A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this part took ssssoooooo long. I think I actually beat my own lateness record. From now on, I make no more promises about when my chapters will be out, because I know I won't be able to keep them. This is partly so late due to the fact that it's spring, and I work in a plant nursery. I barely have time to eat with all the hours I'm working, much less write. Second of all, this chapter was done over two weeks ago, but my wonderful beta reader decided to go out of town! Oh, well. Part 10 should be out within the next few weeks; I've already got a great start on it.
Summary: This
chapter answers the questions on all your minds (and a few of your
reviews): Why is Voldemort after
Tem? Well, what are you waiting
for? READ! Then REVIEW!!!!! Thanks!
Disclaimer: I don't own J.K.'s characters or plotlines, and she doesn't own mine.
The others crowded around Tem to stare at a sketch of a hideously carved dagger. Its curvy, razor-sharp edge gleamed cruelly from an unknown light source like an ebony flame set upon steel; the evil runes traced over the black blade and gray hilt seemed to glow of their own accord. The handle was hewn to resemble a grotesque eye, from the center of which a dim red light seemed to burn.
Tem began to read out the caption aloud:
"Sauron's Scimitar (pictured above) was forged long ago in the Second Age of the Sun by Sauron of Middle Earth, the most evil wizard the world has ever seen. The scimitar was made as a foe to the sword Narsil, wielded by Sauron's greatest enemy, Elendil of Westerness. Asartus was the blade's name, and it was long coveted by the Dark Lord as a token of his power, second only to the great Ring of Power that was the ultimate rise and fall of its master.
"The Scimitar, rumored
to be lost or destroyed after the destruction of the One Ring and the fall of
Mordor, has not been seen since. Its
powers are very evil; the spells woven around it are some of the most ancient
and dark magic in the world. It is said
that the holder of the scimitar could enter a victim's mind while his defenses
were down and he was vulnerable. The
holder could then control the victim's thoughts and dreams, even going so far
as to curse him from within. However, the connection with the victim was weak,
which made even the most dangerous curses less effective, and therefore much
more difficult for even a very powerful wizard to use to the greatest
extent. Once the scimitar has been
trained on one victim, it will not relent until they are dead. It can then move on to another victim. Unless destroyed by the unmaking of its
master at the end of the Third Age, the scimitar is imperishable."
Tem looked up from the book into the worried faces of his friends. He, too, felt a sense of dread that he had not from the beginning of all this. Before, the enemy had simply been Voldemort. That prospect was scary, yes: unbelievably so. However, he had Harry and his friends on his side, all of whom had come through several battles with that very same wizard, if not unscathed, then at least alive. But this, well…this was something new. Or old, rather. Very, very, very old. And very evil: much more so than Voldemort would ever be.
Harry looked Tem straight in the eye and said, "We have to go to Dumbledore." The others stood up together in unspoken agreement and headed into the dark corridor towards the Headmaster's office.
The day was much colder than usual; it felt as though winter was trying to invade the walls of Hogwarts prematurely. The drafty castle served only to enhance the lack of warmth. Rain gushed down the castle's stony ramparts, echoing into the towers. Dark, pressing clouds surrounded the castle on all sides, enhancing the gloomy mood that they all felt after the sight of the evil sword. The group found themselves hurrying past windows to escape the unfriendly sight of the clouds, instead of welcoming the much needed light that they gave.
Finally, they reached the gargoyle that signaled the entrance to Dumbledore's office. There, Harry murmured the inappropriately cheerful password (Acid Pops) and stepped into the chamber leading to the Headmaster's office. Nobody spoke as they were carried up the escalator-like steps and stopped outside the office. To their surprise, the door swung open by itself, and they stepped in.
The office, though familiar to Harry and the other veterans, awed the new students. The Sorting Hat and Godric Gryffindor's Sword were only two of the dozens of interesting artifacts in the room. A rock collection sat in an open case on an end table, which, on closer inspection, housed hundreds of tiny little people. They did not look at all pleasant, several of them with tiny devil horns and forked tongues. They started banging on the walls of their crystalline prisons and crying in high-pitched pitiful voices. Fay apparently felt bad for the little people, until she reached out to touch one of the rocks and it's inhabitant snapped its tiny, razor-sharp jaws at her. She squealed and jumped back, refusing to touch anything else in the office.
At that moment, Dumbledore stepped through a door to their right, smiling grimly upon meeting his students. "Well, well," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "I am surprised that it took you this long to find the origins of the sword." The seven of them started, wondering what could possibly have told Dumbledore that they had found it. "However," he continued, "I am not at all surprised that you found it. You are a very resourceful bunch. So, here we are; sticky business this is, really. Voldemort has finally gotten his hands on the most powerful artifact known to man. But, he has underestimated its power and extended it far beyond his reach, missing the intended recipient of the curse," here he looked pointedly at Harry, "and rebounded it on one of his close friends. How often must he make that mistake before he finally gets something right?" Dumbledore shook his head sadly then chuckled, in a rather grim, sedate way, and fell silent. Harry spoke up.
"So I was the one who was supposed to be having these dreams, and not Tem?" he asked quietly. The old wizard nodded slowly.
"Yes, I am afraid so. Voldemort tested the sword, I'm sure, upon lower beings such as rats and menial Death Eaters that were close by, but as far as I can figure it, he, I guess you could say, put some extra oomph into the spell to make it travel long distance. Here it traveled too long, and missed, hitting the person closest to your thoughts. Unfortunately for Tem, he received the brunt of the spell." Everyone fell silent for a moment. A mixture of emotions was running through the crowd. Tem was scared, Harry was angry that his friend was made a victim in his place, and Ron, Hermione, Fay, and Alan pitied both of their friends.
Alyssa was pissed. "So wait a minute. You're saying that the world's darkest wizard at the moment is not only evil, but incompetent? I mean really—you would think he would at least be able to shoot a spell at someone! A stupid sword didn't stop him from doing that in the past!" Then she burst into tears. Tem, Harry, and the others looked at her in shock, not knowing what to say.
Dumbledore walked up and put a caring hand on her shoulder. "I know it isn't fair, dear, that your friend has to be the target of this assault. You are right, though. I would rather that he was not 'shooting spells' at anybody, but at the moment, we have no choice, but to fight."
Alyssa looked up at him with red, puffy eyes and sniffled. "But what can we do?" she asked pathetically, "I mean, Tem has this-this thing in his head that won't…can't…stop attacking him until he is dead. It is on the inside, and we are on the outside. How do we fight a thing like that?"
"Have you ever heard of lucid dreaming?" Dumbledore asked. Only Hermione nodded her head. The old wizard explained for the rest of them. "It is an old and very effective art that is used even by Muggle psychologists to help their patients get rid of nightmares. Through it, a person can use mind-strengthening techniques that would allow him to take control of his dreams and change them. It seems to me that if Voldemort can enter your mind through the path of the sword, why couldn't Tem enter the enemy's mind the same way?" The room collectively gasped. Tem's jaw dropped.
"Of course," Dumbledore said, after everybody had settled again. "It is very tricky to enter someone's mind in this way. As you could see, Voldemort tried to place the most concentrated killing curse there is on you, Tem, and failed…twice. This is because, first of all, I think he was not expecting to find you on the other end of the tunnel. Second of all, he doesn't know everything there is about the Scimitar. Then again," he said disappointedly, "Neither do we. I just within the last day or two came to these conclusions myself, which is why it has taken me so long to tell you anything. But now you know everything that I do about the subject."
The room was silent. "Good lord," Fay whispered. "This just keeps getting weirder and weirder."
Dumbledore's deadened eyes sparkled ever so slightly over the rim of his spectacles. "Too right, my dear child," he agreed, "This is definitely beyond any of my reckoning. For right now, I feel that you should all go and gather your thoughts. If Templeton will just stay here with me, we have some further issues to discuss. The rest of you should go down to supper; I believe it was just set on the table." The others wanted to stay, but knew not to question Dumbledore when in this mood. They silently filed out, leaving the two alone.
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Harry felt sick. He sat down at the great table with the Gryffindor emblem blazoned on the wall behind, and pushed the food around his plate. So it was his fault. Voldemort wasn't after Tem because of something he had done, but because of his friendship with him. Just like his other friends, he had put him in danger; and now Tem's new friends were involved. It seemed that everything he did destroyed the life of another. And why? Because he was the Boy Who Lived. For that reason, everyone else had to die, or go to great lengths to stay alive. And now, by the way Dumbledore was talking, Tem would have to enter the mind of the enemy himself and do battle. It just wasn't fair.
He remembered what it was like last year, training for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The long nights spent preparing, learning new spells, researching for hours. It was torture, pure and simple. Now Tem, a kid who until a month ago didn't even know about the wizarding world, was under attack, and would have to go through the same ordeal. He had almost no magical experience or training. He was brand new! Of course, Tem's teachers weren't the only ones who had noticed his phenomenal progress in the last week. Harry could practically see the natural talent flowing through his veins, you would have to be blind not to. But power or not, he was still inexperienced. He had yet to learn how to use his talent, to harness it to the fullest potential.
Suddenly, Harry laughed. Not out of mirth, but of realization. He was old. He was the experienced one. He was looking down on those younger than him, even though that was the exact thing that he hated as a confused eleven-year-old. Harry remembered his first year. Everybody thought that he was just a little kid: Harry Potter or not, everyone thought that he was too young to do anything against Voldemort. And he had proved them wrong. And now look where they were. He had proved them wrong for four years in a row, and now it was somebody else's turn. But it was his fault that someone else had to prove himself.
Harry grunted in frustration. This was getting nowhere. Feeling sorry for himself, feeling sorry for Tem, feeling angry at the world in general. It just wasn't working. What had happened, happened, and it wasn't necessarily Harry's fault. So Tem was being attacked. He would help him through it. Just because Tem was young, didn't mean he wasn't capable of taking care of himself. So why did the nagging feeling that he was responsible keep eating away at him? Ron nudged Harry's arm. Harry started and looked up, realizing that the Great Hall was mostly empty. Dinner was over and everyone had gone up for the night. Harry's plate was still full, but stone cold.
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Dumbledore sat Tem down in a chair in front of his desk, but instead of sitting down himself, began pacing the room. "Well, I am afraid I dropped quite a lot of information on you today. Are you going to be all right?" Tem didn't say anything; he just nodded and stared at his robe-hem. "Good. I think I shocked quite a few people, even myself I must say, when I told of my suspicions that you might be able to enter Voldemort's mind. Caught up in the moment, I guess. It is only a theory, though, and certainly not one that you have to follow up on."
Tem suddenly looked up, shaking his head in disbelief. "But what choice do I have? We all know that this thing can't stop attacking me until I'm dead. If I can't defeat it, I have to die. That would be OK if that would stop it from getting others, but it won't. And if it kills me, then what? Let it attack Harry? I can't do that."
Dumbledore stopped mid-pace, and looked thoughtfully at the small boy in the chair. His brown eyes were ringed with black circles, indicating the lack of rest he was getting even with the aid of the sleeping draught. The Headmaster shook his head and sighed. *How did you ever get placed in Ravenclaw, my dear boy?* he thought. *You have bravery to match at least Harry, if not more. Will you now stand up to the test?*
Out loud, he said, "Well, that is only one of our choices. We really do not have that many, though. We can tutor you in some advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts courses in addition to teaching you the lucid dreaming techniques, should you ever need either. You are not under any obligation to use them, to stop the dreams or enter the Enemy's mind, or anything else. That was just speculation. Our other option is to simply keep you on the sleeping potion until we can come up with another option. It isn't much, but it is hope. What do you think?"
Tem's eyes dropped back to his robes at the piercing glance of the older wizard. Looking at the wringing hands in his lap, he answered in a small, frightened voice, "I will learn how to fight him. There really is no other choice. I can't let Voldemort attack more people if I can help it. I can't risk my friends, especially Harry. If I die, then at least he can fight for the rest of us."
Dumbledore put a hand on Tem's shoulder, and Tem looked up. Dumbledore's lips twitched in a smile, and he hoped that the small boy before him could see the pride in his eyes as he spoke. "Then we shall begin training immediately. And Tem, I just want you to know what you are doing is incredibly brave. Not many would stand up to this challenge like you. I understand you are scared, and I don't blame you. I truly admire you."
Tem just shook his head. "I'm not brave, I'm just doing what has to be done. But thank you. I'll try not to let your or my friends down, but I can't promise anything." Dumbledore nodded, and told Tem that he could leave, scheduling training to begin the next day after classes.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\Well?!?! What'd ya think? Tell me the truth! Or lie if you want, but either way, do it in a review!