Title: Two Worlds and In Between (2/?)
Rating: PG-13 for now, may change to R later
Summary: The 19th Century history of the Potterverse: a saga with adventure, angst, romance (het and slash), ethical dilemmas, drama, betrayal, war, and lots of magic. Opens in 1855, at Hogwarts with the Dumbledore brothers - and Julius Marvolo, grandfather of Tom Riddle.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The title is a line from Lucretia, My Reflection - a song by the Sisters of Mercy. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's notes at the end of the chapter.
Two Worlds and In Between
by Minerva McTabby
Part One: STATUS
Julius Marvolo
1855
Chapter Two
Lucretia's reply, delivered by owl at breakfast, ran to two scrolls of parchment and made me laugh aloud, in a week when I sorely needed laughter.
You were wrong, Julius - I did not try Arachniomnius at
the dining-table. I worked it in the ballroom, and it looked
magnificent. Oh, you should have seen the house-elves!
The spell had indeed captured her interest. She agreed with me about an element of Summoning being present at the initial stage, followed by Transfiguration; then her letter became a maze of runes and symbols as she shared her attempts to trace the subsequent process. I could almost see her throwing down the quill in frustration at one point - then dimpling wickedly as she picked it up again to sign off with a fond admonition not to kill my new status partner.
Had killing the little demon truly been an option, any one of us might have tried it in those first weeks: myself, my friends, the rest of Slytherin House, or any Masters unlucky enough to be teaching him. In lieu of that solution, we could only watch him carefully and respond one step at a time.
Whenever he wasn't in class or asleep, I kept Dumbledore Minor close by my side from the very first morning after the Shuttle challenge. He sat on my left for meals, at the head of the Slytherin table; he spent his evenings either in Central with all of us, or in Belcore's chamber and my own if we stayed within House territory. My main purpose here was to protect him from the other Slytherins. At first they had all resolved to ignore his existence - but Dumbledore Minor proved impossible to ignore. Without intending it, he was rapidly becoming notorious.
He no longer required to be forced into panic before he would use magic. To give him credit, he had apparently accepted being a Hogwarts student... in his own way. While remaining silent, moody, and rebellious, he was prepared to try learning a few things; but the problem was that his wizardry, at first suppressed, now emerged absolutely undirected - and Dumbledore Minor's first weeks could be summed up in two words: spontaneous magic. He was a menace.
Even if Peeves the Poltergeist had overcome his fear of the Bloody Baron enough to venture into Slytherin, we wouldn't have required his services; we had Dumbledore Minor. The other Slytherins weren't trying any direct attacks at first - though that would only be a matter of time, I thought grimly - but they did make many barbed comments in his hearing about Muggles, lineage, and inept spell-casting. He seldom showed any open feelings, yet it wasn't hard to tell when he was distressed - as cutlery suddenly flew off the table, paintings crashed down from the walls, or a cold wind from nowhere swept scrolls into the air. This would be followed by quiet snickering from all directions as I wearily waved my wand to restore order. Nothing overt; no one at whom I could aim a curse. Only that scattered, disparaging laughter, and deliberately audible whispers about "Marvolo's apprentice", or "Marvolo's familiar".
And if the atmosphere within Slytherin House hadn't been enough to make me want to scream and hurl hexes at everyone in sight, there was also the reaction of the rest of the school to consider. I was accustomed to attracting a certain amount of attention, but now the stares and sidelong glances were being directed at the boy who walked beside me: everyone had heard about him, and everyone waited to see what he might do next.
I couldn't accompany him to his classes. I could only take every possible measure to ensure he was ready for them, then send him through the door and wait with ever-increasing apprehension for the tales that followed. The status implications were fast becoming so complex that I almost gave up calculating them.
Before his second Transfiguration class, the two of us spent several hours in my chamber with a large supply of twigs and an elementary textbook. I started from the very beginning, slowly and patiently explaining the steps involved in making the change. Two difficulties became apparent almost immediately. Firstly, his reading was atrocious; I didn't know what Muggles did to educate their children, but it certainly hadn't worked for Dumbledore Minor. Moreover, he couldn't seem to appreciate why he needed to know the fundamental processes behind Transfiguration.
"If I can just change it, why do I have to bother with all that?" Sullen look at the open textbook on my desk.
"Because if you lack understanding and control of what you do, you're no wizard - you're a channel for a random force! You're not working magic; it's working you." I was leaning against a bed-post. Now I touched my wand to one of the silver and green serpents which formed a repeating pattern across the black velvet bed-hangings: the tiny snake began to writhe. "Control, Mudblood. Focus. That means making your skill serve your will, do precisely what you want it to do - no less, and no more." I raised the wand again, and more of the snakes came alive - in perfect concentric circles all over the bed. Once more, and now every snake was coiling and uncoiling, slithering against its neighbors. With a final wave of my wand, the snakes were still - and the boy at the desk across the room was silent.
"Would you care to try that? And can you assure me that you won't set the bed afire, or turn my snakes bright blue while attempting to make them move?"
He shook his head. "No, Marvolo." His tone was an odd combination of annoyance and exaggerated deference.
I gave him a suspicious look. "Then let's take that first change again, shall we? Try another twig - slowly..."
By the time we left the room, some twigs were needles, Dumbledore Minor looked a little happier, and I felt like sleeping for a week. The next day, he walked into Switch's classroom - and Slytherin House lost another five points. At luncheon, ignoring the tittering of the other first-years at our table, I concentrated on finding out what happened.
It seemed Professor Switch had handed out needles this time, instructing the students to Transfigure them into twigs. And Dumbledore Minor had indeed changed his needle into a twig - together with every other needle in the classroom.
"He said he was taking five points for 'showing off', Marvolo."
This seriously made me wonder how many points I might lose for hexing Professor Switch.
The other first-year Slytherins would have nothing to do with Dumbledore Minor. All of them refused to partner with him in any classes requiring work in pairs; but coercing them would have meant a great deal of effort and possible complications. Fortunately, there proved to be other solutions. I called in a favor from a senior Hufflepuff, securing a first-year from that House to work with Dumbledore Minor in any classes they shared. Valery found a Gryffindor boy to do the same, and Tamino brought in a Ravenclaw. That was all well and good; yet I was caught unawares by the interest these arrangements aroused when word of them spread.
"They're competing to partner him?" I asked Valery, incredulously.
"Indeed they are," he said, shouldering his broom. He was on his way to Quidditch practice, Tamino beside him for moral support. "You know, he's unpredictable and a little dangerous - and the baby Gryffs love that! Quite prestigious to sit next to him. Daring. A kind of Gryffindor status game, if you will."
Tamino smiled. "Our first-years are doing it too - they're insatiably curious about why he does whatever he does. And I think the Hufflepuffs just want to be first with the gossip, the next time he does anything... interesting."
I could only shrug in bewilderment at that; but this attention from the other houses persisted, even as Dumbledore Minor's tally of "interesting" exploits grew. I came to dread his Potions classes most of all, after one produced a quote from Professor Jigger which was repeated ad nauseam by the entire school.
"While all too many of my students have caused cauldrons to explode, this is the very first time a student has done so before placing any ingredients in the cauldron. Congratulations, Mr. Dumbledore. Five points from Slytherin."
I had dark suspicions of a conspiracy among the Masters: they appeared to have agreed to leave Dumbledore Minor's training entirely to me, while gleefully taking house points for all his mishaps - knowing what this would do to my status. I almost asked Lott a direct question about it, but pride prevailed: I knew he was watching me, as ever. This was another challenge, another test - albeit a most unusual one - and I would not admit defeat.
And I was not alone. I could turn to Tamino for aid in overcoming Dumbledore Minor's difficulties with reading; soon the Ravenclaw common room became accustomed to Tamino's small Slytherin shadow, coming in for an hour or two of reading practice. The other Ravenclaws didn't mind at all. Tamino had to restrain them from crowding around to quiz the boy on grammar and ask obscure questions about the Muggle world.
Tamino also undertook to help with Potions; here even the basic ingredients and purposes were unfamiliar to Dumbledore Minor, who shied away from some of them as if they disgusted him. He also proved notably clumsy in handling any fragile materials or delicate measurements... I gloomily foresaw more trouble ahead with Jigger - unless we could somehow cast a permanent Dexterity Spell - and asked Lucretia to let me know if she came across anything useful for that purpose during her search for the key to the spiders.
Lucretia was the one who finally persuaded a grumbling Belcore to work with Dumbledore Minor in his own strongest field: Charms. Their first session ended in a crash, a shriek, and Belcore's mutters of "Never again!" as he stalked off with a flask of absinthe; and the equally reluctant Dumbledore Minor emerged from the second session with his mouth sealed shut. Yet I persisted in throwing my ill-matched status partners together, over and over - hoping they would do their worst to each other and move beyond it, before the other Slytherins ended this uneasy truce and came after the three of us again. It was bound to happen. They were all eyeing that Mudblood at the head of the table.
This was also why I decided to start teaching Dumbledore Minor to fight. As I told Lucretia in the second week of term, the undercurrents of tension within our House were too strong to postpone it; he needed to learn some elementary hexes and self-defense, at least. She agreed with me. The others did not.
"Teach him how to fight?" spluttered Belcore. "Why? So he can turn around and curse us whenever we tell him what he doesn't want to hear?"
"He doesn't need hexes," said Valery slyly. "He is a hex. Ask anyone." He grinned at Dumbledore Minor, who sat on the floor beside him, listening nervously to our talk of curses and fighting.
Even Tamino was sceptical. "I'm afraid it might be too much for him - he has so many things to learn, all at once - does it have to be now?"
"Yes. The sooner, the better - I can't keep him at my side all day forever - and Aulus, don't pretend you didn't notice how Vesalius Delacroix was staring at us over breakfast!" I stopped pacing and settled on the window-seat beside Tamino, with Lucretia's latest scroll in my hand. "Now don't argue any more, Carus, and look at this. She says she's found something like an Alchemical change - can you make anything of it?"
Tamino took the letter, his forehead creasing into a frown as he read. "Yes, I can see the change there - but as for why it might happen... No, Julius, I'm sorry... Oh, if we could only show this to someone who's good at Transfiguration and Alchemy - " He glanced at Dumbledore Minor, then lowered his voice to me. "If you want this solved quickly - we need You-Know-Who. Shall I ask him, in our next Alchemy class?"
I was back on my feet in an instant. "Oh no! Not him!" The others looked up at me, startled; I sat down again, struggling to keep my temper. "Absolutely not. We'll work this out yet - you and I and Lucretia. It can't be that difficult, surely?"
Tamino made no reply; he was studying Lucretia's notes once more. Sinking into silence beside him, I looked around for distraction - and found myself watching a History of Magic lesson. Valery had volunteered to help with this subject; now he and Dumbledore Minor were stretched out on the rug as Valery's wand sketched a series of images from the days of the Founders. Dumbledore Minor looked enthralled. I hoped he'd remember what he saw. Valery and I had agreed to lend him both our family names for History of Magic classes - Belcore had flatly refused - but I tried not to think about what he might do with the name of Marvolo...
However, Valery's lessons had taught all of us one important thing about Dumbledore Minor: he liked pictures. If he could see something, he would understand it; and he was by no means stupid - rather the opposite, whenever he wasn't frightened or angry. Now we all tried to make suitable images for him at every opportunity, from Tamino's Potions lessons to my own efforts to explain the game and ensure he knew the names of all the great families.
The next evening, I took Lucretia's advice and made Dumbledore Minor watch some of the exchanges around Central - starting with the least complex. It was hard for me to remember, sometimes, that he had never seen any real duels. I wondered what Muggles did instead, but refrained from asking.
The two of us stopped to observe a pair of Gryffindor second-years, clumsily throwing hexes at each other in a corner.
"This isn't a duel, is it?" He sounded puzzled, but not alarmed.
"No, they're only playing. One spell at a time - and not often blocked, at that." We both laughed as one of the boys fell flat on his face, hit by a neat Leg-Locker Curse.
"Can you show me how to do that?"
It was the first time he had asked to learn any magic. I couldn't help smiling at him. "Oh yes. That and much more. Want to be good with your curses as well as your fists, status partner?"
He nodded, still hesitant but with a trace of actual eagerness. "Well - you are, aren't you? I've heard people talk about you and dueling... Is it true you're the best in the school?"
His pale blue eyes were exactly like those of his brother. For a moment I seemed to see them across the challenge floor - and his wand poised for the duel to begin... then I blinked back the image and held my voice steady in reply.
"What matters now is that you should be the best in your year, good enough to make others think twice before going after you. And you'll be fully in control of how you fight. No more spiders, unless you want them." I placed a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him - and myself. "Yes, I'll show you."
A few moments later we heard a break in Central's usual noise. The new shouts and laughter were clustered around the challenge floor - and it was being cleared. I pulled Dumbledore Minor forward, well pleased with the timing of this interruption.
"Come on - now we'll see something more lively!" We moved to join the gathering circle of onlookers, and saw at the center of it my fellow Slytherin prefect, Rosier - facing Foxon, a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Not a formal challenge, not the same as a duel for the game within our House; but this would still be a fight worth watching.
While only a minority of Ravenclaws chose to study the Dark Arts, those who did could be formidable. I liked Foxon. Short, fair-haired, unassuming; fine technique, and calm under pressure. When I waved at Belcore, busy taking wagers around the circle, several conversations paused as people waited to hear my choice.
"A Galleon on the Ravenclaw!" To annoy Rosier, mainly. At times, wagering against a member of one's own House could be an effective insult: equivalent to saying that any loss to his personal status would have a negligible impact on the House.
"Perrin Rosier. Family ranked ninth in the greater game. Strengths in Charms and Dark Arts. Powerful enough, but not very subtle - something of a disadvantage in dueling Ravenclaws - let's see how he does..." The boy beside me appeared to be paying attention as I ran through this basic description. Very good sign.
"It's starting. Don't speak until it's over." The floor cleared, and the silence of the duel descended on us all; so I was only laughing inwardly when I saw the Delacroix heir step forward to act as Rosier's second. Well, well. The recent rumors about those two were true, then; why else would Vesalius Delacroix do this for the younger son of a family ranked beneath his own? Poor Rosier. Far too pretty to be wasted on a Delacroix... but ambitious, certainly.
The seconds bowed and withdrew; the duelists themselves stepped forward, bowed, and raised their wands. The duel began.
I forgot about Dumbledore Minor. I forgot about everything else. Though this was not my fight, it was a duel - and it sang in my blood as if each spell were indeed my own. Two voices working magic in waves of whispers, chants, shouts; words resonant or sibilant, harsh or honeyed, hurled forth or slowly cast. Two arcs of force from their wands, intersecting, entwining, separating again to come together with a burst of sparks. Foxon and Rosier were both skilled enough to make it what a duel ought to be: a challenge for one's intellect and magical power, requiring lightning responses, stamina, a quick memory - and strategy as well as courage.
This was definitely not one spell at a time. The art - and the fun - lay in fashioning intricate combinations of curses and hexes to send against an opponent in an unbroken stream. Spells to cloud the mind, to weaken the body or the will. Spells to deceive. Spells to distort, to deform, to maim - though not to kill; we would not duel to the death until we left Hogwarts and joined the greater game. And each spell blocked, or countered, or reversed and sent flying back at the opponent.
When I dueled, I lost all sense of time or place. I lost myself entirely in the power of curse and counter-curse, my mind fully alive in the all-absorbing challenge of casting and blocking a rushing torrent of spells.
Now, standing back, I could resist the lure of the duel itself enough to analyse what the two of them were doing. Yes, Rosier was striking at his opponent's right side, aiming to weaken that part of his body. Meanwhile, Foxon was aiming for the mind - some of the curses getting past Rosier's defences would be wearing away at... no, not his judgement... ah, his memory. Interesting approach by Foxon - whatever was he planning? And which of them would be the first to break?
Both were tiring now, with more of their power channelled into reversing and Healing the damage done by spells they failed to block. It wouldn't take much longer.
When the end came, it was quick. Rosier cast a vicious sequence of curses intended to cut - and one of them almost got through. If Foxon hadn't blocked it at the last moment, it would have severed his right arm above the elbow. Even so, it was a nasty gash. A darker patch of blood appeared on the sleeve of his robes. He quickly Healed it - but the rhythm of his spells was disrupted, and Rosier struck again, aiming for the right leg this time.
Foxon cried out, falling to one knee, head bowed. Rosier raised his wand to complete his opponent's devastation.
Then Foxon's head came up again. He rose, pivoting fast on his uninjured leg, wand pointed straight at Rosier's face.
"Obliviate!"
Much to the amusement of all spectators, Rosier completely failed to block this unexpected attack: he suddenly found himself standing on the challenge floor without the least idea of why he was there or whom he was fighting. Before he could make any kind of response, Foxon was holding up two wands in a conclusive victory.
The silence of the circle broke in a storm of cheers and applause. I called out a loud "Well fought!" to Foxon, waving at him. Catching a furious scowl from Delacroix, I waved at him as well, clearly mouthing one word: "Leprosy." He looked away quickly. A little reminder of our last duel, when I had snared him in the illusion of his limbs turning into rotting stumps.
Then I glanced down at Dumbledore Minor. "Now that was a duel. How did you enjoy it?"
"I've never seen... oh, how did they do it?" Excitement and doubt in his voice, painfully mingled. "Marvolo... you won't do all that to me, will you?"
"Certainly not! Well - not all of it. Not in the first lesson, anyway. Next week, maybe..."
It took him several heartbeats to notice I was laughing at him; then his face brightened, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn't teach him to fight unless he wanted to learn. Now it appeared that he did.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Professor Switch made it look easy. One flick of his wand - and the classroom became a dazzling sight, as the late-afternoon sunlight touched the Transfigured desks and floor. They were now made of crystal.
Switch held the spell until the seven of us had taken a good look, then released it. "Well, lads - let's see who can manage that by the end of the class! I'll have you do the desks or the floor, at least, but try for both if you can. Questions?"
I had none. The previous night, after watching Foxon win his duel, I had returned to my chamber and read about this type of change for several hours. Now it would be a matter of applying it. Moving to the nearest desk, I set down my books and reached for a quill. Valery soon joined me.
"Trying for both?"
"Of course - if I can get that change to work horizontally and vertically at the same time... here, how does this look?"
He barely glanced at my parchment. "Makes my head ache, even thinking about it. No, I'll try for the floor. I'm sure I can do it - and Switch will give me a point or two for that - dear old fellow likes me."
I made no reply, but felt a twinge of irritation as I continued plotting the spell. I had looked forward to working with Valery in these classes; yet the experience was already a disappointment. Although he had the talent - naturally, since Transfiguration was one of his family's strengths - he lacked the passion for it that his sister and I shared. Each time Lucan shrugged aside the most challenging exercises, I missed Lucretia more.
While Slytherin and Gryffindor did not meet in regular Transfiguration classes, Higher Transfiguration - an extra subject beginning in fifth year - drew the best students from all Houses. Our group had two Slytherins, two Gryffindors, and three Ravenclaws. We were starting a course of advanced Transfiguration tasks, much more demanding in terms of complexity, speed, and scale.
I briefly Transfigured the top of the desk, as a test - no, crystal as such would not be a problem, I'd done it before. My main worry was the size of the classroom. The expanse of this floor had never seemed so alarming. Transfiguration rapidly became more difficult when applied to objects larger than one's own body, and until now I had seldom attempted that. My father had particularly warned me against trying any overly-ambitious Transfiguration tricks during duels.
This is the power of the heart - sourced in your own life-force, your capacity for growth and change. In working the changes, you are changed; beware, for Transfiguring too much or too quickly will leave you drained and defenceless...
At least this exercise was all level surfaces and inanimate objects. Beside me, Valery's head was bent low over the desk; his long hair brushed the parchment as he shaped his own spell, muttering something about time and range. Timing - another challenge. Not desk by desk, but all of them at once, as well as the floor. It would require a spell that spread almost instantly across the room, yet the more distant objects would take more power to change... Oh gods, I still couldn't see how to do that for all the desks, simultaneously.
But I was not Lucan Valery. No one would expect me to attempt merely half the exercise. Neither did I intend to make a fool of myself by failing before this group of people.
The other Slytherin present was Traherne, who had been leery of me since our first year. A low-ranked family - though perhaps one to watch in the next generation, if they could take full advantage of their heir's surprising Transfiguration talent; linked to the Delacroix through three cross-alliances, and more distantly linked to the Malfoys. All this translated into the certainty that if my Transfiguration exercise failed, the whole House would know of it by evening; and I could not afford any further blows to my status now.
Then there was Professor Switch, who had been paying extra attention to me over the past fortnight - in the sense of extra criticism. He seemed determined to treat me exactly as he treated a certain first-year student. Very likely, he and Lott - damn the both of them - were wagering on the duration of my new status pair.
Yes, much as I loved Transfiguration, these classes would have been far more pleasant if Lucretia were there instead of Lucan - if Traherne would leave - if Switch stopped carping at me... and if Albus Dumbledore didn't occupy the desk next to mine. He was working alone, and appeared to be sketching something on his parchment - I could only hope it wasn't the key to changing the walls and ceiling as well as the floor. Not that Switch's pet would be in any danger of losing points for showing off.
This was the first time we had encountered each other in such a small group, yet thus far he had not said a word to me, or even met my eyes. Splendid. I was quite prepared to ignore his existence too. The alternative was a strong impulse to shove Dumbledore Minor in his direction - "Your brother. Your problem. You solve it." - and walk away to regain some measure of control over my own life.
In the previous Higher Transfiguration class, only Albus Dumbledore and I had fully succeeded in the set exercise and gained ten House points. Now, gritting my teeth, I resumed working on the new spell in front of me. I would do this.
The details of distance, speed, and power took a while to calculate, but by the time Switch called us all to the front of the room, I was ready.
Valery didn't hesitate to step forward first. As the floor turned crystal, he let out a loud "Oof!" and steadied himself against the Master's desk, hastily releasing the spell.
Switch chuckled as he passed Valery a silver flask. "Takes something out of you, doesn't it, boy?"
"Felt like a full Quidditch match, sir," Valery admitted cheerfully, raising the flask to his lips.
"All becomes easier with practice, Mr Valery. Thank you, and two points to Gryffindor."
Valery returned the flask and moved back to stand beside me. At my inquiring look, he murmured, "Restorative Draught. It helped - gods, that was awful."
The three Ravenclaws were next, and two of them also chose to Transfigure the floor. The third attempted the full exercise, only to botch it: his tables still had wooden legs, while the crystal floor was a most peculiar shade of brown. Switch's comments on that made the red-faced boy choke on the Draught.
Then it was Traherne's turn. He did a tidy job of Transfiguring the desks, but cautiously held back from the extra power required to change the floor. His face was a sickly green as he released the spell and reached for the flask.
"Another attempt from Slytherin House?" Switch waved me forward. "Come, show us what you make of it." He sounded amused. What in Hades did he expect of me?
I stepped up to his desk and took one final, measuring look around the classroom, trying not to see Traherne or Dumbledore. Valery gave me an encouraging wink as I readied the carefully-crafted spell in my mind and raised my wand.
Now. Crystal.
Gods, I'd done it! - floor and desks together, instantly, perfectly. I felt fierce joy, overtaken by weariness so great that only an effort of will let me hold the spell for a slow count of ten. Another effort kept my shoulders straight and made me smile slightly while I did so - as if I could work this change every day, for the fun of it.
"Hmm." Switch peered at one of the desks. "A little cloudy - Mr Marvolo, are you perhaps unfamiliar with the expression 'clear as crystal'? Still, not a bad effort. Five points to Slytherin."
Five? I released the spell, fighting both exhaustion and indignation - fighting even harder to let neither show on my face. When Switch held out his flask to me, I waved it aside.
"No, sir, I thank you." I wanted nothing more than a large jug of Restorative Draught, followed by another of absinthe. A little cloudy? A number of alternative names for Professor Switch streamed through my mind as I strode back to Valery's side, hoping at each step that my knees wouldn't give way.
I turned to see Dumbledore already standing by Switch's desk. A glance around the room - then he raised his wand and brought it down in a precise, powerful arc. Watching carefully, I noticed that he closed his eyes for a moment as he worked the change.
Crystal. Desks and floor, both. Held for a count of ten, then released. Not a sign of strain; not a hair out of place. He accepted the flask, obviously more out of politeness than any real need.
"Lovely work!" said Switch, beaming. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Only Valery heard my involuntary hiss of fury, and he knew better than to remark on it.
We gathered our books and left the classroom silently, turning in the direction of the room where first-years met for Charms, many long stone corridors away.
An inconveniently lengthy walk, I decided. "Wait - not that way - there should be a short-cut around here..."
"Oh, you're actually going to show me one of those?" Valery affected great astonishment. "Deeply honored, I'm sure! And fully in favor of anything that gets us to the Great Hall faster - I feel absolutely starved after all that, don't you?"
I did. As soon as the corridor around us cleared, I stepped up to one of the paintings along the wall - a scene of Nymphs and Fauns around a rock-pool - and reached out to touch the left hoof of the last Faun, making him squeal. The painting and a section of the wall behind it instantly faded, becoming translucent.
"Come on, before anyone else sees this!" I pulled Valery through the misty doorway, which turned into a solid wall again behind us. "Lumos!" We found ourselves in a narrow passage ending in a spiral staircase.
"I like this one!" He gave me a pleading look, eyes sparkling with mischief in the wand-light. "When will you show me the rest, Julius?"
"Never, and you know it. Stop asking me!" Laughing, I led the way along the dusty flagstones. "Let's go - I simply can't wait to hear what he's done in Charms..."
My knowledge of this doorway, and many others like it, came from a little rite of passage in the Marvolo family. Four years earlier, on the evening before I started school, my father had given me a collection of scrolls - copied from the plans drawn by Salazar Slytherin himself - which contained the key to the design of Hogwarts. Salazar had been the one to weave the vast Confundus Charm into the very mortar of the castle. It was said to change at random - but there was method behind the chaos, if one knew the key. And there were very, very many secret doors and hidden rooms. Wishing me good fortune, my father admitted it had taken him six full years to decipher, find and explore them all. I was still determined to do it in five.
Meanwhile, some of them were undeniably useful at times. And I did like the feeling of knowing what almost nobody else knew; it was already serving to restore my good humor after that abominable Transfiguration class.
At the top of the spiral staircase was a door with no obvious latch or doorknob - but it swung open at a simple "Alohomora!" and we emerged in a side-corridor around the corner from the Charms classroom.
"Salazar's gift to tired and hungry Marvolos," I muttered.
"You can hiss him your thanks later - now let's get the boy and find some food!"
We walked out into the main corridor, straight into a group of first-year Ravenclaws leaving the same classroom. Snatches of their conversation added to the usual sense of foreboding I had after each of my status partner's classes. So did the laughter of the Slytherin first-years ahead of them.
Dumbledore Minor stood alone beside the classroom door, clutching his books and wand to his chest. When he saw us approaching, he looked both relieved and frightened. Another five points, then - and his first words confirmed it.
"I tried this time, I really did! I couldn't help it - " He looked past us, then back at me. "Where's Belcore?"
"In the library," I replied. "Why?"
"Didn't know you missed him," added Valery. "He'll be ever so touched."
"It's - oh, it's what he said he'd do to me, if I didn't get these Charms right..."
With a sigh of resignation, I pushed him forward along the corridor. "You can tell us about it on the way to dinner. And whatever Aulus said he'd do to you - I'll do it to him if he does, so don't worry. Now - what happened?"
The class had covered basic Warming and Cooling Charms. The Master had given each boy two pebbles: they were instructed to practise until they could turn one hot and the other cold, at the same time. Most of the students had succeeded.
But when Dumbledore Minor waved his wand, his pebbles had simply vanished.
"I don't know where they went!" His voice trembled with frustration. "I did everything like Belcore showed me, I kept thinking of him..."
Professor Fitchett had provided more pebbles. Dozens. All had vanished into thin air. The Ravenclaw students, unable to contain their curiosity, had started offering one theory after another - which only made Dumbledore Minor more nervous.
"One boy said I was swallowing them!" He looked slightly sick at the thought. "That's almost what Belcore said he'd do to me... Do I really have to tell him about this?"
"Well, there he is - let's see if he wants to know!" Valery pointed across the entrance hall, and we paused at the Great Hall doorway to let Belcore and Tamino catch up.
Belcore's voice reached us first, through the bustle of other students between us. "Julius, is this one of your thrice-cursed jests? Or was it him? Rocks! Damned rocks!"
Dumbledore Minor shot me one appalled glance and darted behind my back.
"Oh gods," breathed Valery. "He didn't - "
"It was him, wasn't it?" Belcore's eyes flashed with sheer outrage as he produced a handful of the missing pebbles. "Rocks in my pockets - under my parchment - on my books! Rocks falling on my head!" He held up a flask, shaking it. "Rocks in my absinthe! Damn that brat, I'll - "
"Aulus, do calm yourself - even if he was doing it, I'm sure he didn't mean to - " Tamino laid a hand on Belcore's arm, only to have it brushed off.
By this time Valery and I were holding on to each other and howling at the thought of Belcore sitting in the library, being showered with pebbles from nowhere. I also heard stifled, horrified giggles behind me.
"Must have been a kind of reverse Accio," I gasped. "You'll have to give all those back to Fitchett - "
"Did you - did you notice if any of them were hot or cold?" Valery's question sent both of us into fresh bursts of laughter.
Tamino looked at us with dawning comprehension. "So they came from him, in Charms? He made them move?"
"Why me?" spat Belcore, still livid. "Why did he send them to me?"
"He was thinking of you - so they went to you. I don't think your technique of threatening him is working, Aulus." I dragged Dumbledore Minor forward. "Stop looking so terrified, Mudblood, he won't kill you - or not during dinner, at least. I'll not hear any more of this until we've eaten!"
As we entered the Hall, Valery started telling Tamino about the Charms class. They walked off together, while I moved to take my place at the head of the Slytherin table: still fatigued from Transfiguration, buffering the tension between my status partners, and facing the simmering hostility of the rest of our House.
What a delightful meal this promised to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
At first, I was glad the conversation over dinner that evening seemed to require little guidance. The eel pie, roast mutton, and other fare appearing on the silver platters before us were of far greater interest to me; I only paused to note one or two changes in the seating order along the table. Talk ebbed and flowed, breaking up into smaller groups for gossip, or coming together to discuss the Slytherin team's preparations for the Quidditch season.
Sunset faded on the great ceiling over our heads, replaced by a starry black sky with few clouds. I sent my greetings down the table to a freshly-formed status pair among the second-years. On my right, Belcore threw in a few comments about our team's new Chaser, while doing full justice to the food - good, since eating always mellowed his temper, and I wanted his cooperation later - if I could only stay awake long enough to give the boy his first fighting lesson that night.
The three of us sat on a short bench at the head of the table. Next to Belcore, first along the table's length, was Delacroix, with Rosier beside him. Facing them on my other side were Malfoy and his status partner, Warrington. Beyond them was a mixed group of students in their fifth, sixth, and seventh years, seated according to status, with those in third and fourth year clustered lower down; at the very end of the table were the second-years and the new first-years - all except one. While I did feel sorry for Dumbledore Minor, sitting next to Malfoy - who looked at him as if he were a speck of dirt - I really couldn't have seated the boy next to Delacroix. At least Belcore knew enough to avoid being poisoned during meals.
A fourth-year boy recounted a new interpretation of how Godric Gryffindor lost his sword - the tale proposed by a Ravenclaw in History of Magic that day, and enacted with much enthusiasm by the Slytherins in the class. I was only half-listening as I slipped some meat under the table to the cat winding itself around my legs. This ginger beast was Warrington's familiar, but he never did feed it properly - so it had become the best scrounger of all the Slytherin cats. A few others sat with their masters, as did a number of toads and Traherne's hare.
On my left, Dumbledore Minor picked at his food. He seldom said a word at the table, and I wondered what he made of the talk around it - which had now shifted to a rather tedious rumor about the Lady of the family ranked forty-ninth taking a lover from the family ranked eighty-first... I tried to stifle my yawns. The food, while very welcome, had made me drowsy already - and it was hard to give my attention to the game of the long table, when the topics uppermost in my mind were so unsuitable for expression there.
Those pebbles - if he had indeed worked some form of Banishing Charm, that might be another clue for Lucretia's search through the Valery library. We would see her two weeks from now, in Hogsmeade - maybe she and Tamino could find the missing piece of the puzzle by then... Alchemy and Transfiguration - no, I didn't want to think of that combination. Ten points to Gryffindor. Damn Switch, anyway... It would be a considerable relief to tell Lucretia exactly what I thought of him when I wrote to her about today's class.
I glanced down the table to the other first-years, turning over some possibilities in my mind. The ambiguity of Dumbledore Minor's place among them could not be allowed to continue. He was my status partner - yet the other eight were shutting him out as they rushed to learn their first hexes and establish a ranking among themselves. Oh yes, high time for him to learn to fight, and not only for the sake of defending himself. If he truly wanted to do it, I'd teach him enough to take the wands of all his year-mates, one by one, in short order. They'd not ignore him for much longer.
Usually a young wizard's family background indicated what his strengths would be; but in this case I'd work on the assumption that he would be skilled in Transfiguration and Charms. I would need Belcore for this... and Valery could also be helpful... I thought back to my own earliest fights - and all I had written to Lucretia then, describing the smallest details in many scrolls of happy bragging... Determined not to be left behind, she had made me re-fight every duel with her over the holidays.
I was still dreamily sorting through simple hexes when I felt a soft tug on my left sleeve, startling me out of my thoughts - to find the conversation sliding straight into the jaws of Cerberus.
I cursed myself for letting my attention wander, and Belcore for doing nothing until it was too late. Dumbledore Minor now seemed frozen in place, eyes lowered and fists clenched.
The Slytherin table had turned to discussing the Muggle world.
"It's the truth!" one of the sixth-years was saying. "I had it from my cousin at Durmstrang - "
"Oh, why don't they teach us Defense Against the Muggle World here?"
"Lott could - "
"Ah, but Hogwarts is known for its excellence in Transfiguration - for those who care to attempt it, of course." That was Delacroix. The words were casual, but the implications were not.
I glanced at the High Table. Both Lott and Switch were looking straight at us; and they also had their ways of listening at a distance.
"Well, what my cousin says is - if you ever chance to rut with a Muggle, choose a male, not a female!"
This remark drew groans, laughter, and some sounds indicative of nausea at the notion of intimacy with Muggles. Oh, beware, whispered the prickle along my spine. They were baiting me - and I hadn't seen it approaching - and I was in no state to fight a serious duel this night.
"A fine topic for the dinner-table, I declare." Malfoy sounded bored, but the flicker of malicious delight in his slow smile belied it.
"Oh, do stop teasing and tell us what you mean! Why a male?" The question came from lower down the table, where the younger boys were all ears.
"Because - and I say this solely out of concern for you, my Housemates - their females have no control over when or where they get with child. And so, unless you fancy the thought of a Muggle bearing your heir..." The rest of the speaker's words were drowned in more laughter as he dodged all the objects being thrown at him.
"And they know nothing of the Arts of Love?" Traherne sounded sceptical.
"Nothing at all!" replied Rosier. "In truth, they're meant to be maidens when they wed - though I'm not certain if it's only the females, or the males as well - "
"Imagine two maidens in the marriage-bed!" General mirth along the table at that.
I touched Dumbledore Minor's arm lightly, in warning, hoping very much that he didn't understand more than half of the comments which followed. I had to resist my impulse to get him out of the Hall immediately; if I left my seat now, I would likely return to find it occupied by someone else. Neither could I turn the conversation at this stage. That would also be an admission of weakness. We had to stay and wait it out - no matter what they said.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Belcore pour another shot of absinthe into his goblet. He had been drinking steadily through the meal - did that explain his silence, or was there another reason? For the first time in four years, I questioned his loyalty to our status pair, and this doubt shook me more than anything being said around us.
"Well, maidens or not," said another seventh-year, "what's the use of a wife who's ignorant of the Arts? I mean to say - what do they do?"
"They breed, dear boy," said Delacroix in a drawl of disgust. "They breed and breed. Gods, they bear so many young - six, or eight - "
"Or ten, or twelve - and more!" echoed Warrington, grimacing.
"Faugh! Like cats - or rats - " A murmur of repugnance swept the table. But still none of them said anything directly to me, nor looked me in the eye.
"That's why there are so many of them - and more all the time - "
"True! My grandsire says there never used to be so many Muggles - "
"Nor so many Mudbloods - "
Straying closer and closer to the line - but not crossing it, not yet. Dumbledore Minor didn't stir; maybe some of my lectures on the need for control were having an effect.
"It shouldn't be allowed, I swear!" Delacroix again. "Salazar himself said as much - "
Then I forgot about Dumbledore Minor's need for control, in the battle for my own. The insult in those words was plain, and now there were more than a few glances at me. Message conveyed: betrayal of our House, of your own lineage.
My weariness warred with my anger; my fingers itched for my wand. Only the thought of losing a duel to Malfoy or Delacroix - here in the Hall, with the whole school watching - kept me in my seat, and maintained my look of complete unconcern.
"Surely we'll not permit them to multiply like this forever?"
"We should do something, before the world is quite overrun with Muggles and Mudbloods - "
"Are we wizards or aren't we? If we used our magic against them - "
"Why, we could enchant them to eat their young - like rats - isn't that clear?"
"Ah, indeed! Clear as crystal!"
My restraint broke. I reached for my wand - just as every single goblet on the table exploded, showering us all with pumpkin juice and shards of pewter.
Slytherins leapt to their feet. Amid the startled oaths, yowling cats, and general indignation, the three of us were also standing - Belcore tense and silent, I with my wand drawn, and Dumbledore Minor with eyes blazing and teeth bared in a snarl of rage.
"Dessicato! Reparo!" My spells rang out over the uproar, which sank to an ugly murmur as stains vanished and the goblets reassembled themselves, instantly refilled by the assiduous house-elves. I turned briefly to give the boy on my left a stern look that said Leave this to me. He nodded slightly, reluctantly.
More than a few wands had now been drawn around the table, and the stares fixed on Dumbledore Minor spoke of violence. Mudblood, they seemed to say. Not one of us. Drive him out. Let him begone. One move, one wrong word, and they would -
I sent a ribbon of silver from my wand, to weave and wind through the air around the three of us at the head of the table. A lovely, mesmerising pattern - almost random, save for the rune it formed over and over again: the rune of Warning.
Then I reached for my goblet and raised it high.
"Shall we hear a toast, my Housemates?" I called out, in a voice pitched to carry to the very end of the table. "Come, drink with me - to the Serpent and the House!"
I knew none would refuse that toast - especially not when it was proposed from where I stood. Sure enough, they all drank; the sense of violence ebbed slightly, nudged aside by familiar ritual and House loyalty. Part of that loyalty - as I was reminding them - meant accepting the authority of the one who led in the game.
"And now - shall we resume our meal?" I dismissed the silver ribbon and sat down; Belcore and Dumbledore Minor followed my lead, then the others also began to seat themselves, until none were standing.
Silence. Most still waited to see what those at the higher end of the table would do; I had to deal with them first. Setting down my wand by my plate, I plucked an orange from the nearest fruit-bowl and picked up a knife.
"No need to worry about pumpkin juice stains on our robes," I said to Malfoy pleasantly, peeling and quartering the orange. "So much easier to remove than blood-stains, are they not?"
"I dare say they are." Taking my meaning, he inclined his head in my direction; a barely-perceptible nod of compliance. Warrington would follow his lead, and so would those in alliance with them. No need to push them any further - leaving me free to turn my full attention to the greater challenge on my right.
"What say you - may we agree to forget this little incident?" Rosier flushed at the transparent reference to his duel. I held his gaze as I brought a piece of orange to my lips and swallowed it - then slowly, deliberately licked the juice from my fingers, half-smiling at him. He nodded agreement, looking a trifle dazed, and my smile widened as I turned at last to Delacroix.
He looked back at me, unyielding, thin lips set in a stubborn line over his long jaw. This was more than personal rivalry - though he might have led in the game, if not for me - and more even than the usual tension between eldest sons, springing from the unspoken awareness that any of us might meet some day in a duel to the death. The Delacroix heir and I also faced each other across Valery blood spilled twenty years in the past. My mother's line. Each time we met, there was the promise: if the Valerys should fail to even the score, I will not.
Tonight, however, I would be content to make him back down. The mood of the others had swung away from confrontation; he was alone, and knew it.
"Shall we talk of more agreeable matters?" I asked, in a tone of exaggerated courtesy. "Rather a disappointing World Cup this year, was it not? Dismal performance by the team from Vienna."
Caution fought resentment across the ill-favored features beneath his lank brown hair. Caution won. "Their Chasers were most unlucky."
Several of those around us stopped holding their breath and eagerly picked up the thread of a new Quidditch discussion. I sat back, keeping alert this time, and held the conversation in my control for the short interval until the end of the meal. I did not rise until everyone save my two companions had left the table.
"Follow me, both of you. Now." Raising a hand to Tamino and Valery, who had lingered in the Hall out of concern, I swiftly led my status partners to the dungeons. We went to one of the training rooms - and no sooner had the door been closed and spell-locked than Belcore found himself encircled by a ribbon of wrathful red and slammed against the wall.
"Damn you, what were you thinking in there?" The anger I had held in check broke forth at last. "Why didn't you do something as soon as they started that?"
He returned my look calmly, folding his arms. "Maybe I found nothing objectionable in the topic of conversation."
"That was a challenge, Aulus - an attack on us - the topic doesn't matter - "
"Oh, but it does! The attack was aimed at him. Wouldn't have been any trouble - nor any threat to you, or me - if not for him. And why were you caught dreaming tonight, Julius - could it have been because of him?"
When Belcore was mildly annoyed - often enough - he tended to be loud about it. When he was seriously angry, he was quiet, his words stinging as they did now. He knew me very well. We looked at each other silently, trading four years of memories. Belcore at my side, all that time...
"He's my status partner, Aulus," I said softly. "Mudblood or not."
"And by extension, mine? You've dragged me into this - placing my status at risk - without so much as a by-your-leave! Permit me to say this much: I don't like it."
I released the ribbon holding him, and slumped against the wall at his side. "Gods, do you think I like it? I'm hardly doing this for fun. But I believe it will be worthwhile - and the three of us will be stronger than two - eventually. If he can be trained to control what he does... You don't have to like it - but I need your aid now. Within the House. More than ever."
He looked at the floor for a long moment, then back at me. "You have it. But don't ask me for too much, Julius."
"I'll try not to." With a sigh, I moved away from the wall. "Any more questions?"
"Yes - what in Hades were you playing at with Rosier?" His hazel eyes narrowed at me in suspicion. "Shall I wake up one morning to learn you have yet another new status partner - this one chosen for his lovely long eyelashes?"
"All that absinthe's gone straight to your head tonight - don't be stupid, Aulus! The point, obviously, is that right now Delacroix is berating him for making eyes at a half-Valery - while Rosier himself is contemplating sweet farewell to Delacroix, if he can have a Marvolo - so much more to his taste, both for status and - "
"And aesthetics. Quite." Belcore was calmer now, and grimly amused at that.
"So by the time he realizes I'll never lay a hand on him, the two of them won't be on speaking terms. Satisfied?" I grinned at him, idly tapping my chin with the wand. "Though I might well give Rosier a dueling lesson or two - he really can't go on losing like that, it's not good for the House..."
Belcore believed me; and it was true enough. There were good reasons for Slytherins to seek friendship - and pleasure, if inclined - outside our own House: in the end, all games played within Slytherin became part of the game. Few chose to take that path. I myself had only ever shared intimacy with Carus Tamino, whom I would trust with my life and beyond - and who was not a Slytherin, nor even from one of the great families. Within the House, there was no need for me to do that for status, nor any great temptation to do it for pleasure.
"Speaking of dueling lessons - what about him? Starting tonight, are you?" Belcore pointed at the boy, who had retreated to a corner as we argued.
"Oh yes - what better time?" I had to laugh. "I'm so tired he may knock me senseless with his first jinx. No, Aulus, don't go - I'd like you to stay for this. Come, here's your chance to throw a curse or two at me! You really want to right now, don't you?"
I beckoned to Dumbledore Minor, who peered up at me cautiously as he came forward.
"You're not angry - about the pumpkin juice?"
"Not this time. I rather think you saved my skin in there, with your exploding goblets - I was about to do something very foolish." He looked relieved at this, if still confused. "All the same, I'd sooner we didn't do anything like that again. Agreed?"
"Yes, Marvolo."
"Splendid! Now, draw your wand, Mudblood - since you seem to be in a fighting mood tonight, let's play with some hexes. Ready?" Even as I said it, I couldn't hold back a yawn. Behind me I heard Belcore laugh, and a moment later his absinthe flask was in my hand.
"Hold on to that, Julius. You're likely to need it more than I do."
I took a long drink, and a deep breath. Time enough later to teach him spells which would be useful in a fight. Right now I had to remember that he was entirely ignorant of this type of magic; and so, he would first have to discover how it felt to aim a spell at another person, deliberately.
"We'll start with something quite harmless," I said lightly. "It's called a Tickling Charm. Looks like this." Spinning around, I pointed my wand at Belcore's side. "Rictusempra!"
Belcore reeled, clutching at the place I had struck, gasping for breath as laughter overwhelmed him. "Blast it - I wasn't - ex-expecting that!" He fumbled for his wand to perform the countercharm, while Dumbledore Minor watched, intrigued.
"Purely a demonstration, Aulus - how kind of you to help." I waved a few silver stars in Belcore's direction before proceeding to show Dumbledore Minor how to deflect that spell. He copied my wand's movements, awkwardly at first, then smoothly enough.
"Good. Now I'll cast it at you, and you try to block it. Ready?" At his nod, I sent the Charm slowly toward him - and block it he did.
After giving him an approving smile, I exchanged a cautious glance with Belcore. The next step was obvious... but in truth, neither of us felt eager to be on the receiving end of the first spell this particular young wizard directed at someone else, no matter how harmless the spell.
"You'll cast it at me," I told him firmly, hoping I wouldn't meet the same fate as the pebbles. "And I'll not block it. There's something you need to know here."
His left hand rose, pointing the wand at me; then he faltered, biting his lip.
"Aim for his midriff." Belcore broke the sudden.silence, sending me an innocent look. "Only trying to help, Julius."
"Oh, very helpful! Cease your smirking, you'll be next." I turned back to Dumbledore Minor, who stared at his wand as if it were about to sting him. "Come, Mudblood - you've seen what this Charm does - now use it! Focus."
"Rictusempra!"
I had to make a conscious effort not to block the spell - allowing it to strike and send me to the floor, laughing wildly. He had indeed taken Belcore's advice about where to aim, and it felt like being tickled with a hundred feathers at once. As soon as I had cast off the Charm and could speak again, I moved to his side, anticipating the next question.
He still held the wand ready, but his right hand was pressed to his own stomach. "I - I felt that! A little - Was I doing it right?"
"Exactly right. Well done. And yes, you felt it - or rather, what you felt was an echo of what you did to me, in the source of your power to do it."
His eyes widened at that. I'd never seen him look so interested in one of my explanations.
"When we reach out to touch others with our spells, whatever we do to them is sourced in our own capacity to experience it." I spoke slowly, carefully. "Empathy, it's called." Watching him closely as he followed the implications. Yes, ask it...
His eyes moved to Belcore, then back to me. "The - the spells that hurt - like in that duel... them too?"
"Oh, most assuredly." A note of relish in Belcore's reply.
Dumbledore Minor swallowed hard. I could almost see his thoughts fly back to what Rosier had been doing to Foxon.
"And as you learn to cast those curses, you will also learn to withstand and control your own response. It will not be entirely painless." I held his gaze, testing him. "What say you - shall we continue?"
"Yes." His answer came in a low voice, but it was quick, and there was no hesitation behind it this time.
Much relieved, I smiled broadly at Belcore. "I declare, he'll be the terror of the challenge floor! Your turn to show him something - I await my fate."
"Ah well, if we're indulging in the most juvenile spells..." Belcore aimed his wand at me, as I made a point of hiding mine behind my back. "Vermisauricula!"
Now I was truly thankful for the Privacy Charms set in place on our training rooms. At least no one else would see the dueling champion of Hogwarts with worms coming out of his ears.
Belcore was starting to enjoy himself. "How long since you felt that one?"
"Five years, at least - and yes, it was Lucan!" The Valery twins had been nine years old when they found their power, two years after I found mine. When I thought back to that year, it seemed like one long blur of spells - Lucretia vowing to catch up with me if she had to practise day and night; Lucan trying out the most ridiculous hexes he could find; the three of us running wild at Valery Hall, playing pranks on the twins' elder brother whenever he was home from Hogwarts. Yes, I remembered the Worm-Ears Hex.
Now I performed the countercharm on myself, watching my status partners. Dumbledore Minor moved more confidently this time in blocking the spell. And while he did seem slightly apprehensive as he prepared to cast it, I suspected that he found just as much satisfaction in hexing Belcore as Belcore had in hexing me.
Grimacing, Belcore shook off the worms and worked his own countercharm. Dumbledore Minor had done the spell perfectly - and I told him so, which brought a fleeting smile to his face. The smile faded as he looked from me to Belcore, clearly wondering what else was to come.
I took another drink from the flask, fighting back my fatigue. This was all going more smoothly than I had expected. No accidents... yet. No sign that he truly didn't wish to continue. I decided to try a more direct approach.
"Let's spare poor Aulus this time, shall we?" I pointed my wand at Dumbledore Minor. "You're about to feel a brief burning pain in your hand - nothing too dreadful, I assure you, merely a little jinx that sometimes catches people by surprise and makes them drop their wands. Could be useful. Ready?"
He nodded. I saw his knuckles clench on the wand.
"You may choose to scream, swear, or think what fun it'll be to do the same to me in return," I told him. "But if you run off - or conjure up so much as one spider - this lesson is over." And as he smiled at that, I called out: "Ustulo!"
I released the spell after the briefest second; he winced, but didn't drop his wand. Rubbing at his hand, he gave me a curious look.
"Did that... did it hurt you to do that?"
I laughed. "No, not in the least!" As he still looked puzzled, I tried to explain. "It was only a minor jinx. There are ways to suppress that echo of response in yourself, you'll learn them... Mudblood, I found my power when I was seven years old - another trait of the Marvolo line, we start young - and my Dark Arts training began the same year. I can do much more than a jinx before it starts affecting me."
"Damned Marvolo precocity," said Belcore dryly. "I swear, some people actually complained when you worked Cruciatus in third year. Most entertaining."
Still laughing, I turned back to Dumbledore Minor and showed him how to deflect the spell. This time Belcore cast it, and I nodded in approval as it was blocked, pleased to see the boy picking up defensive skills quickly. He would need them.
"You, on the other hand, will feel it. Go ahead. Cast it, now." Half-expecting him to refuse, I held my wand behind my back and waited.
He braced himself and raised his wand. "Ustulo!"
Perfect - he had aimed it at my free hand, and the brief burn felt exactly as it should. I disregarded it, my attention on his response.
What I saw in his face was not pain, but bewilderment.
"There was nothing - Did I do it wrong? I didn't feel it, Marvolo."
Too much to expect, that he could get through a lesson in anything without some sort of unexpected development... I raised my eyebrows at Belcore, who also looked surprised. Any novice ought to have felt a burn from working this jinx.
We made him do it again - and again, to both of us in turn. Still nothing. Belcore and I downed some more absinthe, staring at him. This was - no, not a bad thing, but... disconcerting.
I rubbed my eyes. "Oh, Hades... We'll talk about it later! Meanwhile, three spells are enough to practise with - come over here, Mudblood, let me show you what to do with a training-glass."
The Slytherin training rooms were compact, high-ceilinged chambers, well-equipped with useful items for practising a variety of skills. I now led Dumbledore Minor to one of the room's four tall mirrors and stood before it, my wand held ready.
"Very simply, it reflects spells. Like this." I launched into one of my own training routines, familiar from many hours before the glass in my chamber - though time for training had been sadly diminished since my rash acquisition of an elf and status partner. The jet of light from my wand vanished into the glass, meeting and merging with its own reflection, coruscating green and silver, red and black, following my murmured stream of curses and counter-curses.
Breaking off in mid-routine, I turned to Dumbledore Minor - who was still staring at the glass, open-mouthed. Then he looked at my wand, and up at my face, blinking like a dazed owl.
"Is it really so extraordinary? Come now, even Muggles must have mirrors." I never usually mentioned the Muggle world in his presence, but curiosity got the better of me.
"It's not the mirror," he said slowly, shaking his head. "It's what you did - how can you just do that? You looked like you weren't even thinking about it..."
"I wasn't. An easy routine - I could work that sequence of spells in my sleep - and at this moment, that's almost literally true." I yawned again. "Anyway, I do believe I've spent half my life in front of a training-glass... No, I don't think about it. Now - you give it a try. Fire one of those spells at yourself, and block it."
He chose the Tickling Charm. As its jet of silver light streamed into the glass, his gaze followed it in fascination. Needless to say, he entirely forgot to deflect it on its return path.
I worked the countercharm and set him to practising all three spells in the glass, while Belcore and I sat on a bench along the wall and watched, stepping in whenever he required another countercharm.
"Some odd Muggle trait, do you think?" Belcore reached for the flask.
"I doubt it. If all Mudbloods were like this - we'd have heard something before, surely. And that Rictusempra was normal enough, when he cast it at me... Wonder what else he might be able to cast..." I trailed off, smothering another yawn.
"More hexes, then?"
"Certainly." I thought about this for a moment. "If it holds for more than a little jinx... well, think of the scope here - Measures of influence: surprise, intimidation. Most promising, I'd say."
Belcore looked wary. "How far would you go with it, Julius?"
I didn't reply, only sat back and watched Dumbledore Minor deflect Ustulo again. How far would he be prepared to follow me?
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Notes:
Like Chapter Two? Hate Chapter Two? Do tell me about it. I care.
Thank you to all who reviewed Chapter One:
Fidelis Haven, Tvillinger, Xenia - welcome to the Marvoloverse, hope you'll stay around for more.
[*hugs*] to the folks from witchfics.org - I can't begin to describe how great you are!
CelticFlame/Bree - how about another plug for that new list, Bree? :-)
HP: Past, Present, Future (for time-travel, AU, and historical fics)
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/HPPPF
teluekh, take 50 points for Hufflepuff - just for being yourself.
Phoenix Riddle by teluekh: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=613321
Julius, Aberforth, Young Albus, Lott, Switch, Tamino, and Lucretia arrive in the 1990s and meet the Trio.
[*cheery wave to the other readers out there*] Yes, more is on the way. See you in Chapter Three.