Disclaimer: The setting of this story, and most of the characters are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling, I lay no claim to them. However the characters of Malana Avonell and Schön are of my own creation and to these two, I do claim rights.
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The end of November was fast approaching, and winter was still making its bid for dominance. The setting sun turned the gathering clouds, red and purple, making the sky a foreboding sea of flames. Neville Longbottom starred out the windows of the Runes classroom watching as red and purple mixed and entwine around each other, wondering if a storm was brewing.
"Neville, you're suppose to be concentrating on the sphere, not the clouds," Professor Avonell said gently trying to pull the boy back to his lessons.
"It's no use Professor," Neville whined hopelessly, looking back down at the glass marble in front of the Professor. "I can't do it."
"That, young man, is a defeatists attitude," Avonell said a bit more firmly then she had intended to, but Neville was refusing to let go of years of being told her couldn't do anything right. The boy looked up at her with his little lost puppy dog look. "And playing the innocent victim isn't go to work with me either. You have it in you, I know you do."
Neville turned his attention back to the marble and concentrated. Small beads of sweat blossomed across his forehead as he narrowed his eyes, willing the marble to move, even just a little. He gripped the edge of the table so hard that his knuckles turned white and he trembled with the effort. He was starting to turn blue. He just had to move that sphere.
"Neville," whispered Avonell, reaching across the table to lay her hand over his, "Breath."
He looked up with a start, "did it move?" His eyes were wide and a hopeful expression flittered across his face.
Sadly she shook her head. He wasn't unintelligent, by no means, but learning seemed awfully hard for him. He wanted so much to succeed, as was the case now, that he just tried too hard, and when he failed, as he inevitably he did, he let his frustration get the best of him. It was a vicious cycle of failure and loss of self-esteem. She felt sorry for him. He had been subjected to too many memory charms and now he was suffering the consequences.
"It's just no use," he complained mournfully, slumping back in his chair.
"Neville, we all have our strengths and weaknesses," sooth Avonell patting his hand. "We just haven't found your strength yet. You did very well with your crystal, you just need to relax and allow yourself move the sphere."
Neville took a long breath, centering his sight back onto the marble. Slowly he let his breath out. He just wanted it to move, just to prove that he could do it. He'd been ahead of Hermione with his crystal work, but well behind all three when it came to moving the marble. He just wanted to show them he could do it, just a little, that's all he wanted. For a second the orb vibrated, it jerked forward an inch, and then rolled smoothly into his waiting hand.
"I DID IT!" he shouted, sitting upright and looking up at Avonell, his eyes wide his mouth open in amazement. "I did it!"
"Yes, you certainly did," Avonell smiled back, "Neville, I want you to consider something for a moment." She retrieved the marble from his hand and placed it back in the center of the table. "Each person is unique unto themselves, and at the same time like every one else. You have to be patient with yourself. Just because it takes you a little longer to learn something, does not mean you are less then any one else."
Neville looked perplex. She opened her mouth to continue, but Schön leapt onto the table and batted at the marble sending in rolling way from both of them.
"Purrow," he half purred, half meowed. Turning to face Avonell, his green eyes flashing urgently, his tail standing straight up and quivering.
"Huh?" Avonell muttered, taken off guard, looking down at the animal not understanding what the urgency was.
"He said your next student is coming," Neville told her as a matter of fact.
Avonell cocked her head at him, her eyes catching the candlelight appearing to twinkle. "How long have you been able to understand Schön?" she asked.
The boy swallowed hard, averting his eyes and going slightly pink in the face. He reached out and snatched up the glass sphere and played with it. He hadn't meant that to slip out. He had done it again, and his mind raced for a way to answer her question without telling her the truth.
"Ah, I just guessed," he squeaked in a small voice pretending to study the marble in his hand. "That's all, just guessed."
"Now, Neville," scolded Avonell lightly, "that's not wholly true, now is it?"
He looked up at her, a bit of fear showing in his face, "My Gran says it can't be done, that there's no way I can talk to animals."
Avonell put her elbow on the table and her chin in the palm of her hand. This might not be as easy to explain as she would have liked, but if this boy could understand Schön, then it was quite likely he could understand any animal, and that could prove to be very useful. She considered her words carefully. The door to the classroom creaked opened, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up as Neville twisted in his chair to see who it was. He snapped back to face her with a frightened look.
"I'm sorry Professor," Avonell said to the new comer. "If I could have just a minute more?"
Professor Snape inclined his head slightly and backed out of the room closing the door as he did. Avonell returned her gaze to the boy, who still looked frightened. She smiled warmly at him, trying to put him at ease.
"Professor Snape is your student?" Gasped Neville.
Avonell put a finger to her lips and suppressed a laugh. She knew the Professor terrified him and wondered if knowing he was in fact, her student would do anything to lessen that terror. She decided it probably wouldn't.
"Not exactly," she said softly, "it's kind of hard to explain. But that's not for you to worry with." She drew a long breath, letting it out slowly. "Neville, the ability to converse with animals is possible, for a very few, very special people. We may well have hit upon your special talent."
Neville's expression changed to one of amazement. "Really?" he breathed.
"Really," she assured him, taking the orb from his hand. "Now, most people will think you're a little off if you go around telling them this. As I said it's very rare, so let's just keep it between you, me and Schön, for now, ok?"
Neville nodded enthusiastically, "I won't, I mean I will, I mean . . ."
"I know what you mean," chuckled Avonell giving the boy one last approving smile. "Now keep up with your exercises and if you get a chance to talk to one of the animals around the school, by all means do so. Just make sure no one is around to see you."
Neville nodded again, a grin showing its self on his round still boyish face. Avonell walked him to the door. She put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him just before he reached for the knob.
"Do me one favor, if you would?" she asked softly. Neville looked up at her somewhat surprised to be asked such a thing by a teacher. "Don't mention seeing Professor Snape here today?"
Neville nodded, "I won't," he assured her, giving her a quick wink, as he pulled open the door.
She smiled after the boy, wondering if he really would not mention Snape's appearance. But if he did, there wasn't much she could do about it. She turned her attention to the tall shadowy figure standing a short distance down the hall.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" she asked with just a bit of a bite to her voice, more for the benefit of anyone else who might be listening, then for his.
Snape stepped out of the shadows, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed and a vague smirk on his face. "Yes, I did," he said silkily, looking down at her, his dark eyes boring into her.
Avonell, step aside and gestured for him to enter. He swept into the classroom, his robs brushing against her as he past. She followed, closing the door behind her. She watched as he moved to the front of the room, his stride strong and purposeful. She sighed lightly as reached the table as turned sharply on his heel to face her, a smug expression still gracing his features. She passed a hand down the door jam, activating the wards she had placed there sometime ago, and smiled. She only used these wards when Snape was there, having decided that it was not advisable for any of the others to know that he too, was studying the Technique.
"You nearly blew it, Severus, arriving early like that," she told him warningly as she started for the front. "Neville questioned your arrival."
Snape cocked his head slightly and regarded her before responding, "I was asked to deliver this to you," he said ignoring her last comment and holding out a long slender package.
Avonell handed him the glass sphere in exchange for the curious package. "Form who?" she asked as she removed a note attached to the plane brown wrappings.
"Professor Dumbledore," Snape answered, placing the sphere on the table. It rolled smoothly to the opposite end of the table, reversed direction and roll back to rest before the Potions Master.
"Show off," she murmured under her breath. Snape allowed himself a smile at this comment, watching her unfold the note. She read it quickly, then with a slight scowl, turned it over as if she expected there to be more on the other side. Shrugging she handed the note to Snape and began opening the package. But even as she began the processes she gave a sharp fearful gasp. Clutching the package to her chest, she turned wide startled eyes to him.
"What is it?" asked Snape, curious as to what would cause such a reaction.
"It's a . . ." Avonell's voice cracked and she nodded to indicate the note he still held. He looked down at it.
The handwriting was the Headmaster's and read simply 'As they say, in for a penny, in for a pound.' He looked up at her, not understanding what it meant.
Avonell cleared her throat, "it's an old Muggle saying," she told him, but his expression was still confused. "It means – well – if you're going to break the rules, you might as well break them all." She relaxed her grip on the package and tore back the wrappings to revel several inches of a wand tip.
Snape smiled again as Avonell extracted the wand and cast the wrappings aside.
"Do you know how to use it?" he asked, his tone almost playfully.
"Of course I do," she returned in a similar tone, stepping back from him several paces. "Rictusempra!" she shouted giving the wand a quick flick.
Snape barely had time to deflect the charm, sending it into the blackboard and making it teeter threateningly.
"Hmm," intoned Avonell thoughtfully, "I see we're going to have to work on your aim." They both smiled.
***
A blazing fire burned brightly under the mantle in Professor Avonell's office. The only sounds were the crackling of the burning logs and the relentless tic tock, tic tock of the clock. Avonell starred into the flames their blue, white and yellow tongues liking at the cold evening air. This evening's lesson for Hermione Granger was not going to be easy. In the stillness Avonell, turned the dagger she held, so that the light glinted off it in shimmering sliver threads. The path of a Healer was not an easy one, but it was the Winter Solstice and she wanted to start the girl on that road before the Christmas Holidays began.
She glanced at the clock; she still had ten minutes to go. So many, long, long years ago, she had taken the oath of the Healer, sworn to never cause harm except in defense of her life or the life of an innocent. And a brutal as the ritual might seem to an outsider, it what she had to do. It had been done to her, and countless others in the name of education. Avonell's hands trembled, she had never before been placed in the role of teacher of the healing arts, that task had always befallen her mother. She closed her eyes and remembered. Remembered back to her childhood and the night her mother had shown her the ways of a Healer. Something stirred disturbingly inside of her. She opened her eyes. So lost in memory, she had not noticed that the tip of the dagger had pierce the skin of her finger. A single drop of crimson blood beaded on the tip of her left forefinger. She drew a long breath, letting out slowly as he sealed the wound before wiping away the blood.
There was a knock at the door. Avonell laid the dagger on the table next to her chair, covering it with a fresh white linen cloth, before standing. She crossed the room to the door and paused to take one last steadying breath before turning the knob and opening the door and greeting the young woman.
"Good evening Ms. Granger," Avonell said looking down at the girl standing before her.
"You wanted to see me?" Asked Hermione in a timid voice. It wasn't her day for a lesson and she had not been told why the Rune Teacher wanted to see her.
"Yes," Avonell replied stepping aside so she could enter the darkened room. "Please, come in."
Hermione entered slowly. The only light was that from the fire in the hearth. The air was still, laden with fine wisps of smoke that had escaped the hot drafts of the flue. She glanced back at the Rune Teacher as the door shut with a muffled click.
"Please, take a seat," Avonell instructed softly, "The one on the left, if you don't mind."
Hermione did as she was told, but an oppressive feeling of apprehension engulfed her as she sat and watched Avonell settle herself in the chair facing her. The older woman's eyes shown brightly in the reflected firelight, as she smiled at her. She drew a deep breath, seeming to steel herself for something unpleasant. Hermione swallowed with some difficultly as her mouth had just gone very dry.
"Hermione, what I'm about to teach you has been passed down through the ages in secrecy," there was a certain heavyheartedness to her voice. Hermione looked up into her eyes. "You have, within you a sacred gift and tonight I mean to awaken that gift." She could feel the girl's anxiety level jump up several notches. She wished there was a simpler way to do this.
"These are troubled times, and there will be a great need for your gift in the months and years that lay ahead of us," continued Avonell, her voice slipping into a soft monotone, like the soft breezes of summer.
Hermione continued to stare into Avonell's eyes, unable to look away. She ran her tongue over her dry lips, fear welling up from the pit of her stomach. She tried to speak, but no words came out.
"Hermione," Avonell's soft voice was compelling and at the same time frightening, "You are a Healer. The first one I have seen in nearly 300 years. But the way of a Healer is not easy, you must know this, and be willing to undertake the charge that will be given you."
"A Healer?" the girl's hoarse voice cracked with fear.
"You have in you the power to heal with only your thoughts," continued Avonell soothingly. "Your gift is a very rare gift. But if, within a fortnight, you decide you do not want to follow this path, I can release you from your vow and put your gift to sleep, never to reawaken again. Are you willing to see the way?"
Hermione nodded meekly. Avonell drew her chair closer to the girl's, and sat forward, placing the youth's knees against her own. Hermione's eyes widened, but didn't leave Avonell's. She could just see Avonell reached over to the table beside her and picked up a carved shallow wooden bowl and set it to rest in the hollow formed by their knees.
"Now, give me your right hand," Avonell said gently, extending her left hand.
Trembling slightly she placed her hand into Avonell's. Tenderly, the Professor turned her hand palm up, taking care to position her hand beneath Hermione's, her palm to the back of the girl's hand. Hermione's hand was cold and clammy compared to the warmth and strength of her own.
"Relax, and close your eyes," the Rune Teacher spoke quietly. She waited until the girl had done so. "I've translated the oath as best I can, and I know that the words are going to sound a bit awkward, but I'll need you to repeat them just as you hear them." Hermione nodded.
"Tonight I awaken the Healer in me," Avonell recited softly.
"Tonight I awaken the Healer in me," repeated Hermione in barely a whisper.
"That I might only perform good."
"That I might only perform good," her voice quivering.
"I shall never seek to do harm to another," Avonell reached over and drew the dagger from under the linen cloth.
"I shall never seek to do harm to another," Hermione repeated.
"Nor take the life from a sole . . ." she placed the tip of the weapon only a fraction of an inch above the center of Hermione's palm.
"Nor take the life from a sole . . ."
"Except when my inaction would sacrifice an innocent one," Avonell's hand began to tremble, and she griped the girl's hand more securely.
"Except when my inaction would sacrifice an innocent one."
"That light and life shall always be served."
"That light and life shall always be served." Hermione's voice trailed off into silence. She waited, though she was not sure of what. Then it happened, there was a sharp overwhelming pain in the center of her hand. Her eyes flew open her mouth dropped in a silent scream, tears streaming down her face. To her horror the blade of a dagger had been plunged through both her hand and Avonell's. The firelight reflecting off of it's blade, making it appear to glow.
Avonell was doubled over her free arm across her stomach, her body quaking violently. Although she still held Hermione's hand tightly, resisting the girl's attempts to pull free.
"Remove – it," Avonell gasped desperately, not looking up. Hermione hesitated. "Please, remove the blade!"
Shaking so badly that she was almost unable to do as she was told, Hermione grasped the handle of the dagger and drew it from them, the blade covered in the blood of both women. Mingled blood dripped onto the basin on their knees, a pool of deep red gathering in its depth, tiny sliver like sparks playing on the surface. Hermione tried to draw back her hand, but Avonell held it firmly, keeping their hands over the center of the bowl. Slowly the older woman raised herself up and gazed back into her eyes. Hermione's lower lip trembled and she wanted to cry out with the pain, but Avonell's eyes held her and she could not move.
Avonell took the dagger from Hermione and dropped it onto the floor where it clanked against the stone of the hearth, small flashes of light dancing around the room from the reflected firelight. With a trembling hand she dipped her figures into the pool of blood forming in the basin then brought them up to touch Hermione's left temple.
You are a Healer, Hermione, Avonell's voice echoed inside her head. Watch and learn.
Hermione turned her eyes to the blood spilling from her wounded hand. Over the next few minutes, she saw in her mind's eye as the flesh, mussel, tendon and bone of her hand, heal as if no injury had ever been there. Weakly, Avonell took linen cloth from the table and wiped away the remaining blood, from Hermione's hand, then from her own, as well as the smear on her temple. Then she placed the cloth into the wooden bowl and tossed them into the fire, the flames flaring for an instant.
"This is only the beginning, there is a great deal more," Avonell said with difficultly, still having trouble catching her breath. She released the girl's hand. "I'm sorry, I cannot continue this lesson tonight." She slumped back into her chair and watched as Hermione examined her own hand.
Hermione turned her hand over and inspected the back. There was no sign that the dagger had ever passed through it. Avonell didn't resist as she reached out and took her hand and turned it over several times. Her amazement showed quite clearly on her face.
"How?" she began timidly.
"You are a Healer, Hermione," Avonell's voice was chocked. "You have the ability to heal injuries, just as you did a moment ago."
"I did this?"
Avonell nodded, "I only showed you the way, you healed both yourself and me." She looked deeply into the girl's deep brown eyes. "I'm sorry for the way it was done," Avonell sighed. "It is an ancient ritual that must be followed. But I cannot continue tonight. Please forgive me."
Hermione sat in silence, studying Avonell for several minutes before she spoke again.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly.
Avonell smiled, "Yes, child, I'm fine. Now go back to your dorm. I'll be ok."
Hermione pushed her chair back and stood. She wasn't sure she wanted to leave Avonell. She had the feeling something had not gone right, that there had been something unexpected. Avonell pulled herself up into the chair properly and smiled back at her reassuringly. Slowly Hermione walked to the door and opened it. Glancing back at her teacher one last time. In the deep shadows of the room she saw the Professor put a hand to her head. The soft sounds of the fire muffled behind the ticking of the clock. She left the room still unsure of what had just transpired, closing the door gently behind her.
The door clicked shut and Avonell let the silence descend around her like a warm blanket. At length she leaned over and retrieved the dagger from the floor, turning it in the dying light of the fire. This one artifact was the last of her mother's positions she still had. She had known that she would be called upon to use it for the ritual, but she had never imagined it would be on a Muggle born, apparently miracles did still happen.
"You would be proud of me Mother," she spoke to the silence, "And this young Healer will not be my last." She smiled to herself as she placed the weapon on the table, leaning her head back into the high back of the chair.
Sometime latter, as the fire died to embers, the office door opened slowly, the light from the hallway spilling into the room as unwelcome intruder. Framed in the doorway a figure stood, their face in deep shadow, back lit by the torch light of the hall.
"Did it go well?" Snape's deep voice whispered from the shadows.
"Yes," answered Avonell. "Ms. Granger is a stronger Healer then I had suspected."
Snape stepped into the office letting the door swing shut behind him. He crossed the room silently, stirring the fire back to life with a slight wave of his wand. He sank into the chair facing her. Reaching out he took her hands in his and gazed into the azure blueness of her eyes searching for reassurance that she was well. She was weak, pale and drawn again, just as she had been that night when she had healed him. He frowned at her, not at all pleased with her condition.
"It took too much from you," he breathed. "You should not continue."
She smiled warmly and squeezed his hands. "I must. I am duty bound, as a Healer myself. There is no one else who can do this."
***
Hermione walked back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, still studying her right hand. It was hard to believe that the blade of a dagger had passed through it, that there had ever been any blood, any pain. It completely amazed her, and she had been the one to do the healing. She understood now that what she had seen had actually taken place, that she had been guided by Professor Avonell's knowledge, but that the power had been hers. She crawled through the portrait hole and into the warm familiar surroundings of the common room, still filled with students. Beyond the window snow was beginning to fall, by morning the world would be blanketed in white. She breathed in the warmth and aroma of the room, as if experiencing it for the first time, grinning broadly.
"Hermione," cried Ron looking up from the chessboard spread out between he and Harry. "Are you alright? You're grinning like the Cheshire Cat."
"I'm wonderful," answered Hermione dreamily. She walked over to the boys, and settled onto a squashy poof.
"What did Professor Avonell want?" Harry added as his knight crushed Ron's Rook, and swept it from the board.
"To show me that I'm a Healer," she answered softly, "Oh Ron, Harry I can Heal people."
The boys exchanged anxious looks between them, and then glanced around the room to see if anyone else had heard, less they think she had gone mad.
"What do you mean, heal?" Ron asserted under his breath.
"I mean," she leaned forward so that only they could hear, "I can heal wounds. The Professor cut me . . ."
"She what?" Harry blurted out a little louder then he meant to. Conversations stopped and a number of students turned to look at them. Harry leaned forward and whispered his question again.
"She showed me how to heal my hand," Hermione continued so that her voice did not carry. "See," she held out her right hand.
"Doesn't look like you were cut," Ron observed taking her hand and turning over several times. Hermione blushed slightly, but did not attempt to draw her hand away from him.
"That's just the point," she said. "I healed it." She turned to Harry who was looking a bit peaked. "Harry?"
Harry starred at nothing, something had flashed in his mind. Something that had made him feel sick. He had seen bone and flesh, sliced open, raw and caked with dried blood. But the image had faded as quickly as it had occurred. And although he chased after the image, it receded from his grasp. Blinking he looked back at his friends, who were watching him with deep concern.
"Are you ok? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Hermione gasped.
"Not a ghost," Harry said slowly, "a memory, but I'm not sure of what . . . or who's."
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then back to Harry.
"I tell you, ever since Halloween, I keep having these flashes of memories," sighed Harry propping his face in his hands. "But they're just flashes, I can't make sense of any of them."
"Have you talked to Avonell about them?" Ron asked finally letting go of Hermione's hand.
Harry shook his head, "I don't think it would be a good idea, at least not yet."
"What do you mean?" Whispered Hermione disconcertedly.
"Something happened," confided Harry leaning in closer to his friends, aware that others in the Common room were watching him. "And I mean more then my passing out."
"Like what?" asked Ron eagerly, glancing around the room hoping they weren't drawing too much attention.
"I'm not sure yet," breathed Harry, "But these flashed, these memories, aren't mine, and . . ." he lowered his voice again so that Ron and Hermione had to almost touch heads with him to hear, "there's more then one person's memories too."
***
Shortly after the Christmas Holidays, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville found themselves together in the Rune Classroom. The desks had been moved to line the walls, leaving the center of the room open. Harry seated himself on the table at the front of the room and looked around, wondering why they had all been summoned here. Up until now, their lessons had been separate, and he wasn't sure he liked the change. Hermione was studying something written on the blackboard, Ron was flipping through a book he had found, and Neville was just standing there looking uneasy.
"Professor Avonell did say six o'clock, didn't she?" asked Harry idly twirling his wand between his fingers.
"That's what she told me," Neville answered glancing at his watch. "It's fifteen after now."
"She probably got held up at dinner," Hermione chimed in. She turned from the blackboard and walked over to stand next to Harry.
"How long are suppose to wait for her?" Ron asked slamming the book closed. "I mean, do we just sit here or what?"
"We should wait," Hermione said in her most authoritative tone, "it could be a test of some sort, for all we know."
There was slight grown from the boys. Harry turned to look out the window. It was snowing again. They had already had several feet of snow this winter. If it kept up, they wouldn't be able to go to Hogsmeade this weekend. He sighed, thinking about the homework he had let pile up, and wondered if he should just leave and tend to it. The room fell into an awkward silence.
"Maybe we're waiting for someone," Neville suggested in a small voice joining Hermione and Harry. He hoisted himself to sit on the desk as well, swinging his feet back and forth.
"Yeah, Professor Avonell," complained Ron bitterly.
"Is there anyone else?" Asked Hermione. She had never given any thought to the fact that there might be someone besides the four of them studying the Technique.
"Not that I know of," sighed Harry.
"You don't think she might be teaching any Slytherins, do you?" Ron sounded concerned. "I mean, if Malfoy is learning this as well . . ."
Ron's comment was cut short as the door to the classroom opened. Professor Avonell entered looking a bit annoyed.
"Sorry I'm late," she told them, "but I really had wanted another teacher to help with this tonight, and there doesn't seem to be anyone available." She walked to the front of the room and seated herself beside Neville. "We are just going to have to be a bit more careful, and use some lesser spells."
"What are we doing tonight?" Harry wanted to know, leaning forward to she her around Neville.
"Well," she stared slowly drawing her wand from a pocket in her skirt. She flicked it and four chairs detached themselves from the sides of the room and move to face her.
"Hey, you do own a wand!" Ron blurted out.
Avonell smiled and looked down at the object in her hand. It was a very nice wand, carved out of a single piece of golden brown wood. The handle was delicately carved with a filigree pattern and the wood had been polished until it looked like it should be soft to the touch.
"Yes," she smiled, "it's a recent acquisition. A generous gift from the Headmaster." She looked up at the assembled students, laying the wand on the table beside her. "Ok, you have all progressed enough that tonight we start the good stuff. The stuff you've all been waiting for."
All four of the teens moved to the chairs and waited in rapt anticipation. Avonell regarded each in turn then slid off the desk.
"As I told you some time ago, there are two ways to deal with a spell, hex, or curse, that had been cast at you." She paced slowly in front of them, each hanging on her every word. This had been what each had been waiting for. Even Neville wore a look of excitement. "Deflection and Disbursement. Deflection is the easiest of these two to master, but aiming can take a bit of practice."
"Aiming?" Echoed Hermione.
"I'll get to that in a moment," continued Avonell, not loosing a beat, "deflection, takes the least amount of preparation time. It's fast, and once you've learned how it's done, you don't really have to think too much about it," she stopped and turned to face them, a very serious expression on her face, "but aiming is very important. Spells deflected don't loose their potency. You just redirect them to some place they won't do any harm. So where as deflection will become a reflex, do try to pay attention to where you are sending them."
"Can't we just send them back to the person who cast them?" asked Harry. The others nodded in fervent agreement.
Avonell shook her head, "That's not always possible. Once your opponent figures out what you are doing, they are going to move as soon as they cast. It's not like dueling, there are no rules in battle."
Harry, Hermione and Ron smiled. This was exactly what they had been waiting for, to be able to do what she had done when she had faced the Death Eater in the dungeons at the start of term. Neville was the only one who looked apprehensive.
"Now for a bit of a demonstration," Avonell said moving to stand centered in front of them, "Hermione, Professor Flitwick tells me you're very accomplished at spells, would you cast something at me?"
Hermione stood hesitantly looking back at Ron and Harry for support. She hadn't figured on being asked to cast a spell, no matter how harmless, at a teacher. She drew out her wand starring at the Professor.
"What should I use?" she asked her voice shaking slightly as she remembered the part of the vow she had taken before the holidays, about not causing harm.
"Something harmless," shrugged Avonell.
"Rictusempra!" shouted Hermione suddenly, pointing her wand at Avonell.
Avonell's reaction was instantaneous. She made an arcing movement with her right hand, palm flat, fingers out stretched. As she completed the arc, she curled her fingers inward, except for the index finger, which she used to point in the direction she wanted the spell to go. It knocked into the wall, causing the tapestry hanging there to flutter for a moment. There was a gasp of amazement from all four students, and Avonell smiled.
"Ok, here's how its done," she began with a small sigh.
With explanations made, Professor Avonell paired the four up, Ron and Hermione, and Harry and Neville and set them to the task of trying the deflection on their own. Using only simple harmless spells, she watched as they took turns, issuing counter charms when a spell or jinx would go astray. All four quickly mastered the basics of deflection, but as she feared, spells were shooting off in all directions, with little accuracy, and she was running herself ragged trying to head off the worst of them. Harry cast jelly legs jinx at Neville who deflected it and sent it heading for the door, just as it began to opened.
"NO!" shouted Avonell, her voice sounding panic-stricken as she lunged in the direction of the door trying to dispel the errant curse. In her mind she had seen again that dreadful image, just as it had happened that hot July's evening over twenty years ago. It had been a hastily deflected curse that had taken the life of her husband, and although she knew this curse was nowhere near what that one had been, the reaction had been instinctive, born out of fatigue and distraction.
At almost the same instant as her shout, the figure in the doorway dispelled the curse into a shower of golden sparks. All eyes turned. Standing in the open door, his hand still on the knob stood Professor Snape, his usual scowling sneer on his face. Avonell sank to the floor her face in her hands, gasping for breath, just as Hermione let out a small scream.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione yelped turning to find him on all fours. She rushed to his side, the others following after her.
For an instant, Snape looked between Potter and Avonell, before stepping into the room and letting the door close with a snap behind him. Harry looked up at the sound, his color pale, beads of sweet glistening on his face. His eyes met the Potions Master's black eyes for a brief moment, before Snape turned away and moved to Avonell's side. Harry starred blankly, Snape's eyes should have been cold and unfeeling, or at least there should have been some disgust or even hatred, but it had been almost a pitying look that had graced his features. He watched as Snape stooped and raised Avonell back to her feet.
"That will be all for tonight," Snape ordered the students sharply, still supporting a dazed and ashen Professor Avonell. Harry scrambled to his feet, pushing Hermione off him as she tried to help him up.
"No, wait," Avonell started weakly, reaching out a hand toward Harry as he approached her.
"That will be all!" Repeated Snape deliberately, closing his hand around Avonell's wrist and forcing her hand back to her side. He glared at the students, daring them to not do as they had been told. Neville didn't need to be told again. He fled to the door and through it open, looking back at his friends, a pleading look urging them to follow. Ron and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. Hermione reached out to grab Harry, but he shrugged her off, still advancing toward Avonell and Snape.
"Harry, come on," pleaded Neville still holding the door open.
Harry seemed to come out of a trance, blinking and looking around.
"What?" he said shakily. He gaped dumbly, feeling heat rise in his face. Snape was still support Avonell, though she was regaining her composure rapidly, the color returning to her face as the expression of terror melted briefly into fear, to be replaced quickly with a look of resolute equanimity.
"Yes, the Professor is right, that will be all for this evening," Avonell said calmly, taking a step away from Snape. "We'll meet again in one week."
No sooner had the four students left, then she rounded on Snape.
"What the hell were you doing coming in like that!" she snapped her eyes flashing dangerously at him.
"Dumbledore asked me to come and give you some help," returned Snape sharply.
"You took your sweet time getting here!" she growled clinching her fists her entire body shaking.
"I was asked only three minutes ago," he shouted back at her. "Just what was that all about anyway?"
Avonell slumped where she stood, relaxing her hands and lifting them to her face, her trembling visible.
"He's breaking through," she moaned miserably.
"Breaking through, breaking through what?" Snape asked totally lost. Then slowly realization began to dawn in him. "That's how it happened, isn't it?"
Avonell nodded.
"Couldn't he have just been reacting to your panic?" asked Snape more gently.
"No," she shook her head again lower her hands, "just the opposite, I reacted to him. He saw the memory when the door opened, but he doesn't know how to control the . . . well it's hard to explain, but when a memory is as emotional as that one . . .well, it sort of broadcasts itself." She glanced towards the door, "He's breaking through the memory charm. I warned Albus this was going to happen."
