The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 11: No Relief without Pain
Posted: 8/1/04
Re-Post 8/4/04 (minor edits)
I watched from behind my desk as the seventh year N.E.W.T. class filed in. "At least they aren't first years," became my mantra. And, indeed, that was an improvement. The first years had yet to learn the art of hiding expressions. Such it was that earlier in the day I could read the ranges from sheer terror to spell-bound awe.
The disturbing aspect, though, was not in the looks, but in that some could easily and quickly switch between the two extremes without any acknowledgement. A deranged smile came over my face as I remembered the terror of a Hufflepuff that had turned to awe at the sight of my Patronus. (Odd, that I should take pleasure in misleading these children.) The look had not lasted long, though, as the boy made eye contact, gulped, and returned to his previous state. Hopefully, the older students would be a bit less to the extremes, or at least, be less readable.
Indeed, this seemed to be so as I surveyed them entering. But then I was forced to remind myself that this was the last class for the students of what had been a very long and trying first day. They would face any teacher at this time with those looks of utter blankness. Though, as I paid closer attention to them, the faces of wakeful sleep vanished as they remembered just whose classroom they had now entered and just who was staring at them with a rather sadistic smile. Damn it all, apparently my judged thoughts had passed through my mind too soon; the smile passed.
I looked over the four houses that had segregated themselves into the four corners of my classroom; Hufflepuff and Gryffindor (the lighter) in front, Ravenclaw and Slytherin (the darker) behind. House pride persisted even in these small numbers, as it always would no matter what segregation the Sorting Hat warned against. Sure, the students were separated by their characteristics and strengths, but through this they could not learn the necessary traits outside one's own house. For most it would take some time after graduation to learn that there are no definite boundaries – some may never know. From a Ravenclaw girl I saw in the corner surrounded by Slytherins, she may have already discovered.
A standard introduction, nothing exciting, and I'm sure nothing that they hadn't heard in every class so far today. N.E.W.T.s, important exams, deciding future life; advanced magic, very dangerous. They were now considered adults by the Wizarding World, responsible for their own actions on the Ministry's and the school's terms. With the set up, I went towards a darker note, "Though this is Defense Against the Dark Arts, one cannot learn to defend without knowing exactly what to defend against."
At this, most Ravenclaws picked up that something was not quite right. With a nod towards the few students who had surfaced from their stupor, I continued: "Most people only teach the Dark Arts in theory, especially the Advanced Dark Arts; this is what the Ministry approves of. Yet, by that standard, the study of Defense is also diminished and the first time a curse would be seen would be when it mattered. Thus, the first time you must actually defend is when you cannot fail. This practice causes the traditional Defense seventh year N.E.W.T. class is purely theory. Counters and shields are studied, but not put into practice because there would be no one to cast the Curse.
"This class will not be taught traditionally, nor will it be pure theory. Though, I won't directly teach any Dark Arts, you will be learning proper defense techniques and put in situations to utilize them." All of the students had risen from any remaining sleep and stared blankly at me. A few looked as if they wanted to speak up, but quick glances towards their peers diminished any words that were forming.
With a slight smile, I proceeded, "In order to achieve this, an understanding of Dark Arts is necessary. An understanding that cannot be found in books, but one that you must come across by your own thought. An ethical understanding of the Dark Arts: The questionable differences between Dark and Light and the necessity of the balance between the two.
"To end any confusion now, I will not be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will be teaching merely Defense. . . . Defense against any Magic."
At this, my thoughts tried to pull me back into the past. A conversation I had with Remus in the summer before seventh year. The full moon had just passed, and Remus transformed without the assistance of Wolfsbane, Snape having been too busy with the Death Eaters to provide the potion. We sat at the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and his exhaustion had brought on a lethargic conversation: "It took me all my resolve to take that position when Dumbledore approached me, pulled me out of one of my deepest pit. . . . And I had to teach kids Defense Against the DARK ARTS. I had to teach kids how to defend themselves against the very creature that I am—"
I pushed out the memory and continued with the general lesson, in an attempt to explain that there is no explanation for Dark, Light, and the correlations between Evil and Good. Questions were met with minimum involvement, and their fear of an uncertain teacher left most speechless. From this, I was forced to realize that attention had been lost and I was merely speaking to a blank wall – time for the flashy magic.
Casting the Patronus, Prongs galloped around the classroom. Eyes opened to their full width, instead of the half-opened gazes of before; even seventh years were impressed. "The Patronus is above N.E.W.T. level and takes much more concentration than just a swish and words, so you will not be required to learn. But, later in the year, lessons will be offered for those want them." Heads came off hands, and full attention was regained as the stag weaved through the desks.
I allowed the feeling of security from my Patronus to flow, let the students be enveloped by it. "The Patronus is, in its nature, a Light Art used in the defense against Dementors. This is not inherent of its color, rather the energies behind it. To produce this, one must think of a happy memory, in the most general terms. More specifically, when I recite 'Expecto Patronum', the magic feeds of my own positive emotions generated by my happy thought to take on an actual form. The stronger the caster feels and the brighter the memory for source, the more corporeal the Patronus can become.
"Dementors thrive off strong emotions, pulling them out of a person's immediate consciousness and forcing them into a negative state of emotion. Since the Patronus is made of only a strong positive memory and holds no negative energies, a Dementor cannot drive it into submission and the Patronus can defend its castor."
As the stag came towards me, I ended the spell so that it dispersed when I went to touch the form. Scanning the faces of the students, I could see that they were like the first years. Though they had the ability to hide emotions from expressions, they could not close off their eyes nor could they hide the way they now sat with straight backs, no longer leaning on the desk for support. I knew how the simplified thoughts went: "He can't be a Dark Wizard if he casts the Patronus." How very wrong the assumption; at least most didn't think me to be evil.
Hopes dropped for me, but I would take this farther than I had with the other classes and attempt to make them understand that Light and Dark must exist in unison and one cannot exist without the other by using myself as an example. The Dark/Evil correlation I would leave for a later lesson.
"Does anyone know the counter for the Patronus?"
A few shaken heads, bodies slumped back down into the standard uninterested note-taking position. In the back of the room, a single hand wavered from Andromache Vance, the Ravenclaw surrounded by Slytherins.
"Sir, I read that there is no counter."
Her knowledge told me all might not be lost, but I still cringed inwardly. "True, there is no counter that will negate the effects of a corporeal Patronus, like most spells. Yet for every positive there is always a negative. All spells have an opposite in some way. The Light cannot exist without the Dark. In the case of the Patronus, which is a pure Light, the counter is the exact opposite, made of pure Dark."
I raised my wand I brought to mind Sirius and the nights I spent staring at the broken pieces of his mirror, "Sunortap Otcepxe!" A large black dog emerged from my wand. I pushed off the effects on myself while allowing them to permeate the classroom like I had with the Patronus. A shudder ran through, and attention followed the dog as it took the same journey through the desks. The silence was only enhanced by the students who muttered as it passed: "Grim," "Dark Art," "Forbidden."
"The Sunortap is considered irreversible Dark, as Dark as the Patronus is Light. The exact opposite, it is created by a negative emotion – a sad memory.
"Now, there should be a fairly obvious question."
A Gryffindor in front, Thomas Carroll: "How can you produce both?"
"Precisely. These spells are extremely opposite, yet both can be understood by the same principles. Many wizards cannot grasp this because they have restricted themselves to hold only views of white and black. But, the world is not white and black and there is no line between Light and Dark. The world is gray. The shades vary, yes, but it is all of the same substance.
"The same magic is used in the Light and Dark Arts. The same magic is used to defend as is used to attack. And a defense will only be weakened when an attack is not understood."
The Sunortap had finished circling the room, and came towards me. Without blocking the emotions, I held out my hand, and as it touched the black fur, I let it reach inside me.
Padfoot's spectral image filled me with intense insecurity and uncertainty, the deep sadness that I had not felt since I left the Wizarding world. As I fell into the emotional pain, my scar burned. The same burn I felt when the Death Eaters had been called to meeting, sharp and piercing. Padfoot disappeared as I lost concentration for the spell. Suppressing a gasp, I kept composure enough to assign an essay and dismiss the class.
They quickly packed away and were out the door. Perhaps I hadn't kept composure quite enough. The last student left, Andromache, who looked worriedly over her shoulder towards me as the door closed and I dropped behind my desk.
My hand reached up to push away the hair and massage the ever-present scar. It felt raw, burned black. Eyes, closed against the pain, gave form to the Darkness surrounding; I pushed it back, bringing it once again under my control. The pain subsided, yet I refused still to open my eyes and face the empty classroom. Instead I sat without moving, overwhelmed by my own uncertainties that persisted even though the spectral dog had vanished.
A small creak in the empty classroom brought me back to reality. Snape, arms crossed, stood in the open doorway. He held quite impressive intimidation, now if only I knew what I had done to offend him. He raised his wand, scaring me for a moment, until he pointed it towards the door, forcing it closed. Without words, he came to the desk and rolled up his left sleeve. There, in all its glory, the Dark Mark had again been blackened into his flesh.
"What have you done?" His question was more of a command and attempted to reduce me to one of his ignorant student.
I raised an eyebrow, causing him to sneer. "Do not attempt childish games. It was nearly faded, but since you have returned it has burned twice—before the Welcoming Feast and just now. What have you done?" The question came again, more demanding.
Through all his masks, I could again see his fear. A fear he did all to well to conceal from the Wizarding World. Yet, I knew it was there and I sensed the slight twinge of urgency in his tones. He had trained me for this. With learning Occlumency came just as much knowledge of the counter, Legilimency.
I lifted my hair enough for him to see my scar. By his reaction, it was also the dark shade. "Nothing that I can't control." I tried to remain cool.
"Every remaining Death Eater will have felt this burn, and you believe that you can control this?"
I looked away from him, to prevent any criticism from cutting too deep, "Well, you see, I kind of have to, so I hope I can."
Scoff, "You and hope, Professor, do not go too far." He placed three vials on my desk before he turned to leave.
"Thank you for that reminder, Professor Snape, I nearly forgot," I said to myself as he closed the door.
Curiously, I turned over the potion vials. Two of Dreamless Sleep, a note attached telling me what was already known: To be taken no more than twice monthly. The third was a painkiller.
I contemplated the Sunortap. As Snape had taught me the spell, the understanding of the opposite had created a firmer distinction in the original. Just as one must have hate for love and experience sadness to feel joy.
Letting the thoughts dissipate, I concentrated on the scar's burn and it increased. The Darkness within me was again re-contained, but it pressed out all the harder now. The sting began to split across my forehead. Holding tightly onto the last vial, I let the pain spread until I was to the point of screaming, clenching all my muscles while still yielding to the sensation. I let out a gasp as I brought the vial to my lips, then downed the potion in a single swallow. Relief spread through my muscles, yet it refused to relieve my mind.
A/N: I could give a thousand excuses for the delay, but you wouldn't really care to hear them. In reality, I went to Rome and didn't want to come back. I also graduated high school and have been concentrating on college (Penn State specifically – less than one month away). I've gotten into HP theorization more than fanfiction, but I hope to write a bit more often now (knock on wood). Please don't throw things at me.
Anyways, enough babbling.
Music: A bit of everything in my collection. In the last bit, Bob Dylan and 3 Doors Down.
Many Thanks and views from a lighthouse for the reviewers since last: kraeg001 (sorry "soon" wasn't sooner), Lady Lightning, Delphine Pryde, Aredhel Tasartir, crazy-lil-nae-nae, john, Baroness Jumping Rain; Sidda, Jen, Kelei, & Kristine Thorne
And, lastly, if you're curious as to what I'm up to between updates, I have a deadjournal with username whitemudloser.