CHAPTER EIGHT
Corrupted Youth
The party in the common room was every bit as spectacular as they had been promised. Food was everywhere, from snacks like pumpkin pasties and chocolate frogs, all the way to dinky sausage rolls and self-slicing cakes. Eddie had somehow purchased copious amounts of drinks, from Butterbeer and Gillywater, to Fire Whiskey and Lobe-blasters. Harry wasn't especially keen on trying alcohol, but he made a special note to avoid that last beverage. Lobe-blasters was not an appealing name.
He seemed to be alone in this opinion, as many of the older students were taking repeated shots of the stuff. Its effects became obvious as people began to dance on tables, out of rhythm with the music and do other things in shadowy corners of the room.
Harry and his friends had found the party enjoyable up to that point, especially he and Michael as they were waited on hand and foot, as a reward for their efforts today. But the problem of having eleven-year-olds in the same school as students in their mid to late teens soon became apparent. Harry had seen a few things that night that he could not unsee, as he led the hasty retreat back to the dorms, leaving Anthony and Michael to drag a far too curious Terry behind them.
It was a good thing they had left the party so early, as they learned the next day, Flitwick had arrived at almost two in the morning, and had seen something that made him give every student present Saturday Detention. Harry tried not to think what post-pubescent horrors the Charms Professor must have walked in on, but he couldn't ignore Terry's wild guesses over breakfast the next morning.
"Would you please stop talking!" Anthony finally said, looking just as mortified as Harry. Michael, however, seemed to think it was all very funny in the light of day. He kept giggling at Terry's suggestions, red faced, as he tried to stifle his amusement.
Luckily, the morning's post arrived before Terry could describe another one of his explicit theories. Harry didn't continue to feel so lucky when he glimpsed the front page on Anthony's copy of The Daily Prophet.
Boy Who Lived Survives Second Assassination Attempt!
"Hey!" Anthony protested when Harry snatched the paper from him. "I was planning on reading that!"
Harry ignored him as he made his way down the article, already putting some of the pieces together before he even finished.
"Is there anything written on Wizarding World News?" The answer to that question would determine if he were right or just paranoid.
"No." Anthony frowned, checking over his usual second newspaper, after Terry had snatched it from him and removed the Sunday crossword from the rest. He had seen the front page of the Prophet when Harry had turned the page to read more and had examined Wizarding World News for a similar headline.
"That settles it then, doesn't it?" Harry said quietly, wary of being overheard.
The other three looked confused, so he handed the Prophet for their perusal. As they read, he began to explain his theory.
"For the second time in under a month, I've almost been killed." He began to explain, and he felt more certain once he started voicing his thoughts. "Less than twenty-four hours later, said events are reported to the whole world. Bit weird, isn't it?"
Michael still looked confused. "Err… no, not really. You're famous, and half of Hogsmeade shows up to Hogwarts' Quidditch matches. It's part of how the school makes money, by selling tickets."
Terry shushed him, as he removed the crossword from The Daily Prophet now that everyone had stopped reading it. "Don't doubt him! Harry has all the answers." Harry was surprised, but pleased, by the enthusiastic support that at least one of his friends were showing him. At least until he saw Terry's face twitch, as though he were struggling not to smile. "Go on, Harry. I think you were leading us to a conspiracy where the entire world is out to get you." He said, finally losing the battle with his self-control, as he snorted into his scrambled eggs.
Refusing to acknowledge him, Harry turned to Anthony. "Last time it was over all the papers, even The Oracle. This time it's only on The Daily Prophet. What makes them so special?"
His head was still stubbornly turned away from Terry, so he could only see Anthony's immediate response to this. It wasn't very encouraging as he appeared confused. "What are you getting at?"
"Whoever gave the papers the story about the Troll sent it out to everyone. This time they only sent it to The Prophet. I think it's because they got the article the wanted from them."
Anthony's eyes widened. "You think they wanted people to think you were being targeted?"
Michael chimed in now, sounding engaged. "Do think it's really connected? That someone is trying to tell everyone you're being hunted?"
Harry hadn't actually thought of that at all. He said as much. "Err…no. What I actually thought is that whoever is doing this is just taking advantage of the situation to put Hogwarts in a bad light. Look," he said, picking the newspaper back up. "Lacklustre security. Faulty leadership. Suspicious faculty." He put it back down to see he had all three boy's full attention. "Last time the Prophet was the only paper that put a negative spin on it, and again, they're not just the only paper to report on the incident, but they have another negative spin backed up with a mysterious source. Suspicious faculty." He said again.
Michael's eyebrows rose. "Quirrell practically accused Slughorn in front of all of us, didn't he? Who else could have heard that?"
Terry spoke quickly, looking a little frustrated at being left out of the conversation after his silly joke. "You two told us at Hagrid's. Who's to say one of the other players didn't mention it to their friends."
Anthony sighed. "So, we have no way of knowing who the source is."
Harry nodded, an idea already popping into his mind, but one he decided to keep to himself for now. "But we have an idea of what they want. To either discredit Hogwarts, discredit Slughorn, or both."
Michael gave a great frustrated huff. "This is if they exist at all, and this isn't just a coincidence." He turned away, giving his full focus to his hearty breakfast, bringing the conversation to an end.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Some actual good news came about during that lazy Sunday. The four boys were relaxing by the lake on a cool but unseasonably pleasant November afternoon, along with half the school, when their fellow Ravenclaws, Isobel, Su and Amanda, favoured them with their presence.
Harry looked up from his book, The Cursebreaker Beginner's Guide, as Su sat next to him on the grass, against the trunk of the beech tree by the lake. The last of the red and gold leaves were occasionally falling around them, one landing in her glossy black hair as she leaned in close to Harry, as though she wanted to share a secret.
"Myrose was suspended." She whispered in that carrying way Petunia often did, as though she wanted everyone to know that she was aware of all their secrets. "We just passed him in the Entrance Hall. His parents were here to pick him up, and his mother was arranging for his things to be brought home by Automaton."
"That's it? Suspension? He almost killed Harry!" Michael shouted this all the way from the lakeshore. Apparently Su's whisper carried even further than he thought.
"What did you expect? He's loaded and I think one of his cousins works for an Advocate or something." Isobel said this sourly, next to Anthony and Michael down by the water.
Terry, who had grown bored with the search for the ever-elusive Giant Squid, was now sitting cross legged on the ground, transfiguring blades of grass into daisies in order to make himself a crown. Who had taught him to do either of these things, Harry did not know. But what he did know was that Terry seemed uncomfortable in the direction Isobel had taken the conversation, and that he wasn't the only one to notice, as Anthony was quick to speak up.
"That doesn't necessarily make him bad." Harry raised an eyebrow at him, and he quickly amended his statement. "Of course, he's a bad guy! He tried to kill you! But maybe his family's standing isn't to blame for that." They all looked at him strangely, but Terry seemed oddly grateful.
"Your right. It's wrong to judge someone based on their family. It's none of their business. " Amanda said firmly, only to wilt under their combined attention. "I j-just m-meant that…'' She couldn't hold her previous volume, so only Harry and Su, who were sitting with her under the beech tree, could hear her continuing whisper. "My family's Muggle, but I'm a witch. I'm not like them." Harry thought this sounded a little self-loathing, but who was he to judge. Su reached over him in order to squeeze her best friend's hand and Amanda smiled gratefully at her.
"Ta da!" Terry saved her from the awkward mood, when he lifted his completed daisy chain crown into the air for their inspection, before placing it around his head. "Who wants one?"
"I do! That's cute." Su said, letting go of Amanda's hand and making her way over to him.
Terry extended his hand to her, palm side up. "I charge 5 Sickles per daisy chain." Su turned on her heel and made her way back to her previous spot, as Terry desperately called increasingly lower offers at her back.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
That was the last fun weekend they had for a while. Now that Quidditch practice had gone back to its standard two practices a week, Harry could devote himself entirely to his revision. There was, after all, only three weeks left until their end of term exams, as he kept repeating to his friends.
"We get it!" Anthony snapped, after Harry reiterated himself for the tenth time that day. The four were relaxing in Terry's room, not emotionally ready enough to go back into the common room after the things they had seen on Saturday night. "If we revise with you, will you stop bringing it up?"
Terry looked betrayed, glancing up from his meticulously arranged potion kit. "We? Why are you signing me up for this?"
"I could stand to revise a little." Michael admitted, ignoring Terry. "I think it'll please my mum, at least." For a brief moment Harry thought he was talking about his Death Eater mother, before he realised that was ridiculous. He was speaking about Mrs. Hillard, his adoptive mother.
"Fantastic!" Harry clapped his hands together. "Three out of four votes. We've come to an agreement. Let's all get out Transfiguration notes and we'll start from there."
Terry raised his voice at them as they left his room for the Library tower. "Votes? Since when is this a democracy? You can't make me revise if I don't want to!"
They couldn't, but his father could. After Anthony gave a single threat to write home, Terry kept his mouth shut as they worked tirelessly for weeks.
Their revision of the various subjects and their theories ran surprisingly smoothly. More often than not, Harry found himself having to teach the others about things they hadn't written down, or believed weren't necessary to remember, even things that had yet to come up in class, but he believed related neatly to the topics they were studying.
After they had their fill of textbooks, they had asked Professor Flitwick for a safe and quiet environment in which they could practice their spells and he introduced them to one of the many Practice Rooms Hogwarts kept on hand for such occasions. It was just a simple, large barren room on the fourth floor, with windows to one side, and an Automaton on standby in the corner, just in case they accidentally set themselves on fire or something.
"Are these available to all students, at all times?" Harry asked Flitwick as he was about to leave.
"Why yes, of course." Before adding quickly, "Curfew still applies even if you're in this room obviously, and you'll have to make room for senior students if the other rooms are in high demand."
Harry nodded, distractingly watching Flitwick leave the room. If these Practice Rooms had always been here, then why did Quirrell insist on meeting him in a small, abandoned classroom?
It was just another question he was going to have to ask him in their next meeting.
Harry snapped out of his thoughts when Michael had somehow set his shoe on fire with the Verdimillious Charm. The Automaton quickly flew forward and doused him, head to toe, with fire extinguishing foam, turning him into a half-melted snowman. Anthony and Terry had cracked up laughing, and Harry wasn't nearly lost enough in his ominous mood to not join in.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Practical work was where the difficulties set in. Harry could see that he was still struggling with the same spells his friends were casting with ease. It took much more focus and energy for him to achieve similar results as the rest of them, which only frustrated him, as he had worked ten times harder than any of them on his spell work. His wand's obedience had improved after Halloween, but it had paused in its development, as though it expected something from Harry first.
That something became clear on the first day of December, when Ollivander had finally wrote back to him.
The sky above the Great Hall was a pale grey as it continued to unleash half the world's snow onto Hogwarts. Yesterday, Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures had to be quickly changed, as the snow was coming down too quickly for paths to be made. Rather than asking their First Years to go trekking a mile through five feet deep snow, Hagrid and Sprout had been kind enough to hold lectures indoors, telling them theory was more important than practice right now.
This was why Harry was so concerned when Argos landed in front of him at the Ravenclaw Table, as it was no condition for him to be flying in.
"What were you doing out there? I bought you a perch for a reason." He scolded his half-frozen bird. For his part, Argos stared back at him, stubborn, before weakly giving Harry his leg. There was a letter there.
"You have a letter? Whose it from? You never get letters. Which is a little weird now that I think about it, cause you're so famous-" Terry was cut off by Anthony's elbow hitting his stomach.
Harry swallowed his biting reply and pocketed the letter. Lifting Argos up onto his arm, he walked him, alone, to the Owlery.
Once his owl was settled in a corner of the Owlery, far from the other birds, he opened his letter. He was pleased to see that Ollivander had written back, as after almost a month, he had given up on ever receiving a reply.
Dear Mr. Potter,
I must apologise for the delay in my response. I was following a particularly strong unicorn in Norway who has shown the particular vitality I seek in the donors of my wand cores. I had only just gotten back to my residence when your rather brilliant owl arrived to deliver my reply.
I am glad you sought my advice on this matter, as you are describing a truly fascinating reaction.
Among Wandmakers it is a well-known fact that wands of Blackthorn typically need to pass through suffering and hardship with their owners before they can become fully bonded. As it stands now, your own Blackthorn wand is still wary of you. Coupled with the aloof feather of the phoenix, it will require an incredible amount of effort on your part to survive whatever trials you must pass through in order to earn its complete obedience.
Blackthorn wands do not simply choose all militant sorcerers, as otherwise, all Aurors would wield one. They choose militant sorcerers who need to go on a journey of self-discovery and acceptance. Once you are both capable of fighting others and are at peace with yourself, your wand will obey you completely.
I understand this may seem vague, but it is only because you, and only you, hold the answers. No one else can tell you how to move forward on this path. I can say that your wand is just as eager as you are to walk down it, as there are few things more powerful than a sorcerer who is at peace with himself.
There is a silver lining to all of this. The first Law of Magic, the Law of Equal Exchange, dictates that power cannot come from nothing. In order to cast any kind of magic, something must be sacrificed in turn.
Think of it as a well carved wooden chair. In order to make the chair, you must first sacrifice the wood. Magic is the same. Normally, this is as simple as Mana being demanded when casting a spell or turning a stirring rod when brewing a potion. Other times it is our flesh, emotions and even our very life force that must be sacrificed for something of equal value.
What makes Blackthorn wands so unique, is that once bonded completely they are of one mind with their wielder. Unlike other wands, you will have sacrificed your time and energy into earning your wands loyalty, likely even risking your life. So, no other wand wood will be able to give such powerful and accurate results as a wand made of Blackthorn.
I sincerely hope you will not have to fight anymore Trolls in order to earn your wands' obedience.
Wishing you all the best on this journey,
Garrick Ollivander
Master of Enchantments and Beasts
Harry lowered the letter after the third time reading it. He glanced at Argos, already asleep, touched that his smart owl had gone to seek out Ollivander's reply on his own.
His smile slipped as he remembered the letter's contents. It wasn't the hardship or suffering that worried him, he was old friends with both, but the idea of self-discovery and acceptance. What did that even mean? Was he ever going to get his wand to work as it should? Would he always struggle with spells his peers found easy?
Shaking his head, he made his way out of the Owlery and to the first class of the day. He'd figure it out later. After all, the Blackthorn wand was the only one that had responded to him, so it wasn't like he had much choice in the matter.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Their studies continued all the way up to exams, and not just in classes or in the library, but in their clubs too.
Terry eagerly led the way into Slughorn's dungeon classroom, the other three following, none of them matching his level of excitement, especially Michael. Harry was glad he had joined them in this club, as Michael was amongst the few in the club who had even worse potion making skills than him. Probably not the way he should be thinking about a friend, but he couldn't help it.
As they piled into the seats, Slughorn entered the room, beaming, which in and of itself, was very odd. He had been in a bad mood ever since the article about the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff Quidditch match was released. While he hadn't been named, it was made clear who the reporter had been accusing when they wrote Head of House particularly to blame, and a clear connection to his incarcerated brother.
Slughorn had lost his usual smiles and japes for his favourite students and had begun to look his age, as his face seemed to sag further with every passing day.
Christopher, The Number One Worst Prefect, had bemoaned (quite loudly in the common room where everyone could hear him) about Slughorn's sudden depression putting his annual, and very exclusive, Christmas party at risk of being cancelled.
This dark mood seemed to have passed as he shot his wide smile at Harry and his friends as he made his way over to them.
"I'm glad you four are here, so many students are dropping their extracurriculars in the run up to exams." Slughorn said cheerfully, hands resting comfortably on his immense stomach. "I was hoping you boys would like to join me on the last night of term. I'm throwing together a last-minute party for my most talented students."
Terry was staring incredulously at Michael, and Harry understand his disbelief. Michael had just set himself on fire for the second week in a row at a Potions Club meeting and Anthony was struggling to put him out. Michael was good at a lot of things, but Potion brewing was not one of them.
Fortunately, Anthony was there to explain, breathing deeply once Michael's sleeve was extinguished. "It's because you're good at Quidditch. When he says, "talented students" he means the well-connected or the up and comers." He said in a low whisper, the sound dampened by the sound of a dozen First Years struggling with their Forgetfulness Potions. "Is it really so surprising that he invited the four of us?"
Harry wasn't sure what he meant by that but ignored it for a more pressing matter. "Christopher said it's a fancy party and I don't have any nice clothes." He ignored Terry's hissing hasty instructions to Michael, who's potion seemed to be on the brink of destruction.
Anthony was quick to reassure him. "I've plenty of formal wear. You can borrow something from me if you would like?" Harry was pleased by the offer and accepted gratefully, but he couldn't help but ask:
"Why do you have so much formal wear?"
"The Boots hold the occasional party for Coalition big wigs at the Citadel, and Terry and I are often told to make an appearance." Anthony smiled, self-deprecating and eyes rolling, before he seemed to remember something. "Speaking of parties, are you doing anything on Christmas Eve? Because Robert and Joan invited you to their annual party."
Harry blinked. Eleven years with not a single party invitation, and then two in ten minutes? It was enough to rattle him, so much so, that Anthony asked if he was alright.
"Yeah, yeah! I'm fine! I'll be happy to come. As long as you don't mind me hanging on to whatever you lend me for Slughorn's party?"
Anthony smiled, and was about to reply, before a great hissing sound was let out of Michael's cauldron. Somehow, even with Terry's help, he had managed to turn the formerly liquid potion into steam. Afraid of what even a half-made forgetfulness potion could do to them if they breathed it in, the entire club, even the upper years who were working on their own potions, fled into the corridor.
"Not to worry! We'll have this classroom safe and disinfected by tomorrow!" Slughorn raised his hands to quell the protests. "I realise that some of you were eager to get last minute tips before exams, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I'll clear my schedule for tomorrow evening for anyone who would like to return."
They couldn't really argue against that. Michael was half hiding behind Harry and Anthony, who were both taller than him, as the other club members passed them by. Most ignored him, but some jeered at him, and a few gave him dirty looks. It was the last group that seemed to upset him the most though.
"I said it was a bad idea to let you into this school, Corner." Susan Bones had stopped in front of the Ravenclaw boys, her crowd of Hufflepuff girls were almost double their number. He noticed that the Hufflepuff loner, Megan Jones, had slipped out of the classroom, looking relieved to avoid Susan's attention for once. "But back then I just thought that you would be stealing the spot of a more worthy student. I didn't realise your presence would actively harm the learning of others." Harry wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Susan seemed to hate someone more than she hated him, or that hot headed Michael was now hiding meekly behind him. In his peripheral vision, he could see the blonde boy's shoulders tightening, as though he expected an attack.
Susan's next words revealed to Harry her awareness of Michael's insecurities. "I shouldn't be too surprised though; You can't help your nature. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and all that." There was a smattering of cruel laughter from the girls around her, not really finding it funny, but amazed that she even went there.
Harry waited a moment for Michael to defend himself, or for Terry and Anthony to speak in his defence. But Michael looked like he wanted to die on the spot, and the other two just looked awkward. Harry spoke then, fed up with her attitude.
"You're one to talk about apples not falling far from the tree." Harry said coldly. "The way you act, well it's just what I would expect from your background." Harry was taking a bit of a gamble here. He knew that Susan hated him as soon as she heard his name, either because she had a Death Eater sympathiser in the family, or some kind of grudge between their families. At least he hoped it was one of those two, otherwise he'd just made a nonsensical rebuttal.
Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you looked at it, there were sudden intakes of breath from all around him. The Hufflepuff girls looked gobsmacked, and his own friends looked amazed at his daring. For her part, Susan's face had turned very white.
"Don't say anything about my father." She whispered. Her face was emotionless, and her eyes were glassy, like a bird of prey locked onto its target. Harry knew if he provoked her that she would certainly attack him, but he really didn't care.
"I didn't say anything about your father." Harry said, innocently. He maintained eye contact with her, hoping she didn't his fingers inching towards his wand. The incantation for the Shield Charm was ready in his mind. "It was you who brought him up. Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"
Susan turned her wide eyes away from him and saw that the other nine First Years in the corridor were all staring at her, waiting for what she would say next. She seemed to realise how unbalanced she appeared, as she turned away from him and stormed off. The Hufflepuff girls followed more slowly, unsure if their ringleader wanted their presence.
Terry let out a low, shaky laugh. "I can't believe you went there, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "I don't even know where I went. I just spouted out nonsense."
Anthony raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean? How could you bring up her family if you don't even know?"
Harry smiled and explained how he met Susan at Madam Malkin's in July and her reaction to hearing his name. "I just assumed she's from a Death Eater family, or our parents hated each other or something."
Anthony shook his head. "She's definitely not from a Death Eater family. Her mum's an Auror, but she retired after an injury or something. Her uncle was an Auror too, but he was killed along with his wife and children by a gang of initiate Death Eaters."
Harry felt his stomach drop, but before he could ask any questions, Michael finally spoke.
"Thanks." He said, hoarsely.
"Don't worry about it. What's her problem with you? Is it about your mum?"
Michael smiled, humourlessly. "You could say that. But no, she doesn't have a special grudge against all Death Eaters and their families. At least not as much as anyone else does." He spoke about her with a startling level of familiarity.
"Then why did she come after you like that?"
Michael shrugged. "She's my sister."
Harry waited for him to say, "Just kidding, here's the real reason", but those words never came. He looked at the other two, who both looked painfully awkward, but unsurprised.
"You're gonna have to explain that one for me, mate."
"Remember when I told you about my parents?" Harry nodded. It was a difficult story to forget. "I think I said something about my dad being married at the time. His wife fought my mother, who injured her with some kind of curse. She survived, but it was bad enough to force her into early retirement during her prime. Then, sometime afterward, my father was kidnapped, only to be rescued, weeks later, by some Aurors. He goes home with no memories of his imprisonment and months later has a baby girl, Susan, with his wife. It was a happy ending to a sad story, and something for the papers to spin into something good during a dark time." Michael swallowed. "At least until they found me."
Harry spoke slowly, as though afraid of spooking him. "None of that is your fault. Susan has no right to take it out on you."
Michael grimaced. "She didn't always hold it against me. She was nice to me when we started at Pendle's, we were even friends for a bit. But I think the rumours going around school about our parents must have gotten to her eventually, because she started giving me the cold shoulder."
"I'm still not hearing a reason why-"
"I froze her." Michael said simply. "Literally, with accidental magic. She would have died if an older student didn't run to fetch a teacher. She's hated me ever since."
Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that. Before he could pull together a reasonable response, the bell chimed throughout the school, signalling the start of dinner.
The four slowly made their way to the Great Hall, an uncomfortable air around them. More than once, Terry opened his mouth to say something, only to think better of it. Anthony kept his gaze forward, but his eyes kept flickering towards Michael in concern. It was only when Michael went to peel away from them without a word, did Harry finally speak.
"Kids can't help their accidental magic, you know." Harry said quickly, hoping his brain would give him appropriate words if he stopped thinking too hard and just spoke. "I once set a Boa constrictor on a bunch of Muggle grown-ups because they were blaming me for something I didn't do. I blamed myself as well, but Hagrid told me that this sort of thing is common. That every witch and wizard have a story or two from their childhood."
Anthony spoke quickly. "I once turned Terry's legs into the bottom half of a giant maggot once." At Harry and Michael's shock, he explained. "He left one of his experiments in my room when we went on holiday. I come back three weeks later with my entire bed filled with maggots. When he came in and started laughing, I just snapped." Anthony looked embarrassed at this admission.
Terry, in contrast, looked relieved. "I thought Anthony was ruining my birthday on purpose when he broke one of my presents. So, I set his hair on fire." He smiled at his brother. "I would have felt bad about telling that story, but only because I'd forgotten about the whole maggot thing."
Anthony blinked. "How could you forget being turned into a giant maggot?"
Terry shrugged. "It was only my bottom half. A lot more interesting things have happened to me, you know."
"Like what?" Anthony snorted. "I've known you forever, and nothing interesting has ever happened to you."
"Yes, it has!" Terry argued.
Turning away from both the ensuing argument and the horror that was Anthony and Terry's accidental magic filled childhood, Harry faced Michael. "See? We all do stupid stuff, sometimes."
Michael looked doubtful. "Are you sure? Robert never did anything like that."
Harry waved him off. "Robert's perfect, isn't he? We can't all be held to his high standard."
"What about your parents?" Anthony asked. He had deliberately turned away from Terry and his farfetched recollections of his childhood. "Surely they must have said something."
Michael shook his head. "My dad's a Squib and my mum's a Muggle."
Terry stopped mid-way through an unbelievable tale of the time he hijacked a Muggle helicopter and turned to Michael with a betrayed look. "You were growing up in the Muggle world this entire time and you never told me?" Michael only looked confused at this sudden outburst. "The things I could have learned! The Muggle Artifices I could have had access to!"
Anthony looked alarmed. "Whatever he says, do not give him any Muggle Artifices."
"It's for a good cause! I'll be contributing to the collective knowledge of wizardkind."
"It's illegal and your parents are Aurors."
The two continued their argument into the Great Hall, moving the discussion away from Michael's past. As they sat down at the Ravenclaw table, Harry could see Michael smile softly.
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The evening before exams were due to begin, Harry was found in his usual abandoned classroom, duelling Quirrell once more.
"Impedimenta!" The desk that had been sailing through the air and towards his face stopped in mid-air. With an anti-clockwise turn of his wand, the table reversed its course in the air. Before it could land on the spot it had originated from, it collided with Quirrell's incoming Stunning Spell, just as Harry had planned.
Quirrell's Martial Spells were so powerful that they tended to damage inanimate objects, instead of harmlessly dissipating the way Harry's did. This meant that the desk being broken into half a dozen pieces by his Stunning Spell was practically guaranteed, and therefore, something Harry could plan around.
It wasn't as many pieces as Harry had hoped, but enough for his idea. "Flipendo Maxima!" The Maxima suffix was normally used for charms, not jinxes, which meant that he would've been better off with the Banishing Charm. But Flipendo was his most reliable spell, even when adding suffixes to the incantation on the fly.
The remains of the desk chair stopped their return to the point of origin and instead flew right at Quirrell's face at high speeds.
To his credit, the Defence Professor didn't appear fazed in the slightest, but while he was busy vanishing the flying projectiles, Harry had already gotten close enough to cast a spell on the teacher's desk behind him.
"Locomotor!" Tugging his wand towards him as though he were reeling in a fish, Harry moved the desk towards him and, more importantly, Quirrell.
The man must have had eyes out of the back of his head or something, because Harry saw him react and move faster than should have been possible. With an almost mocking amount of ease, he leaned backward, allowing the moving desk to guide him into a graceful and effortless backwards roll. One second, Harry was assured of his victory, as the desk was set to collide with his opponent's back, and the next Quirrell was on his feet looking amused at Harry's efforts.
However, that wasn't Harry's best effort. If there was one thing that he had learned from Quirrell (amongst a hundred other things) it was to not put all your eggs in one basket. Last ditch efforts were his first instinct in duels when things went wrong, but his mind knew better. You had to wear your opponent down.
So, while Quirrell was still in the middle of his backward roll, Harry was already moving again. "FLIPENDO!" The teacher's desk stopped its movement toward him, and then flung itself at Quirrell.
Harry took great pleasure in seeing the Professor's eye widen. Why wouldn't he react like that? Unlike the flimsy student desks, the teacher's desk was huge, oak and very heavy. Quirrell was clearly surprised that Harry could move it at all, much less send it flying at him with such rapid spins.
That didn't stop him from vanishing it, transfiguring the heavy desk into thin air with just the barest flicks of his wand, but at that point, Harry was already out of his immediate line of sight. Learning from Michael's last goal, he hoped Quirrell would instinctively assume that he had gone back to hiding behind one of the remaining student's desks as he always did and not realise that Harry had made his way behind him, to his right.
Harry didn't wait to see if his gambit paid off, but instead acted as though it already had. "Petrificus Totalus!" He whispered, hoping to keep (if he ever even had) the element of surprise.
He awoke, according to his watch, a minute later. He groaned at his defeat, even though he was secretly pleased with himself for lasting longer than he usually did. "You hit me with a Stunning Spell?" He guessed, remembering a red flash of light.
"Yes." Quirrell said simply, looking disappointed. His amused air told Harry it was just for show. "Didn't I ask you to try to use all Basic Seven spells this time around?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "Even if I hit you with a Mouth Sealing Curse it won't stop you. You can cast spells silently, so you'd just let it hit you and I'd be leaving myself wide open to attack."
Quirrell sighed. "Go ahead and ruin all my fun, why don't you?" He examined the damaged room, with scorch marks, debris and two missing desks. "In September, I didn't even need to clean the classroom after our sessions. Now, I'm wondering how I'm supposed to get this done before the staff meeting. Another mark of your improvement I suppose."
This reminded Harry of a question he had wanted to ask. "Professor? Why don't we just use the Practice Rooms?"
Quirrell turned to face him. "For the same reason I haven't told anyone about our lessons. You haven't told anyone, have you?" Harry shook his head, even as he wondered what the big deal was. He hadn't told anyone, because he didn't want anyone to know that he required help, but now he was beginning to wonder if he should have.
Quirrell explained. "You are my first student, do you see? Once I've turned you into a success, I wish to show your progress to Dumbledore. It will be up to you to impress him."
Perhaps it was the now typical post-duel dizziness that was onsetting, but Harry wasn't following. "Why do you need to impress him? And why use me, a First Year, to do it?" He asked as he sat down in an available chair. His stamina was improving, but so many spells in quick succession left him exhausted.
"Hogwarts is one of the eleven premier schools of magic in the world. Despite this, our exam results are quite lacklustre." Quirrell sighed. "As a child, I was told that Hogwarts was the best school for magic in the world, and throughout all my seven years here I believed it. Then I went to the Magisterium."
Harry knew, logically, that Quirrell had to have gone to the Magisterium in order to teach at Hogwarts, but he hardly looked ten years older than Harry was.
Quirrell continued, not being privy to Harry's silly hang-up. "Almost every other Premier school outstrips us in overall exam results, Auror Cadets and acceptances into the Magisterium. Hogwarts was once great, but now, those days are but a distant memory."
Harry was catching on. "You want every student to be taught the way you're teaching me."
Quirrell smiled slightly. "Not exactly. I want to pull back the restrictions that Headmasters Dippet and Dumbledore put into place."
Harry frowned. "What restrictions?"
Quirrell looked at him consideringly, as though deciding whether or not he could trust him. "Are you going to Professor Slughorn's party next week?"
Harry was surprised by the non sequitur. "Yes. Why do you ask?"
Quirrell leaned close, as though he were afraid of being overheard even though they were in an empty room. "I think Slughorn may have encouraged, or at least turned a blind eye to Myrose. You can't trust him."
Harry frowned. "How can you be so sure? And what's this got to do with the restrictions?"
"Slughorn's group of favourites, his Slug Club, had a suspicious number of future Death Eaters back in my days as a student. While they were running around the school bullying Muggle-borns, and spreading You-know-who's dogma, Slughorn did nothing. Those who were generous might say he simply turned a blind eye, but anyone with a semblance of intelligence will know he did everything he could to protect them from the consequences of their actions."
Harry leaned back in his chair. "At the match, you said something about Myrose's brother. He bullied you, didn't he?" Quirrell looked slightly stunned, as though he hadn't expected Harry to catch that. "You seemed upset that history might be repeating itself." Harry explained.
Quirrell chuckled faintly. "You're sharper than I give you credit for." He shook his head. "But you're wrong. Myrose didn't bully me. I wish he had if it was an alternative."
"Then what-?"
"He murdered my entire family." Harry's mouth fell open. "Something about Wizards and Muggles building a family together seemed to offend him." Quirrell finished quietly. He looked haunted and Harry couldn't help but remember his description of Myrose's older brother:
His predilection for the most vulnerable of Muggles was made known at his trial. A truly vile man.
"The restrictions. Right." Quirrell shook his head and Harry waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.
"Dippet first began to restrict the teaching of the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Dumbledore continued this trend, even outright banning duelling for a short time during his first tenure as Headmaster." Quirrell chuckled. "He was hounded on all sides, by the Magister, the Ministry, even the Auror Corps. They all harassed him until he changed it back."
"This coddling of our students has only led to embarrassment for Britain on the world stage. It's most clear to everyone whenever the Triwizard Tournament rolls around, that one of the oldest schools of magic has been surpassed by mere covens and Citadel day schools."
Harry nodded. He had heard something similar from his friends. "What's this got to do with Slughorn?"
Quirrell's expression turned deadly serious. "I think Slughorn may already be teaching the Dark Arts to students. Or at the very least he may be enabling them."
Harry frowned. "But isn't that exactly what you want to do?"
"There's a vast difference between teaching Dark Magic in a safe classroom environment with a fully trained Master in the field and a gang of teenagers casting spells on each other without care."
Quirrell pulled his own chair now, dragging it until it was directly opposite Harry's own. "I need you to do something for me. I feel, after all these months, that I have a good idea of your character. Which is how I know that you are not only capable of what I'm about to ask, but trustworthy enough to keep it a secret."
Harry felt tense. "How I respond will depend on what you ask."
"Smart boy." Quirrell's lips pulled upward for a smile, but only for a moment. "I need you to infiltrate this group of students, and report back to me anything you may see."
"No." Harry didn't even need to think about it. Infiltrating a group just to betray them was bad enough, but a group of Dark Magic wielding teenagers? Forget about it. Quirrell quickly tried to reassure him.
"There are three reasons why I think you would agree. First, all the students who are a part of the club go to great lengths in order to protect their identities."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you've never been to these group meetings, how do you know about that?" Is this an elaborate trap? Harry wondered. What would be the point?
Quirrell smiled. "That's because of the second reason. I already have someone on the inside. You would be joining this task just in case their information proves… unreliable."
"So, you've already got a student spying for you, but now you don't trust them so you're asking for my help. What happens if you don't trust me either?"
"Because neither of you will know the other's identity." Quirrell nodded once he saw that Harry understood where he was going with this. "That's right. You both report back to me at different places and times. That way I know that my first spy is reporting accurately."
Or that way you know I'm reporting back accurately. This was all so very strange. Harry had already resolved himself to walking away, after all he didn't really need Quirrell anymore. Harry had already learned what worked and didn't work for him when it came to spellcasting, and for the few spells that were out of his reach? Well, Flitwick did say that his door was always open.
However, as though sensing Harry's building resolve, Quirrell added slyly. "Did you know your father was a Master of the Dark Arts?" Harry froze, and Quirrell's smile slowly grew. "Yes, and he was great from the moment he set foot in the Magisterium. I only attended a few years after him, but some of my instructors still brought his name up. Your father had left Hogwarts a prodigy in the Dark Arts, and I could never quite measure up. They had wondered if he was a natural talent, or had Hogwarts secretly started teaching the Dark Arts in full force again?"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "This is the third reason, isn't it? You think my father was a member of this Dark Arts Club."
Quirrell simply smiled and Harry clenched his fists. They both knew that Harry was going to join.
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
Harry tried his best to get that conversation out of his mind, but he spent all night thinking about it. He spent all of breakfast thinking about it too. He could hear his friends distantly try to get his attention, then eventually leave him to his thoughts. They sounded amused, as though they thought he was focused on today's exams.
Exams. He had been so lost in thought, that he had forgotten what was taking place today. He snapped out of it, only as he took his seat in Professor McGonagall's classroom. Harry swallowed real panic. He hadn't revised last night. He hadn't even gone over his notes this morning. He hadn't even gotten a good night's sleep-!
McGonagall put his exam in front of him and in no time at all, she told them to begin.
"That was so easy!" Harry exclaimed happily as they walked through the chilly courtyard. It was now their free period, and they were each holding a small handful of bluebell flames in order to keep warm. "I expected it to be much harder than that!"
"That's because it was only theoretical! The practical portion isn't even tested until June!" Michael hadn't been nearly as happy with this news as Harry had been. "I shouldn't have wasted so much time on my spell work." He groaned, rubbing his face with his free hand.
Terry was laughing at his despair. "I told you revising was a waste of time." Michael glared at him, but Terry wasn't the least bit affected.
Anthony frowned at him for a moment, before turning to Michael. "Think of it this way; More revision now, means less revision later."
Michael actually looked like he was considering that for a moment, so Harry chimed in. "Yeah! Quidditch finals are in May, less revision means more time you can practice."
Michael nodded considering. "I do like the sound of that." Terry sighed, clearly disappointed Michael had stopped his meltdown.
"Let's just get these stupid exams over with so we can get to Christmas already." Terry grumbled, childishly.
The rest of the "stupid" exams passed by in a breeze. Theory wasn't exactly Harry's forte, but at this level, it was far easier than actually doing the magic it was explaining. Once exams were over, teachers promised to post results on the last day of term, as well as posting them home. Harry enjoyed the thought of a magical owl telling Vernon and Petunia how superior he was to their offspring.
Before he knew it, it was the second to last night of term. The night he would be initiated into the Silver Spears.
Harry had been bewildered when Quirrell had told him they met, twice a week, in the Small Hall. "Surely someone would have noticed by now." He had rightfully said. The Small Hall was an unofficial inter-House common room, with tables and chairs for studying, and sofas and armchairs for relaxing. The school even kept games on hand to entertain the students. It was always busy, too busy for a secret society of Dark Wizards to meet. He told Quirrell all of this.
"First of all, these are students, not Dark Wizards. They are innocent children, who are being misled by a trusted faculty member. Our job is to help them before they do any permanent damage to themselves or others." Quirrell reminded him, looking uncharacteristically stern. "Secondly, if students of all ages and houses are going to meet, you need to do it in a place that won't attract attention. At least, that is what Slughorn has told my spy." Harry narrowed his eyes.
"Right, your spy. I want to meet them." He spoke over Quirrell's refusal. "I don't care if you don't trust them, but I need to know for certain that I won't be entering that place alone."
"How am I supposed to know the two of you won't collude together? That you won't change the information you have received?"
Harry's smile didn't contain a trace of humour. "I suspect that you will continue to use the Mind Arts as you have." For the first time since Harry had met him, Quirrell looked truly shocked, which told him his guess had been correct.
"How did you-?"
"It was just a shot in the dark, but from the look on your face I can see it was the right one." Harry had been keeping his eyes averted since the discovery. His research into Quirrell's background had come up empty as he had shown no inclination in studying the Mind Arts at the Magisterium. While the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor lacked a mastery in the field, but his uncanny ability to know exactly what Harry was thinking of at any given moment led him to only one conclusion.
It took Quirrell a moment to gather himself before his usual easy smile fell into its usual place. "Your fellow infiltrator will be the one with a thin band of gold along the top of their boots. You will be wearing purple on yours." Harry opened his mouth to explain that he didn't trust his Colour Changing Charm to last that long, but Quirrell spoke over him. "It will come with the uniform my spy will provide for you."
"The Silver Spears wear special uniforms?"
"As well as hoods to hide their identities."
"Then how am I supposed to go to the Small Hall without anyone noticing?"
Quirrell looked very amused with Harry's mounting concerns. "That is for you to figure out. It is, after all, the first step on your initiation." Harry knew the only way he was going to make it was with his Invisibility Cloak. Judging by the widening smile on Quirrell's face, he knew it too. Damn Legilimency, Harry thought.
That was how Harry found himself walking towards the Small Hall after dinner, hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. The uniform Quirrell had provided him with was not dissimilar from the duelling uniforms Hogwarts provided for its Sentinels and their challengers. The only addition was the wide hood, which left his face in shadow, hiding his identity and the only subtraction was the lack of house colour; The uniform was entirely black, except, of course, for the thin ring of imperial purple around the top of his long, buckled boots.
Harry was running a little late as he had spent a too long fiddling with his bronze Ouroboros as it was the first time that he had removed it for anything other than bathing in months. It was only a little change but walking down the corridor with the metal bracelet on the outside of his wrist bracer left him feeling a little exposed. He had grown used to the feel of it against his skin.
Thanks to that he was now running a little late. The meeting began at eight, and it was already ten to. This normally wouldn't be a problem, but he had no idea how to join the club once he arrived at the hall.
His fears were not unfounded. When he entered the hall, it was crowded, mostly with O.W.L and N.E.W.T students who enjoyed a later curfew. Glancing around he could not see anyone dressed as he was, or even acting suspiciously. Sighing he stood in a corner, out of the way so no one would bump into him, but atop the highest row of the benches that lined the walls in order to see over everyone's heads.
It was only when he heard the Clock tower strike eight in the distance, did the wall furthest from the door begin to shimmer. Harry had been at Hogwarts long enough to notice a basic illusion, as it was a necessary skill to learn when so many doors and walls pretended to be things they weren't. The First Year Ravenclaw boys had made a habit of exploring the castle during their free hours and had found plenty of such illusions around the school. However, this was the first time he had ever seen an illusion of this calibre. No one but he (and he suspected a few other invisible students) seemed to notice. Was it the uniforms? Were they protecting them from this illusion? Harry didn't know much about Enchanting or the Mind Arts, but he knew that no student could have done this. There was more to Slughorn than Harry had thought.
Walking towards the wall, he passed by the students who seemed to be moving away from it, as though compelled to stay far away. Glancing around, even though no one could see him, he stepped through the wall as though it were as substantial as mist.
The entrance had reminded him of the barrier at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but he was glad that he had learned not to keep his eyes closed since then. If he had, he would have fallen down a steep flight of stairs.
It was difficult to make out in the gloom, but there were a few students making their way down the steps, now visible. Hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, Harry pressed himself against the wall, just as an athletic boy made himself visible and began to climb down the stairs. Harry tried to move his hand back through the wall, only to find it solid. He was stuck here.
Harry made his way down the stairs, following the others, as quietly as he could. The staircase was not only steep, but long and he was already dreading the climb to the top. The further down they went, the walls became rougher and rockier, and the stairway became darker. Finally, in the distance, he could see light at the bottom of the staircase.
The last steps opened up to a wide, underground, well-lit hall. It was similar to the training hall on the sixth floor that Auror Cadets used to train during weekdays. Harry and his friends had caught a glimpse of it once, before being chased off by a harried looking Auror Captain. There were targets lining the walls, Automatons ready to duel against and a wide-open, circular space in the middle of the room, to serve as a duelling arena. There was even a sturdy bookcase along one wall filled with, what he assumed at least, Dark Magic.
When Quirrell had first told him about The Silver Spears, Harry had assumed that there were only around ten members or so, enough for Slughorn to teach personally. Now, he could see as many as thirty students of varying ages and sizes, both boys and girls, and at the very front was the same athletic boy who had almost bumped into him at the top of the stairs, standing alongside a mask-less Slughorn.
While the students began to divide themselves up into groups or pairings in order to begin their various, illicit activities, Harry began to search for the spy with the boots with the gold ring. He had already promised himself to find an exit if he could not spot them, but much to his disappointment, he found them almost immediately standing by the stairs, waiting for him.
Steeling himself, Harry stepped out of the shadows of the staircase, pausing only to send his Invisibility Cloak away. He made his way to his fellow spy, who seemed impatient due to her body language.
It was, almost certainly, a her, as the form fitting duelling robes could not hide that much for most of the members. Her face was hidden in the shadow of her wide hood, and Harry was certain he had never heard her voice before, as she spoke to him in an uninterested tone.
"Nice boots." She said, moving her head as though she were looking at him up and down.
"Not nearly as nice as yours." Harry replied with the phrase Quirrell had told him to say.
Before he could figure out what to say now that he was without instruction, Slughorn had arrived in front of him.
"This must be our latest initiate!" Slughorn said, in his usual too loud exclamation. Harry glanced around, afraid that this loud introduction would make the other members take notice of the fresh meat within their midst, but no one even glanced in their direction, too busy casting spells at targets. "I normally only accept new members at the start of every year, but I was convinced to make an exception for you." Slughorn gave an amused look at Harry's new companion. "No matter, you managed to find your way here undetected, and due to recent events, we have an opening in our group."
At this, Harry's fellow infiltrator began to make her way to the only other exit, at the other side of the hall. Harry forced himself to ask, while trying to disguise his voice. "An opening?" He asked in a deeper voice.
Even though his disguised voice sounded alright to his ears, Slughorn smiled, as though he knew that Harry was trying to hide his identity. "Do you really think I would allow any student to join without knowing who they are? You mustn't worry, lad. I might know, but no one else will. You can trust me." He winked at Harry, like he did to all of his favourite students, as though he were still the same cheerful professor he always pretended to be. Harry repressed a shudder.
"Now that you have passed the first two stages, all that is left is the final step." Slughorn indicated for Harry to follow, as he led the way to the centre of the hall. As they passed, members stopped their target practices and readings, watching and following as they walked by.
It was only when they reached the duelling space did Slughorn finally stop. Harry was almost relieved by the idea of a duel being the last step, even if it was against an older, Dark Magic wielding student. Of course, nothing could ever be so easy.
The girl with the gold ringed boots had returned, levitating a large, restrained boy behind her. It was only when the boy was dumped at Slughorn's feet, did Harry finally recognise him.
It was Myrose.
Harry had known that he had returned early from his suspension in order to take his end of term exams but was kept in isolation by his Head of House. Slughorn. Of course, getting him here would be no problem for him.
"As you all are aware, young Myrose threatened our group's exposure when he acted out of selfish desire." Harry knew that this was for his benefit, so that he wouldn't blame the entire group for one person's actions. "As such he needs to be punished before his exclusion from our Silver Spears." Slughorn waved Harry forward.
Resenting the fact that this would make him visible to the entire crowd circling Myrose, Harry stepped ino the ring. Slughorn nodded down at his bound and gagged student. "Wake him."
Harry drew his wand from his hip holster and brought it down at Myrose. "Enervate!" The boy opened his eyes, looking bleary and confused. When he spotted Harry in his dark, lightweight armour, with his face hidden in the unnatural shadow of his wide hood, he began to shuffle backward in fear.
"Stop him." Slughorn's voice was cold. Harry was glad the hood hid his face, as he could not repress his grimace. "Petrificus Totalus!" Myrose's already bound form became stiff as he slumped to the side unmoving.
"Now, hurt him." Slughorn demanded. Harry paused. How had he gotten to this point? He was smart, but he had put himself into a position where he was surrounded by students whose identities were hidden and his only option was to hurt another person. To be included. Was he really so desperate to be part of this group? To follow in his father's footsteps?
Slughorn seemed to sense his reluctance, as he approached Harry, and began to speak, his voice low, so no one else could hear. "He has attacked you twice now, hasn't he? Who knows what he would have done the first time if Quirrell hadn't been there? The second time? He was ready to kill you in front of half the Wizarding World. He's more than earned a little punishment wouldn't you say?"
Harry swallowed. If I don't do it, someone else will. At least this way I get to stay in the club. He had forgotten why that was so important to him, but he was afraid he might end up in Myrose's place if he backed out.
In order to make sure he didn't miss, Harry stepped closer to the bound boy. Pointing his wand at Myrose's cheek, he said as firmly as he could manage, "Diffindo!"
While Harry had focused on keeping his voice steady, he hadn't considered giving his wand the same level of care. The cut was longer, thicker and deeper than he had intended, going from Myrose's forehead, over his left eye, across his cheek, to the bottom of his jaw. Blood flowed freely from the bleeding gash, much to the audible pleasure of the watching crowd, oozing sideways across Myrose's mouth, nose and other eye. While he couldn't move, Harry could see that his one good eye was moving wildly in his head.
Harry stumbled back from the grisly sight, bumping into Slughorn's enormous stomach. The Potions Master tried to put a proud hand on his shoulder, but Harry quickly stepped out of his reach, breathing deeply. Perhaps sensing that Harry was just as liable to attack him in that moment as he was Myrose, Slughorn opened up his student's punishment to everyone.
"Everyone gets their pound of flesh tonight! One spell, but it must be reversible!" As the crowd lined up eagerly, Harry headed for the stairs. Before he could make it, his arm was caught.
"Pull yourself together!" Hissed his fellow infiltrator. "You did good, now you just have to wait it out." Harry did so, breathing deeply, keeping his eyes averted from the flashes of light that were striking the bound Myrose.
Finally, once everyone had got their licks in, Slughorn asked the athletic boy to deliver Myrose back to his office. The boy lazily flicked his white, Aspen wand and directed Myrose back the way he first came. Harry tried not to look at him as he passed, but his eyes couldn't help themselves. Myrose now resembled a battered crustacean more than he did a human being. So many curses and transfigurations had been cast on him, that Harry couldn't begin to guess how Slughorn was going to reverse it all before term ended.
Slughorn clapped his hands once, and the laughter and chatter from the assembled group quieted. "The initiation is now complete! Tonight's meeting is now over. Make sure you are not caught out of bounds, as you will receive no help from me if you are caught." Harry knew now why the girl had stopped him. Tonight's meeting was for his initiation, and it would have looked odd if he had fled before it was over. As the other students passed him, he received nods, pats on the back and a few welcomes. A couple of kids looked like they wanted to say more, but his companion told them to get lost.
"You're going to need a much firmer stomach than that if you wish to remain." Slughorn said as he approached, only when the three of them remained in the hall. "Your mother and father both possessed that killer instinct that every great duellist needs. I had hoped you would be the same." With that awful remark, Slughorn walked off, through the back exit.
Once they were alone, the girl led him to a shadowy corner, dimming the lights in the hall as she went. She waved her wand around them, to no effect that Harry could see, but when she finished, she lowered her hood without fear of being seen by any invisible students.
"Now we can speak freely." Eliza Hawthorn said.
Harry stared at her, not moving to lower his own hood. "You're an Auror Cadet." He said dully, eyes flickering to her Ouroboros. It was clearly bronze. Had she charmed it? Was that even allowed?
Eliza frowned. "So? This isn't illegal." Her voice was defensive.
"We just attacked a defenceless student! Of course, it's illegal!" Harry was so upset, that he wasn't even embarrassed at how shrill his voice became.
"Only if someone finds out, which won't happen as Myrose will have his memories wiped by morning."
A Memory Charm. It was one of the first things Harry had researched in the library, desperately wanting to know what had happened to Sara. "How did you get recruited by Quirrell?"
"He held me back after class one day and told me he knew I was a Silver Spear. He asked me to tell him what Slughorn was teaching us." Eliza shrugged. "If it's a choice between me and everyone else in this group, I'll choose myself every time."
Harry shook his head. "I don't understand the plan here. If he wants Slughorn sacked, why not just tell Dumbledore what's going on? It'll be easy to catch us in the middle of a meeting."
Eliza rolled her eyes. "Who you know is even more important here than it is in the Muggle world." Harry remembered Cedric saying she was Muggle-born. "Few are better connected than Slughorn. So many old students owe him favours, or simply just like the man. If Quirrell wants him out, he needs to come up with insurmountable evidence of wrongdoing."
Harry sighed. "Let me guess. That's where we come in?"
Eliza smiled grimly.
Harry made his way down the corridor, his dark mood following him as closely as the back of his flapping Invisibility Cloak. He made no effort to quiet his footsteps and he saw paintings look confused as he passed by unseen. Stopping in front of Quirrell's office, Harry knocked firmly.
It wasn't even ten o'clock, and curfew had only come around for O.W.L students forty minutes ago, so there was no chance Quirrell was already in bed. There was a chance that he had gone down to Hogsmeade for a drink, but Harry didn't think so. Not on the night one of his spies entered a secret society on his orders.
Just as he had thought, Quirrell opened the door promptly. He looked confused when he saw no one was there, but he didn't jump when Harry's voice seemingly came from nowhere.
"I'm out. I won't be returning again." The fact that he was speaking about both The Silver Spear meetings and Quirrell's private lessons went unsaid. Just as he was turning around, heading for Ravenclaw tower, Quirrell opened his door wider.
"Are you alright?" He asked quietly. "Are you hurt?"
Not wanting to keep his voice down, Harry entered the office, so he could speak at a proper volume. He noted distantly that the room was bare of anything but a desk and stacks of books. "I don't want to hurt people." Harry said plainly. Quirrell looked confused as to what he was talking about and asked him to explain.
"Do you see now why it's so important you do this?" Quirrell asked once Harry had told him of the evening's events. "We can't let him get away with this!"
Harry scowled. "I won't go back!"
"This has been going on for years! At least since I was a student!" Quirrell seemed annoyed that Harry wasn't comprehending the stakes. "Think of all the students must have been hurt because of this. Think of all the Death Eaters that found their taste for the Dark Arts in that club. You can stop all of that!"
Harry felt his repressed nausea begin to make its way back. Taking a seat in front of Quirrell's desk, Harry tried to get control of himself before replying. "I hurt him. He was defenceless, but I made him bleed. I blinded him in one eye. That's not right!"
Quirrell sighed. "This is exactly why I knew I could trust you with this. Because you would take no pleasure in it. But I also thought that you would have the spine to see things through." Harry's head snapped to face him, furious that he would insult him now, but Quirrell continued before he could say anything. "I thought you could see the bigger picture. I need you to see the bigger picture. Otherwise, this is just going to keep on happening."
When Harry still looked stubborn, Quirrell sighed. "Just one more meeting, alright? If you still want to leave after then, I won't say a word."
"Would Slughorn just let me leave?"
It was Quirrell's turn to smile grimly. "I'll make sure of it."
0-0-0-0-0-0-0
After making his way through the common room and into his dorm, (still hidden underneath the Invisibility Cloak so no one would see his uniform), Harry tried to relax himself with a bath, but his mind was too unsettled for even that to work. Before climbing into bed, he removed his cherry wood lockbox from his drawers and placed it on his lap as he sat up against his pillows.
There were two people that he had wanted to talk to for months now. His entire life, really. His mother and father. Ever since Quirrell had told him that his father had certainly been a member of The Silver Spears, and Slughorn had practically confirmed that both of his parents had been members, Harry's mind had been filled with more questions than ever. While he had been aware of his father's mastery in the Dark Arts, and his mother's infamous brutality on the battlefield, he could not relate the two legendary Aurors with the shadowy group that he had just been initiated into.
Since stepping foot in Hogwarts, Harry had repeatedly tried to open the letters his parents had left for him. Unlocking and Severing Charms had proven themselves useless, and Harry had been forced to take a break from his attempts when Quidditch practice and exam revision had taken precedence. But right now, he didn't just want to speak to his parents, he needed to, and their letters were the closest he was ever going to get.
Now he tried, for the tenth time, a series of spells he had learned from The Cursebreaker Beginner's Guide. "Alohomora!" No reaction. "Arbeto!" Nothing. "Liberare!" Again nothing. "Emancipare!" Still nothing. "Open Sesame! Oh, come on!" The letter remained stubbornly sealed, even though Harry had used each of these spells to great effect on various kinds of locked items over the last three months. Frustrated, Harry threw both letters back into the lockbox and into the drawer.
Whatever those letters contained, his parents either did not want him to read it until he was older, or they had simply chosen a method that was beyond him at the moment. Whichever it was, it meant that he did not have their words right now when he needed them the most.
For most of his life, Harry carried an incredible amount of confidence, both in his mind and his faculties. Even when he made a mess of things, he quickly came to a decision on how to fix it and continue onwards, stronger than ever. He had proven to himself, over and over again, that he was more than capable of making his own decisions with little self-doubt, but, for the first time in a long time, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
Author's Note
The battle for Harry's soul begins!
But seriously, this is Harry's first conscious step into the Dark Arts, and his moral dilemma. The idea that first made me want to write this story.
Voldemort's attempting to build a rapport with Harry through their shared orphanhood. He's already using the knowledge he gained from the Mirror of Erised against him. Uh-oh.
The Law of Equal Exchange is obviously inspired by Fullmetal Alchemist, but it's more loose in the story I'm writing.
I hope you enjoy what's about to happen to these characters. I've finally settled on a permanent title for this work, as I feel it reflects the actual story more.
Please review.