Chapter One
written with help from my lovely beta/rewriter Crystalwren.
amorous breeze
distant murmur
soft summer tears
rains gentle heart weeping
music in black
self possessed
whirling troubles
night falls and
stars shine and
flowers tear apart.
Diary Excerpt:
Strange things have been happening to me.
Whenever I try to hold my wand it shocks me. Not a small shock, like static, but something larger. It feels like a new burn, all over my body. The last time I tried to use it there was a noise, a crack of thunder, and it broke in two. I told Father that I had tripped and fallen on top of the wand, and that's how it broke. The last time I had trouble using my wand he became angry, and told me that real True-blood Wizards can always use their wands properly. (Only Mudbloods have trouble because their filthy blood pollutes their magic). Well excuse a five year old for having trouble casting upper level curses.
We are going to Ollivanders on the day before school resumes to get a new wand. That means I have to go five whole bloody days without my wand. Thank god for house elves.
Diary Excerpt:
Things are getting stranger.
Once a month or so Father and I use the Floo Powder Network to go to Tattersfield, a Muggle cinema to watch a movie. Father says that it is important to know thy enemy, and that the best way to know the enemy is to find out what entertains them. He says that even though it makes his skin crawl to be amongst the dirty, ignorant Muggles he does it for the good of our Dark Lord. He says that it is his own idea and his own sacrifice to show his loyalty. I suspect that he does it because he was told to. My Father would say anything to save his dignity. Even tell bald-faced lies to his own son.
The Muggle movie was odd and stupid to say the least, but enjoyable. If I didn't know better I would say that they knew that the Wizarding World actually existed, and were making stories up about us in order to lighten their own pathetic and weak little lives. It was about something called 'Jedi', and about a 'Republic' and something else called a 'Clone'. I know what 'Republic' means of course, but I'm positively mystified about the rest. What I did understand was that these 'Jedi' have some sort of power to move objects and cast small spells without wands. They called it 'Forceful' or something similar. That night, I couldn't sleep. I was missing my wand; it has been such a part of me for the past five years at Hogwarts, and its been strange how much I use the thing without even noticing. Suddenly I remembered the silly Muggle movie and I laughed. Maybe I could use the 'Forceful' instead! I pointed at my hairbrush on my dresser and said "by the power of the Forceful I command you to move!"
It did.
As if I had waved my wand at it and said "Accio!" it suddenly flew off the dresser and smacked into my hand. It struck my palm with its bristles, so for a while I was too busy with my hand smarting and eyes watering to realise what I had done. Making stuff move without magic, not a usual Malfoy family trait, that I know of. I feel asleep almost immediately after that. Strange how tired moving a little hairbrush made me feel.
The Next Entry:
I spent all yesterday and today calling objects into my hands. Not only am I able to summon things, I can also move things around and lift them. I've found that I am gradually getting better at it; practice makes perfect after all. Today I managed to lift 'Hogwarts: A History', no mean feat at that!
I wonder if this summoning would work during a Quidditch match?
I think this is going to be a good year.
***
The door opens quietly, the sound barely touching the edges of awareness. Soft footsteps passing through. In the darkness the plants sway as they are brushed past but intruder wards pick up nothing. A mandrake plant screams briefly. Muttered but vicious cursing. The mandrake drops into a hessian sack, seemingly of its own accord. Soft footsteps passing out the door, pausing only to shut it just as quietly as it had opened. Then there was nothing. Nothing save the hole where the mandrake had been, and the footprints in the early morning dew.
***
The Great Hall was filled with chatter as the students filed for the evening meal. It was the second night of term for the new school year. And without the chaos that usually accompanied the first night at Hogwarts, one was able to observe more easily the goings on.
Harry Potter looked up at the dais where the teachers sat at their table. Amazingly, the line-up of teachers had stayed the same from the fifth year into the sixth: even the Dark Arts teacher was the same, wonder of wonders. The teachers themselves hadn't changed. Snape still snapped in his perpetual bad temper, McGonagal still tried to look stern and failed miserably, and Dumbledore still twinkled at everyone. Even at Snape , which was mildly disturbing, come to think of it. Even the Griffindor table had changed little, with all of the waves of short new students, seemingly identical and interchangeable. His own year mates were a little taller, that was about it. Dean looked as though he had some trick up his sleeve as always, Hermione had her nose in a book, Ron was trying to explain a complicated chess maneuver to a bewildered first year, Neville looked nervous as if he had lost something or other, and, seeing his reflection in a silver spoon, Harry himself still looked as though someone had stolen his brush and replaced it with a mix master. Despite his best efforts frantically before the meal to tidy it.
Harry glanced away from the dais, accidentally catching the eye of the first year across from him. The child in question was trying to negotiate the biggest spoonful of treacle pudding he's ever seen into her mouth. It never ceased to amaze him how carried away those kids got with the food at the start. Well, granted, he had been much the same way, but surely not all young witches and wizards had started life in a cupboard under the stairs.
The kid stopped slurping and slobbering long enough to look at him properly.
"Are you Harry Potter?" she asked, eying off the distinctive scar on his forehead.
"Yup," Harry acknowledged. "Nice to meet you. Welcome to Griffindor." He smiled at the little girl, who grinned back through another huge mouthful.
"Griffindor's where I was hoping to be put y'know. Didn't want to be sorted into Slytherin, they're scary, me Dad told me that. He said he'd go spare if I was sorted into Slytherin. He said it'd mean that he hadn't raised me right. Said they're all slimy gits, especially those Malfoys." The child stopped babbling long enough to gaze at Harry with beady eyes. "Is it true that you and Draco Malfoy hate each others' guts?"
"Uhm," said Harry, a bit dizzy from the rapid fire babbling, "we- we don't really get on well."
With that nudge from the subconscious, Harry glanced over at the Slytherin table.
There sat Malfoy, in all his Slytherin splendor, talking to Tracey Davis with what looked to be genuine enjoyment. Funny, thought Harry, I've never seen him be nice to her before. Not that Malfoy's ever nice at all, really. Tracey gestured wildly, looking like a grand storyteller in her element, or at the very least, a demented conductor that had lost her orchestra. Draco occasionally interjected with his own more subdued gestures, but mainly he seemed to be content just to listen. As Harry watched, Tracey finished off her story with an expansive flourish, and the Slytherins laughed, Draco's laughter carrying over the general hum like a bell. Suddenly, feeling eyes that had been hostile in the past on him, Draco looked straight at Harry, uncannily catching his gaze and holding it. His upper lip curled, in confusement or derision, and Harry looked away swiftly. Draco scowled in puzzlement, then shrugged and re- engaged himself with Tracey Davis
.
***
Harry bolted down the stairs towards the Potions classroom in the Dungeons. Late again. Snape Would Not Be Happy. Pushing open the heavy door, Harry craned his head inside to see that by some freak chance of luck, Snape was late too. Later than Harry. He opened the door fully and entered the room to be greeted by the smiles of his fellow Gryffindors. It was nice to be welcomed, but he almost swore when he saw that the only spare seat was next to the Slytherin, Tracey Davis. Smile all you want, Ron and Hermione, just save me a bloody seat next time! "Thanks," he mimed at them wearing a mock glare. Ron at least had the good grace to look sheepish. Hermione, on the other hand, looked back at him with a slight smile that seemed to suggest "aren't we a little beyond this now?" As Harry slipped into he seat he glanced at Tracey. She already had all her ingredients out, and was reading through the instructions Professor Snape had given them last week. Malfoy, who was on the other side of her, was stirring his cauldron with his right head, and with his left....was he playing with Davis' sleeve? Harry bent his head over his books, ostentatiously to work but in reality to watch the pair without being noticed. He wasn't the only one who saw Malfoy's unconscious stroking, however.
"Hey what's with the touchy-feelyness Davis? Are you two going out?" someone behind them asked quietly. Harry looked around and saw Ron smirking at the Slytherin pair.
"Are you going to get married?" shouted somebody else, sounding slightly worried. It was Goyle. Harry couldn't blame him for being upset. If Davis and Malfoy married, who would be around to remind the stupid pillock to breathe in and out?
"Oh, who gives a toss about that?" snapped yet another person. It was Ron. What I want to know is... mphflg.
The remainder of Ron's comment was muffled by Hermione's hand.
"Congratulations," muttered Harry dryly.
"Would you lot mind awfully NOT discussing my love life ?" said Draco.
Tracey had started to giggle. "Yes, Goyle. Draco and I are going out. And no, we are not getting married."
Draco looked slightly relieved at that.
At least not in the immediate future she added with a smirk. Draco's expression of relief melted into slight shock.
At this point, the classroom door flew open with a bang as Professor Snape made his usual dramatic entrance, pitch robes flying.
"I hope you are all well on your way towards finishing those anti-dye potions. Some of you would think that such a thing would be extraneous with anti-dye charms, but let me tell you, no charm can counteract a quart of flobberworm juice on the human skin. And since I will be applying the flobberworm juice directly onto each and every one of you, those of you who have not been successful in preparing the potion properly will have purple hands for the next month."
As he swept past Neville, the boy almost wet himself in terror. It was almost certain that he would be one of the ones with violet-stained skin.
With that prospect hanging over their heads, the students collectively bent down their heads and set to work.
***
The Great Hall emptied rapidly after dinner. Tradition dictated end of week parties in every house common room, and nobody wanted to waste a second. Nobody except Harry, who was still eating after spending the entire meal being interrogated by the first years. Even the teachers and prefects (with the first years swept along behind them like chicks after a hen) had left. Finally finished, Harry tilted his head up to look at the enchanted ceiling. Tonight the stars were partially obscured by a light dusting of clouds, turned silver by the full moon hanging in the west. The sight pleased Harry so much he ended up stretching prone on the bench so that he could look at it without ending up with a crick in his neck. Suddenly, a head, framed by a halo of soft curls replaced his view of clouds and moon. Silver-grey stilled into silver-blond hair and half-lowered arrogant brows.
"Malfoy."
"Potter. What the hell are you doing?"
I'm looking at the stars. It's such a lovely night, don't you think?"
"Have you been transfiguring your pumpkin juice into brandy again? The ceiling is enchanted to look like the sky. It's an just illusion."
Harry conceded that while the later was true, the former was just a filthy rumour spread around to soil his good name.
"Well, whatever. Here. Dumbledore wanted me to give you this." Draco thrust a sheaf of parchment at him, and Harry was forced to rise up from his prone position to read it properly.
"It's a timetable," said Harry.
"Well spotted!" snapped Draco. He sniffed. "Apparently, I'm not the only sixth year advanced enough to be tackling Professor Scylla."
Harry looked at the parchment in puzzlement. Professor Scylla.who is that? He hadn't seen any new Professors at dinner.
"Malfoy, what the hell are you blathering on about?"
He looked up. The Hall was empty.
***
Harry entered the room in an unused part of the eastern wing to find Malfoy already seated. And the only other student there. He was sitting in one of three large armchairs arranged around the fireplace, one leg casually thrown over its slightly worn arm, looking as always as if he owned the place. Wish I felt that comfortable. His insides were churning. He had no idea what this class was. Last thing on a Friday, starting at nine at night, four hours long. What sort of class took place on a Friday night? In a room that resembled nothing so much as a comfy tearoom? Harry opened his mouth, reluctantly, and ask Malfoy if he had any idea on what was going on. Before he could utter a word, however, a person Apparated near the hearth.
The person was a woman, a rather tall woman standing just under six foot, with long hair coloured like mahogany and warm brown eyes framed in stylish black glasses. Harry suddenly felt awkward and gangly. Malfoy looked at her appraisingly.
"I thought that Apparating was impossible in Hogwarts," he stated.
"It is," the woman replied.
Malfoy frowned slightly, unaccustomed to indirect answers, though fond of giving them himself.
"I am your new teacher," she said, easily intercepting Malfoy's gaze as he attempted to leer at her. "Ah, you must be Master Malfoy. Professor Dumbledore warned me about you." Malfoy's expression seemed to indicate that he was unsure whether to be flattered or insulted. She turned to Harry, who was still tongue-tied. "And you must be Harry Potter. Please sit down."
She took the remaining armchair and faced the two boys. "These lessons will be rather informal at first, gentlemen. I'm going to hit you with a great deal of information for the first three or so weeks, with the exception of a small practical lesson tonight. After those weeks are over, then we'll get down to work. Not that kind of work, Malfoy." Draco's smirk lessened.
"My name if Professor Scylla. However, as you two are my only two students I will allow you to call me Scylla, for simplicity's sake. I have been called here to Hogwarts out of necessity, gentlemen. For the rest of this year at least, the two of you are to report to me here in this room where I will supervise your training."
Harry was confused, and judging from the look on Draco's face, he was too.
"I'm sorry gentlemen, but bear with me. I will tell you everything in due time, but for now you will have to content yourselves with the fact that all we do in this class will be, I think you will both find, extremely useful. Up until this date your studies have focused on learning to use a wand, indeed, that your magic is a direct result of the wand in your hand and the words you utter while using it. This is not precisely true. Since that assumption serves quite well for the vast majority of people, it is usually best to leave things as they are. For the small minority of people, however, this does not serve at all. Mr Malfoy, I believe you already have some inkling of what I'm talking about.
The expression on Draco's face was a study in the mixed emotions of smugness and eagerness.
It was the smugness that irritated Harry. "Poncy git," he muttered under his breath. Professor Scylla looked at him sharply. He blinked. Had she heard him?
"These holidays," said Draco, leaning forward in his chair, "I realised that I could levitate things and bring them to me without using my wand or a charm."
Harry blinked again. What the fuck? he thought. Scylla turned around and gave him another admonishing stare, as if she had somehow heard what he was thinking. Somehow, Harry wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she could.
"Believe it or not, Potter, you should, in time, manifest a similar ability," she said. "And that, precisely, is why we must commence your studies in this subject immediately.
With a rustle of soft velvet, Professor Scylla rose from the chair she had been occupying on the opposite side of the low table, and leant over slowly to place two feathers on it in front of the boys.
"Now focus on the feathers and think about lifting them up in the air. Do not say anything. Just envision it. You first Harry," she pointed at the feather in front of him.
Harry looked at the feather dubiously. Fly, he thought. Rise, float, up, fly DAMMIT!
He looked over at Malfoy, who looked smugly superior.
"You do it then, Ferret Boy!" he challenged.
Malfoy raised a disdainful eyebrow at the insult, then looked pointedly down at the feather. Without so much as a Wingardium Leviosa, it promptly raised itself straight into the air and came swooshing over to tickle Harry's nose. Harry leapt out of his chair, stumbling in his haste. He stood there staring at the other boy as if he had grown a second head.
"That's enough of that, Master Malfoy. I think Master Potter here has taken the hint."
"Wizards aren't supposed to do that without a wand!" yelled Harry. "What is this, some sort of Dark Arts thing of yours?"
"What?" now Draco was standing himself. Of mine? You're in these lessons too Potter!
The argument proceeded swiftly downhill from there.
Professor Scylla stood, shaking her head. "This is going to be a long year."
***
Dumbledore sat at his desk, gaze resting on his Phoenix, Fawkes. His robes looked slightly more crinkled than usual, and his usually mischievous blue eyes seemed to have muted their sparkle somewhat. He steepled his fingers somewhere approximately under his chin, rather difficult with such a voluminous beard, and frowned.
"It would seem that our enemy is being rather more cautious this time around, my dear old friend," he said, addressing Fawkes, who to all appearances was ignoring him and concentrating on getting his tail feathers to sit just right.
The Phoenix fluffed its feathers in what Dumbledore appeared to interpret as agreement, and a question.
"Oh yes, I do share your concerns. Let me assure you of that. Whilst there have been no sightings or occurrences of Voldemort in the wizarding world since his return, I do not feel at all appeased. These increasing reports of crazed attacks and other insanities in the Muggle world trouble me deeply. I think we are going to have to speed up our preparations."
Dumbledore lapsed into silence, concentrating hard. The interior light of his office dimmed in accordance to his unspoken needs. The phoenix settled itself again on its perch. Then, sensing that Dumbledore was going to be like that for some time, it closed its' eyes in a semblance of sleep.
End Part One.