have already been doing so for some time."
Celestine hummed, a completely neutral, noncommittal sound that somehow sounded dubious, then turned to him. "What do you think, Harry?" He pressed his lips into a thin line as he considered it.
"Are there any binding oaths required for members of the Order?" Hermione asked the Headmaster. Now that kind of thinking is exactly why Hermione is the Brightest Witch of their age. If the answer is yes, then the Headmaster can politely fuck right off, thank you very much. But if the answer is no? Well, then they might be able to make it work. Dumbledore blinked, seemingly surprised to be addressed by her rather than Harry or Celestine in that moment.
"Ah, not as such, no. More an informal agreement to be discrete, and not to jeopardize the lives of other Order members needlessly."
"Well, then it couldn't hurt to give it a shot I suppose." Harry mused to himself. "I think we should." He said to Celestine. And if things go south, we can cut ties and go our own way. She smiled a smile that was more fang than anything else, and nodded her head.
"Very well Headmaster, we'll give your Order a chance. Shall we attend the meeting that you mentioned is happening this evening?"
"I'm afraid that the invitation is for you and you alone, Lady Celestine. Harry is still far too young to be getting involved in such things." They both narrowed their eyes, Harry in irritation, though Celestine took it a step further; her lips peeling back over her teeth in a disgusted sneer.
"You must realize that we are a package deal. If you wish to work with me, then you must work with both of us."
"I know what you're going to say, Headmaster." Harry cut in before Dumbledore could say anything. "That allowing me to attend the meetings and know things will somehow prove to be dangerous for me, but let's be honest here: I'm going to get into danger all on my own, one way or the other. And it would be best if I was informed before doing so."
"It is not your responsibility, Harry. You should not have to carry this burden." Dumbledore intoned, countenance weighted down with a sadness that Harry found surprisingly genuine.
"As it happens, we've sworn an oath, in blood and honor, to see to Voldemort's destruction. Whether it should be my responsibility or not no longer matters. The fact of the matter is that it is." He crossed his arms, meeting the Headmaster's eyes with every ounce of determination he felt to see this through.
"I see." The twinkle was conspicuously absent from the old man's eye as he let out a tired sigh. "Be that as it may, I simply cannot allow a minor to join such an organization. It would violate several of the oaths that I have sworn in my life, as a professor and Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"Ah," Harry and Celestine looked at each other. "That changes things, just a tad, doesn't it?" He asked her, and she sighed, touching her hand to her lips thoughtfully.
"I suppose I can simply relay all that I learn in the meetings to you, and act as your voice in matters that concern you, with your permission."
"Of course. I trust you with my life, why wouldn't I trust you to have my best interest in heart?" He asked, genuinely baffled. Dumbledore jumped a bit, seemingly surprised by the casual admission of such deep trust between them. She smiled fondly and shook her head.
"I never doubted that, meae lepores. I simply didn't wish to assume to speak for you."
"Assume away, darling." He smirked. Her eyes widened the slightest bit, and then she stepped closer, wrapping an arm snugly around his waist, pulling him in until he was flush against her. Her magic buzzed around him like a cloud, pushing away the oppressive feeling of the Headmaster's magic as if a fog swept away by a mighty storm. A tension he hadn't even realized was in him loosened up, and then he was melting into her arms, uncaring of their audience.
"That's the first time you've used a pet name for me," she whispered, far too quiet for Dumbledore to hear without magical assistance. "How can I encourage this behavior?"
His arm wrapped snugly around the small of her back. "I can think of a few ways." Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly. Neither of them looked at him, but a surge of irritation welled within them both. "But perhaps that's best saved for later." He admitted, grudgingly.
The old bastard doesn't deserve the show he'd get. Her laugh echoed within his mind at the thought. With great reluctance, she sidled around so that they were pressed side to side rather than front to front, and regarded the Headmaster with a cooly cocked head and a plainly unbothered expression.
"The meeting is already supposed to have begun," Dumbledore started after a moment. "Lady Celestine, if you would?" He gestured at the door.
"Very well." She pressed a soft kiss into Harry's hair before stepping away. His hand trailed after her, and it took a fair bit more effort than he would like to admit not to follow her. "Let's see what your Order of the Phoenix is all about, shall we?"
Keep me in the loop?
Of course. She flashed a smile over her shoulder that he couldn't help returning, and then she and the Headmaster were out the door, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the training room.
"You two really have no shame, don't you?" Hermione asked, hands on her hips.
"None whatsoever!" He chirped without hesitation. She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips twitched up into a grin despite her best efforts. "Now, are you going to continue judging your best friends behavior, or do you want him to teach you everything his-" he stumbled a bit, unsure what label to put on their relationship. Girlfriend just felt wrong, like it wasn't a strong enough word, but they're certainly not married or betrothed. "His Lady taught him about blood magic this afternoon?"
Yeah, that works.
Sure enough, the mention of obscure magical knowledge immediately snagged Hermione's attention. He swore he actually saw her pupils dilate.
"Don't you dare hold out on me, Potter!" She poked him in the chest, and he swatted her hand away with a laugh. "Spill!"
He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright! So Blood Magic is all about intent and visualization…"
Author's Note: By some cosmic trick I finished this and chapter 8 of HP&tNN at roughly the same time. Having two radically different stories, both in content and tone, is really helping me avoid burnout. I get tired of one and I work on the other and vice versa!
Leave your thoughts behind! Good, bad, ugly, let me have them all!