Chapter Eleven.

Two pairs of hands wrapped around Harry's arms, but he flailed them and spun around, pointing his wand wildly at the Auror nearest to him.

'Harry!', someone roared.

'WHAT WAS THAT?!', Harry howled. He was breathing hard, too hard, and he was dripping with sweat. His eyes bulged in anger, and his wand flailed from one Auror to the next, ready to strike. Anyone that had looked at Harry in that moment would confidently suspect that he had indeed gone mad, like many others before him. Harry's mouth contorted into something resembling a growl at the prevailing silence. 'WHAT WAS THAT?!', he demanded, louder.

'That', said Robards coldly, stepping forward despite Harry's pointing wand. 'Was Factum Ventura. What has been. What will be.'

'I TOLD YOU TO STOP!', Harry roared. His hand trembled profusely.

'You didn't tell me anything', Robards said calmly. 'You spoke to No One.'

Harry, not being able to suppress his shaking, roared furiously and pointed his wand forward. Two flashes of bright red hit him in the chest before he could utter any of the words that came to his mind. His wand went flying, and his body was sent backwards into a large, jet-coloured pillar. Two Aurors stood beside Robards, pointing their wands at Harry in united threat.

'You had no right-', Harry panted, ignoring the aching in his ribs. A new surge of anger washed over him. 'No right to-'

'THAT IS YOUR LIFE', Robards roared, and the room quieted immediately, struck by the peremptory tone of his voice. 'If you wish to be an Auror, that is your life.'

Harry swallowed and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying hard to force the images from his mind.

'Do you think your loved ones will be safe?', Robards hissed. 'Do you think the Dark Wizards that you seek to destroy will not take every and any opportunity to stop you? Do you think that if you can't live through your worst nightmares, you will make it as an Auror?!' He looked around the room, from Auror to Auror, and then back to Harry. 'NO!', he roared.

Harry looked up at the balustrade, where Kingsley Shacklebolt stood watching with a look of quiet contrition.

'If you can live through this', Robards spit, gesturing at the black pool on the floor. 'You can live through anything. And that, Mister Potter, is the very point indeed.'

It took another thirty minutes for Harry to come back to his senses. Robards and the Aurors left, and Kingsley came to Harry, offering him a silver cup. Harry didn't look what was in it. He drank it so greedily that half of it spilled across his face.

'I did tell you', Shacklebolt sighed, not accusingly.

Harry put the empty cup down on the dark floor beneath him. He said nothing.

'It does not happen often', Shacklebolt said. 'There is protection in place for the loved ones of Aurors, I assure you.'

'But it happens', Harry said, matter-of-factly.

Shacklebolt nodded slowly and regretfully. 'Once or twice.'

'And when it does happen-'

'We need to be sure that you will be… functional.'

'How many people have you driven mad with this test?'

'One or two', Shacklebolt said. 'The program is designed so that anyone that would not make it through here will not make it past the first week of mental training. However-', he sighed, 'Some surprise us.'

Harry felt angry, exhausted, foolish, relieved, and nauseous, all at the same time. 'So, this thing, this – Factum Ventura, it shows you your worst nightmares.'

'One's worst, most harrowing experiences, yes.' Shacklebolt sighed. 'Most have nothing substantial to speak of, of course. The death of an elderly grandparent or faraway friend, perhaps, but you – you've suffered a lifetime of loss.'

Harry, who now understood Shacklebolt's reserved look on coming in, nodded slowly, clenching and unclenching his left hand. He'd landed on it badly sometime during the test. He wondered if he'd broken it. Then he remembered something.

'That voice', Harry said. 'It said a spell. Quid Fiet. What does that do?'

'It's not a spell', Shacklebolt said, frowning. 'It's a fact. It means: 'what will be.' Why… did you see something?'

Harry was confused for just a moment, and then his heart sank to the bottom of his feet.

'What?'

'It shows you what nightmare is still to come', Shacklebolt explained. 'Most people don't see that side, though-'

But Harry had already stopped listening. He jumped from the floor, grabbed his wand, ignored the aching in his hand and ribs, and rushed towards the Training Hall's exit.

'What did you see?!', Shacklebolt called out.

Hermione's face flashed through Harry's mind, and a sound as if he'd been hit escaped from his throat. He grasped his side as he ran from the Hall and kept running.