Chapter 20: White Ivory
"Words build bridges into unexplored regions." - Adolph Hitler
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The restricted section was devoid of any lurking librarians as well, but the silence seemed far more oppressive in here than around the public books. There was no window in this area - Harry guessed that most who entered would light their wands of bring a lantern, so he cast Lumos and held his wand up to see.
There was a lot of dust, was the first thing he noticed; in contrast to the spick-and-span shelves outside, motionless clouds of thick, grey dark swathed books that looked like they hadn't been touched for decades. Some books still had marks in thin layers of dust that showed where coats of accumulated dirt had built up, but been swept away as books were taken to be studied - but even the most recently-moved looked as though it hadn't been touched for several years.
Harry recognised some of the books he had seen on his last sojourn into this part of the library; several more were chained up, and one or two even looked as though they were in a deep sleep, their covers swelling in and out and emitting a rusting snore. Harry crept past these few as quickly and quietly as he could, wondering what type of book he should take.
Picking a random shelf, Harry squinted at the musty tomes it contained, and his widened. No wonder these were in the restricted section! 'Blood Magics and Control', 'Moste Terrible Magick of thee Soul and Spirite' - he was surprised these were in a school at all.
The books didn't seem to be in any order at all - not by author, or subject, Dewey Decimal System or the dates they were written on. In fact, as Harry discovered by scanning shelves nearby, they seemed to be a hodgepodge mess of books, crammed in together with no respect for any kind of organisation. Not that Harry particularly cared - it would make taking some of the books that much easier.
Now the big question was how to take advantage of this situation. He had no idea how long it would be before someone happened to enter the library, and he didn't really have time to ponder what books to take.
Closing his eyes, Harry took a deep breath, spun around until he felt mildly dizzy, and then grabbed books at random off the shelves around him. After he had piled the five or six up in his arms, he took another quick look around. There were no particularly obvious gaps (but he moved some books across to fill the spaces just in case), and - with a few seconds of fervently whispered Techno-Magic spells - Harry shrunk the books until they made a large bulge in his robes pocket and made good his escape into the still empty library.
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"Where were you?" Hermione asked impatiently as Harry slipped into the Great Hall for lunch some minutes later.
"Just dropping off some books in my dormitory," Harry replied nonchalantly, reaching for the Pumpkin Juice. "Meet me in the boy's dorm when we've finished Divination," he muttered to Hermione and Ron, "I've got some things to show you."
Ron looked at him eagerly, while Hermione appeared simply curious. They took the quietness of his voice to be important though, and didn't query him. Instead, they changed the subject and continued onto a safer, less secretive subject.
Divination involved two hours of lecanomancy, so the students were glad to get out of the boring task when the bell finally rang. All except Hermione, of course, who was happily explaining that she was sure she'd seen something on the surface of the basin of water she had been gazing into.
"That's called your reflection, 'Mione," Ron muttered just too low for her to hear. Hermione carried on.
"Professor Carnaena's a much better teacher than Trelawney though, really. I mean, I don't mean any disrespect to her," ('Want to bet?' Harry thought) "but I really think I'm learning things now. Without all the theatrics and exaggerations, it's much easier to take the whole idea of divination seriously."
Ron shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose so. It's a lot harder now we can't just make up a load of rubbish for some dream diary. It's a pity to actually have a teacher who can figure out when you're spewing a load of crap."
"Ron!" Hermione shrieked. "If you're going to swear, can you at least not do it in the corridor when a teacher could pass at any second?"
Ron's ears turned a brilliant crimson. "Sorry, Hermione," he muttered like a scolded child.
"Now," sniffed the girl, having admonished her victim. "What do you want to show us, Harry?"
"It's the books I got from the library. I'll show them to you in a minute," Harry promised. "Truth be told, I haven't looked at them myself, I was so caught up with not being late for lunch. I don't really know what they're about."
Ron frowned. "How can you not know what books you took?"
Harry sighed as they came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. "Flibble-sticks," he told her, causing the door to swing open. "That's part of what I want to tell you."
As soon as they had made it up to the dormitory and made excuses to get Dean out of the room, Harry pulled the books out from under his bed. There was still some dust ingrained into them, and a small cloud whooshed into the air as they were brought out.
"No-one was in the library when I went in, so I broke into the Restricted Section and got these," Harry admitted, a grin breaking out on his face as he saw Hermione's shocked and Ron's impressed expressions. "I just grabbed some, so I don't know what they are - but I think now's a good a time as any to find out."
Hermione frowned as she darted over and swept up the books to stare upon them. "'The Codex of Important Black Magic'? Harry, doesn't Black Magic contain Dark and Forbidden Magic?"
Harry shrugged sheepishly. "Well... yeah; but it wasn't as if I even looked at what books I was taking!" ('Though I may have attempted to steer myself to grabbing that particular book,' he smirked deep inside).
Ron looked, wide-eyed at the other titles. "You didn't do too well with the other choices, mate! 'Moste Terrible Magick of thee Soul and Spirite', 'Instruction in the Arcane Art of the Shadowmancer', 'Those Beings Best Left Forgotten', 'Blood Magics and Control', 'Black Magic for Wizards' and 'Rituals Encompassing the Use of Deliberate Death as a Means for Magical Effects to Occur' - bloody Hell, that's a mouthful!"
Hermione let out the gasp she'd been holding. "Harry! Why are all the books you've stolen, about - about Dark Magic, and Blood Magic, and Soul Magic and sacrifices - and... and - HARRY!"
The boy in question winced. "Well, what were the chances that I'd grab a book about fluffy bunny rabbits?"
"Ron, stop laughing!" Hermione fumed, "I can see you sniggering out the corner of my eye. Harry, I hope you just took these to show how good you are at sneaking around - because if you even think of reading these, I'll - well, I'll tell Dumbledore."
Harry and Ron's mouths dropped open. "You wouldn't!" Ron protested loudly.
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh, yes I would." she said dangerously. "And until I can figure out a way to slip these books back into the Restricted Section, I'll be looking after them. Take a good look at them, gentlemen, because you won't be seeing these again." She gathered the books into her arms and made to sweep out of the room.
Harry leapt to his feet in fury. "Hermione," he hissed, eye flashing menacingly and hands balled into fists, "if you even think of taking those books away, or telling Dumbledore - or anyone - I'll make sure you never use the rod again. I didn't have to show you those books, but I did. I wasn't even planning on reading them, now that I've seen what they're about, but you've just given me a damn good reason to want to read every. Single. Word."
Hermione was staring at him in shock.
"Now," Harry growled pleasantly. "Give me the books."
Ron looked from one to the other worriedly as the stand-off continued in silence before, finally, Hermione's shoulders slumped, and she shoved the books into Harry's waiting arms. "Take them," she muttered, eyes cast down, before turning and fleeing.
The boys let out their breath in a pair of deep, thankful sighs, and even Ajax - perched on the window-ledge - looked mildly relieved.
"I can't believe she threatened to tell Dumbledore!" Ron said in wonderment. "Do you think she was bluffing?"
Harry shrugged, thinking it over. "I think she meant it at the time. I don't know if she'd have gone through with it, though."
"Are you really going to read those?" Ron frowned, changing the subject. "Or were you just saying that to get on Hermione's nerves?"
Harry's face hardened. "I'm going to read them," he swore. "I wasn't going to, but now she's done that, I'm going to read them just to get my own back. I know it's petty and spiteful and everything, but I don't care."
Ron sighed again. "Just don't get caught, mate. I don't want to see another article accusing you of being the next Dark Lord, just because you got caught flicking through a copy of a Black Magic book."
Harry smirked. "That's why I won't be caught. Do you mind if I use the rod?"
"Don't we need it for revision?"
Harry snorted. "It can fit about thirty-six-thousand, seven-hundred pages in it. I'm sure all these books together must be less than ten thousand, even if a few are pretty thick. There'll be plenty of room left for school stuff."
Ron looked reassured. "Okay then. But you're scanning them in."
"You do half, and I'll pay you." Harry argued.
"How much?"
Harry paused. "Ten Galleons."
"You're joking," Ron scoffed, eyeing the thick books. "Twenty Galleons and a dozen Chocolate Frog cards."
"Done," Harry promised. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Ron groaned. "Fine, but you'd better make sure I get my pay soon," he grumbled, sliding next to Harry and bringing the rod out of his pocket. "Right then... 'Black Magic for Wizards' it is, then."
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Three hours later, Ron had finished wearily scanning in the eight-hundred and six pages of the first book, while Harry had strolled out to Hogsmeade to buy a dozen Chocolate Frogs. When he returned, he tossed them at Ron.
"There's the first payment," he informed him, smiling. "You even get the frogs themselves as a bonus."
"I need the energy," Ron grumbled, "My arms bloody well feel like I've been lifting weights for half an hour."
"Three hours," Harry corrected, tossing himself down on the bed. "You should work out, like me. Then you'd have the stamina to do all the scanning without whining about it."
Ron glared at him witheringly, and pushed the rod and book towards him. "Yeah, maybe I could get the girls giggling over me like you, too."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Giggling? Ron, are you feeling all right?"
"Don't tell me you hadn't even noticed!" Ron gasped incredulously.
Shoving the book back under the bed with the others, Harry gave him a baffled look. "Noticed what?"
"The girls! Lavender, Parvati, some of the older Gryffindors - a good few of the Ravenclaws too - and a couple of Hufflepuffs. They've been fluttering their eyelashes at you for a while now!" He gave the other boy a rather dubious, sideways glance. "You can't say you really never saw anything."
Harry contemplated this for a second. "Well," he admitted, "I did see Lavender and Parvati looking and me and laughing on Saturday in the Great Hall. I haven't seen anyone else, though."
Ron groaned and thumped his head into the duvet. "Mate, are you certain it wasn't some other Harry Potter that got the top marks in Basic Auror Training?"
The scarred boy glared at him. "Lessons in teamwork and giving Dark Wizards and Beasts a good thrashing don't really include watching out for tittering girls. What's your point?"
"Harry," Ron bemoaned, "you can be a real idiot when it gets down to it. You've been having those late-night training sessions with Whoever-It-Is, you're eating too damn well for my liking, you've shot up about three more inches this year, you're playing Quidditch, you finally got rid of the glasses - not to mention your hairs natural style finally looks as if it were professionally cut. You," he concluded, "are making all those poor, hormonal girls hot under the collar."
Harry felt a slow, steady blush creeping up his neck. He felt distinctly hot under the collar himself. "You're mad," he grunted. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Go look in a mirror, mate." the slightly older boy yawned, "but I'm going to have some supper. I'm starving."
With that, Ron dragged himself up and out of the door, leaving Harry quite confused.
Insisting to himself that Ron was being quite daft, he strode into the bathroom down the corridor and studied his reflection. The mirror he was regarding himself in wasn't full-length, but it showed down to his stomach, and that was enough, he was sure.
It was true, his hair did look reasonably 'cool' in that messed-up, unstyled way, with the long fringe in front covering the top half of his scar. His green eyes were more striking thanks to the absence of his glasses, and there was no puppy fat (not that there had ever been, of course) on his face. Instead, his features were lean; sharp but elegant in all the right places, thanks to his eating habits.
His body was good too; his robes were on of course, so he couldn't consider it in any great detail (not that he'd want to anyway) but the combination of food, exercise, Quidditch and late-night training - with a little help from Basic Auror Training - had resulted in a powerful pair of arms; not bulging with muscles, but well-toned - and his torso was considerably more well-developed than when he had last checked some months ago.
He felt his chin, grimacing. He may have been of average height now, slim and athletic - but there was still no hint of the stubble that should have come a good time ago. Added up to the only-recent growth spurt and the obvious conclusion was that he was a late developer.
Still, he supposed gloomily, it could be worse: even if Ron and the other Gryffindor boys were using their shaving-charms every day and thinking nothing of it (which he knew they were), at least he was more than equal to them in the looks department. Harry allowed himself a wide smile.
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The next day was the History exam, so after Ron disappeared off to the exam - they assumed Hermione had also gone, but there had been no contact with her since the previous day - Harry contented himself with scanning 'The Codex of Important Black Magic' and 'Blood Magics and Control' into the rod.
He uploaded all the three books within it onto the laptop's database of Learning, noting that there was more information on many of the subjects of the Restricted books on the Learning section. Shadowmancy and Blood Magic (whatever those were), Forbidden magic, and Soul magic, which Harry guessed was the subject of the book 'Moste Terrible Magick of thee Soul and Spirite'.
As he activated the rod, Harry took a great pleasure in this act - it was almost as satisfying as throwing the books in Hermione's face and screaming 'Guess what I just read!'.
The books on Black Magic both had introductions at the beginning; what Dark and Forbidden magic was, theories about it, mysteries surrounding them, famous and infamous examples; after that, both books also moved on to the actual spells, curses, summonings, potions and rituals.
In less than a minute, Harry was done with these two, and the book on Blood Magic came into his mind.
There was a much longer introduction to his - in fact, the whole book ran more-or-less like a study of it, rather than a spell-book. There were only thirty-seven spells to do with Blood Magic in the book, rather than the hundreds that were in the Dark books.
As the words of the extended opening poured into his head, Harry finally found out what Blood Magic really was. Blood magic was the use of - quite simply, as the name implied - blood in magic. However, instead of the blood acting as a minor ingredient, it was the whole focus of the spell or ritual, and it was a rare spell that used animal blood rather than human.
Blood magic could be used in many dozens of ways; to bind people together by sharing of blood, tracking spells, magical contracts that the person was forced to keep, the control of blood as it ran through the body - which meant you could clot it quickly to prevent bleeding, or boil it to kill the host; to call forth beasts from the blood and beasts that were blood... there were in fact, more than dozens of uses - there were myriads, and Harry was simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by it.
No wonder it was in the restricted section, even if there were few actual spells in the book; control over blood? That offered great power over life and death. An easy way to slaughter someone would be to stop their blood from pumping around their body until they suffocated to death - and who would ever realise what you had done?
Harry gave a small shudder, though he confessed to himself that he would learn more about it, even if it were only to defend himself against. He couldn't shake the guilty, niggling feeling, however, that he was quite ready and willing to use it - and that he might even want to.
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After Ron had come back from the exam, quite exhausted, Harry tossed him an Oxtamed to banish his fatigued persona. "Come on," he announced, "we're going down to Hogsmeade."
Ron glanced at the unsteady pile of textbooks they had previously been planning to study, and Harry waved the idea aside. "No! We've done enough revision to pass every subject ten times over. We've got the Charms exam tomorrow, so let's make the most of the time we have left."
Ron gave in to Harry's decision, and the pair wandered down to the village; chatting excitedly in the Quality Quidditch Supplies Store, bemoaning the latest troubles of the Chudley Cannons and celebrating the arrival of Ron's Animagus license, which had arrived that morning.
By the time they arrived back at the castle, their pockets laden with Dungbombs and ink supplies, it was nearly dark, and they had just ten minutes until curfew. They raced the rest of the way, hurtling into Gryffindor Tower just as the clock in the common room chimed nine-pm, and crept up to the boy's dorm.
As they tiptoed up the stairs, Ron nudged his companion and whispered softly, "Do you remember that being here before?"
Harry glanced to where Ron was looking and frowned. "No," he said quietly. "Hold on, let's have a closer look."
They abandoned their climbing of the spiral staircase for a second, and huddled together over the object. It was placed in an alcove in the wall, where candles were usually placed to light the way to bed.
It was in the shape of a silver arrow, slightly thicker at its start than it was at the part that joined with the sharp tip; at its start, it had a small, circular hole running straight through from one side to the other. Harry looked at it interestedly. "It's a pendant, but it's missing a chain," he said in a low voice. "I dunno who dropped it here."
Ron snorted as quietly as he could manage. "Well I didn't think you would know. You have been at Hogsmeade after all."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Should we leave it here?"
Ron thought for a second. "Nah, someone might knock it down the stairs in the morning. Take it, and we'll give it to McGonagall tomorrow."
"Right," Harry agreed, carelessly shoving the silver item into a pocket.
They made their way to bed, and changed as quickly as they could, not giving the jewellery a second thought.
They didn't give it any thought in the morning either; they completely forgot about it, instead, and it remained lurking in the dormitory.
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But why did Harry forget it? It wasn't simply that it slipped his mind; something else happened that night that Harry wasn't particularly happy about. For the first time in nearly a year - when he thought he'd finally got rid of them - a dream came. Not a nightmare, but one of those which he hated most; Voldemort.
Even if he knew the serpentine man was nothing more than some upstart, he was still a murderer and psychotic; and an ally of Leone's, it seemed.
Harry stood in the bare, dank chamber, nearly leaning against the cold stone wall. The only furniture was a magnificent throne, carved out of what Harry recognised as yew - the same wood as Voldemort's wand. It was obviously made to impress his minions rather than for his own comfort; onto it were carved patterns that depicted people writhing and screaming in flames - and even more disgusting, Harry could see that the little images moved in life-like agony.
The snake-like visage peered out over a hunched up body, the long, ice-white fingers clutching the arms of the chair with elegant ease.
"Less than two weeks until the plan comes to an end," he hissed, forked tongue slithering over where his bottom lip should have been. Voldemort, of course.
Harry glanced around, wary of who he was talking to, and saw a figure standing on the floor in front of the Dark Lord. Leone, he realised with a jolt; she wasn't wearing robes, nor a mask, so she probably didn't have the Dark Mark: and from the way she stared proudly and fiercely towards him, it appeared she was not his servant.
"I'm fully aware of that little fact," she declared snappishly, "and that's the allotted time. I've planned it out, as I'll remind you. I'm offering you my very powerful assistance, and if you don't like my deal, then you can go ahead and try on your own. After all," she sneered, "I know how successful you've been in getting rid of Potter these last few years."
One corner of Voldemort's mouth slithered upwards. "No need for sarcasm, child. I'll use your assistance as much as I can while I have it, and I'll give you all mine as well. May I remind you that you've hardly been the best at destroying our little friend either?"
Leone's fingers clenched by her sides. "What you say is quite true, I'll admit. But this plan won't fail - and it was I who came up with it. This wouldn't even be possible without me -"
"Without the item and pet that you have," Voldemort amended smirking, holding up one finger in correction.
Leone pursed her lips. "Again, true. But then, it's your items and your little pets that give you power. Would you really be so impressive to the Wizarding world if it were just you?"
His eyes narrowed. "Enough of this banter," he bit out, "Is everything in place?"
"Everything's finalised," Leone informed him. "The bait will be set out on the day, and until then, there's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to plan. And as soon as your part of the deal's fulfilled, you'll get the daemon. I won't need it anymore, anyway."
Harry gave a jolt of horror. Voldemort? In charge of a daemon? At least Leone only seemed to have eyes for him, but the Dark Lord would be happy to set it loose on anyone without magical blood at any time. He crept forwards, though he knew they couldn't see him, to see their expressions in more detail.
Voldemort rose off his throne, silently and gracefully. "I will be checking on my 'pets' as you call them," he expressed, stepping down the two steps that led to the magnificent seat. "I'm sure you understand how important it is to have up-to-date information at an important time like this."
Leone glowered after him as he exited the chamber through a towering, black door. As soon as he was gone from sight though, her lips quirked up into a sneering smirk. "Gullible idiot," she purred gladly.
Harry woke up with a sharp shove.
"Charms exam today, mate," yawned Ron, bags under his eyes. "You'd better come down to breakfast, we've got to be in the classroom in an hour."
Harry blinked at this sudden return of everyday life, then shook his head clear. "I've got to speak to Dumbledore," he gasped out, throwing the covers off him and grabbing some clean robes.
"Why?" Ron cried in annoyance. "I think breakfast is a little more imp-"
"I'll have breakfast later, Ron," Harry snapped. "I just had -" he looked about to check Dean, Seamus and Neville weren't there; all three had gone down to breakfast, it appeared. "I had a dream," he finished lowly, "about Voldemort."
Ron flinched at the name, turning pale. "Did he - did 'e kill anyone?"
"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "but he's got some kind of a plan, and I need to tell Dumbledore."
The other boy nodded weakly. "See you in half an hour, then."
"Right," said Harry grimly, pulling on his shoes.
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It took just five hurried minutes to make it to the headmaster's office, and ten more to explain the dream. Dumbledore took it in his stride, asking questions only when Harry ended. When they had gone over it again from every angle, the old man leaned back thoughtfully.
"Less than two weeks from last night. Interesting. It sounds Harry, as though you are to be the target - hardly surprising, but still useful information."
"Sir, the item they were talking about - could it be the Myrrh Cage?"
Dumbledore looked unnerved by the desperation in Harry's voice. "I suppose it could be, though there's really too little information to be certain."
Harry urgently butted in again. "What if I'm not the only target, just the main one? What if - I don't know, there's an attack on the whole school, or something? What if the Death Eater's and the daemon are going to attack?"
The headmaster smiled kindly. "Harry, I believe I'm sensing a certain lack of faith in you. Although the Aurors and Unspeakables may have gone, they're still on high alert and we have a direct alarm to them. It only needs to be set off, and we'll have a dozen squads at our disposal.
"There are the wards to alert us, some very highly trained teachers, a good few of our spies with the enemy - and they can hardly come through the Forbidden Forest, so that's one less place to defend. The Merpeople are happy to help us in return for living here, and even the giant squid acts quite like a very slimy guard dog.
"And of course," he mused, looking deeply at Harry and nudging up the glasses that were falling down the bridge of his nose, "I'm sure that if the worst came to the worst, more than a few of the older students would be willing to help out. The enchanted castle defences themselves would hold off any number of attackers for several hours.
"No, Harry; I'm sure it will be a quiet attack like the last time. Someone will infiltrate the school, or lure you out. Voldemort is still too weak to launch a full attack; that is the main reason he's lying low. If he were planning such a huge assault, I can assure you my spies would have heard long ago."
Harry was relieved by these words of common sense. "Okay then."
"However," Dumbledore alerted him, "Just because the school is safe, does not mean that you are. I would prefer it if you remained in and near the castle for the rest of the month, at least. It should only be Care of Magical Creatures that you need to go particularly far for, and I'm sure that will be all right."
Harry's jaw dropped in astonishment. "Stay in the school? What about Hogsmeade? Or just going for walks?"
A piercing gaze met his. "Please, Harry. I understand that this attack is set for two weeks or less, but you must be kept safe. I hate to say this, but your destiny is to fight more than just Voldemort, and if you are eliminated before then..." He trailed off.
The boy's shoulders slumped. "All right," he growled, "but I'm... I'm... damn!"
A small smile broke out on Dumbledore's face, banishing the serious, solemn look in his eyes. "A marvellous point, Harry. Please, be on your guard. I'll need to follow this information up."
Harry nodded, and by the time he had made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, he was feeling much calmer about the situation.
He explained the problems to Ron: Hermione was sitting over at the far end of the Gryffindor table, ignoring them. It seemed she still hadn't forgiven them for the Dark magic books.
Ron wasn't entirely happy with the whole problem. "Well, at least it means more revision time inside," he said gloomily. Harry looked at him suspiciously.
"You've been hanging around Hermione too much," he grumbled. "Since when do you care about revision?"
"Since our OWLs started," the boy replied bleakly, shoving his sausages from one side of the plate to the other. "I dunno. I know I'm gonna pass 'em, especially thanks to the rod, but I still have that nasty feeling inside - you know, the pessimistic part that says you're going to fail whatever you do?"
"I don't have one of those," said Harry, quirking an eyebrow. "Are you sure that isn't indigestion?"
"Very bloody funny," Ron muttered.
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The Charms exam was fast and easy; levitate a desk, banish a chair, summon a book, create a light, write a few essays, answer a few questions - it went on in the same style for two and a half hours, practical and theoretical.
There were three people being examined at a time; Harry was again in the middle of Parvati Patil and Dean Thomas. Though Parvati and Dean stumbled over the occasional spell, Harry simply remembered the wrist movements and incantations that were in the books he had 'read', and knew the only way he could lose marks were if he worded a question slightly imperfectly, or if his actual wand-movements slipped up on the way from his brain to his wrist.
Every spell he cast was perfect (except that his banishing charm was a little too strong and ended up hurtling into the legs of the examiner, who was quite all right with it, and seemed very impressed), and he left the classroom feeling fairly pleased with his accomplishments.
The rest of the day was spent with just Ron, in spiteful mimicking of Hermione's disregard. They scanned several books into the rod; 'Those Beings Best Left Forgotten', about various Dark and Light sentient and semi-sentient races, as well as various unthinking beasts that were terrible enough that they had been hunted to extinction long ago; 'Moste Terrible Magick of thee Soul and Spirite' which was about Soul Magic, gaining control over a person's very spirit (and Familiar if they had one), and one of the books he had brought back from Atlantis - 'Magical Duelling for Experts (Volume III)'.
Ron refused to read any of them (he would probably have read the Atlantean book, but Harry kept that hidden in case of any questions about its origin or contents), insisting that he didn't want to get into any worse trouble with Hermione or any teachers who found out.
Harry himself mostly left the Soul Magic knowledge untouched in the back of his mind, feeling quite uncomfortable with it himself - it was more powerful than Blood Magic, allowing a person to trap or tear another's soul asunder; to summon the ghosts of the dead even, though that required over a decade of preparation.
There was certainly no sign yet of any surprise attacks, and Harry was quite sure Dumbledore was exaggerating the danger. After all, the man had listed all the school defences, and then taken even more precautions! Harry wasn't a child anymore; he'd seen his second corpse this year, and Trelawney's had certainly been a lot worse than Cedric's, even if he hadn't seen her die.
All the same, Harry remained indoors, pretending Hermione was invisible and only venturing particularly far off by himself to inform Levina of the dream's information.
She had been much less wary than Dumbledore, but even more interested. "Less than a fortnight?" she asked, her words almost identical to the headmaster's. "Could be useful. And this is the first dream you've had in a while?"
"In ages," Harry corrected. "The last time I had one was last school-year, before I went home for the Summer holidays." The woman looked even more interested at this.
But these usually came how often?"
Harry frowned. "About two or three times a year before; and they were always important events."
She looked thoughtful. "Now that is curious. I'll have to follow this up." She turned to her bookcase and immediately started searching through them, muttering to herself fervently. Harry caught the words 'cross-dimensional magic stream' and 'mana storm' and decided it would be best to sneak back out of her office before he was told to help.
Well, with investigation or without...
It would be coming in less than two weeks.
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While those at Hogwarts were making their plans, Commander Tom Fallow was undertaking his own. The Test was fast approaching, and it would prove whether Potter really was the Phoenix once and for all.
The Eclipse was coming, though he was not supposed to know it; if Voldemort defeated Potter, than the Phoenix would to be started anew. Commander Fallow wasn't entirely sure who he was hoping would win - the Phoenix he was giving all his cunning to protect, or the Dark Lord he was giving all his power to.
But what if both Potter and Voldemort died? Who was the winner there? Would Potter be the Phoenix - or just someone who got a lucky strike in before he was eliminated? Fallow mused over the question as he filled out some more papers, a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
And what if the Eclipse itself went wrong? What if it couldn't be ended once it had begun; what if it wasn't what they thought, and was instead the utter destruction of the light source? Did an eclipse always have to be temporary?
Fallow pushed some papers around his desk worriedly. The low-rankers in the Resistance; the Unspeakables, the spies, the 'red-shirts' and 'mooks' as they jokingly called themselves, all the expendables; they all seemed to think that the higher-ranking staff such as he and Lord Abyssay had all the answers.
It was far from true, he knew; a question to which the answer wasn't known could be answered with a curt 'That's classified', or a knowing smile, and the asker would go away confident that someone knew what they were doing, and that they wouldn't have to know any more than they did themselves. If someone went too far in trying to find out what was really 'known', they could be quietly disposed of - sent to St Mungoes as a madman, never to be believed; killed; a Dementor's Kiss; or simply missing, never to be seen again.
But that certainly couldn't happen to one such as he. He was far too important - at his last check, he was fourth from the very top; in fact, if you only counted those who actually went and did the fighting, rather than overseeing the plans and their execution, he was the very top.
Still, though... it was quite disappointing and a little worrying to know that there were still so many variables, so many unknown factors that could make or break this final, ultimate plan. They had the man-power; they had top-backing from Fudge and the high-ranking Ministry Officials (Magical and Muggle) who left them to their own devices - they had money - they had influence - they had power.
They just didn't have the time.
They had ambled along at a leisurely rate for a couple of centuries, fiddling around with exactly how the inheritance of magic worked, selecting and thoroughly vetting the most powerful Witches and Wizards they could to breed the most powerful Phoenix possible; but they had never really thought it could happen in their lifetimes.
In fact, it had only been over the last eight decades or so that the most recent three leaders had been quite adamant that they all get a move on, for they had been sure that the Eclipse - or the Test, as was the code-name for it - would be coming soon.
And now, here it was...
It would be coming in less than two weeks.
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The leader of the Resistance, Lord Abyssay, was also currently thinking. This was more based on logical tactics that would be used in the minor skirmishes with the few servants of the Dark that came every now and again, however, rather than foolish, irrational worries.
Another cigar was lit. Another tiny plume of smoke curling into the air.
Potter... now there was an interesting one. First he'd defeated Voldemort. Then he'd spent years belittled and neglected, acting as a personal House-Elf to those relatives of his - unknowing of his magical skills. He'd only used magic five time as a baby, twice as a toddler, and two times again as a child.
That was strange in itself, for they hadn't put the blocks on him back then; a magical baby usually released a small burst of magic at least once a week or so, from something as simple as summoning a favourite toy to making their cries echo about the whole street. A toddler had slightly more control; an occasional burst every two months was normal as the body and mind restrained their abilities, with the help of the parents punishments or lectures.
A child would only perform accidental magic whenever they were in a furious temper or extreme joy - or in some cases, terror or danger.
Yet Harry Potter - bred from the most powerful of magic-users available to them - simply didn't follow the rules. They had previously assumed, Abyssay recollected, that the Dursleys had merely given him some kind of a temporary psychological block; their hate of magic when he performed had led to them to shouting at him, locking him in his cupboard and generally not acting like very happy-bunnies; so Potter had simple learned at a very young age to control his tempers and magic for fear of something magical happening.
But what if it wasn't that? What if it was something more? There were, of course, fast developers: there were records of young Witches and Wizards, both magical- and Muggle-born, who had mastered the art of keeping their powers in check before they even reached the age of seven.
Then there were weak Wizards, of course, who simply weren't powerful enough to cause many (or at least noticeable) effects very often - but Potter certainly wasn't one of them, for what of his Patronus? Or his Annumagus abilities? And of course, Potter was an Enchanter; not particularly strong, for it was only as powerful as twice that of a normal Wizard, but it was still nowhere near weak.
Potter could have had a psychological block, of course, or just an innate talent for quickly learning that 'unnatural' happenings weren't wanted in the Dursley household. But Abyssay didn't think so. It seemed, the Resistance leader deliberated, almost as if the little boy had his powers already under near-perfect control.
And those times he did use magic were curiously strong and unusual ones. As said before, most spells were loudening or summoning charms - simple to use and for young babies to understand the meaning of; even their uncomplicated minds grasped the meaning of a sound becoming easier to hear, or something being brought to them. But Potter?
He had once, as a baby, Apparated from the bare crib in the Dursleys' lounge to the many toys in Dudley's room. How had he even known there were toys in his cousin's room? They could have been in a box; in his Aunt and Uncle's rooms; in a place he didn't even know of.
He had never been in his cousin's room. Was it just that he Apparated to a random location, which happened to be his cousin's room, and he happened to appear in the middle of a heap of soft playthings?
Maybe when Satan ice-skated to work.
Abyssay picked up a fountain pen (no quills - ink bottles looked so unprofessional, and having to dip the nib into the black stuff every minute was quite time-wasting) and elegantly scrawled another few sentences onto the end of a recent report.
Apparition? By a baby? It had previously been thought impossible; it was quite a pity they hadn't been able to release any information on Potter's accidental magic to the public, for this one would have interested magical-theorists and physicists for years.
He Apparated once more, when he was a child - in escape from a gang of bullies, or some such thing. Not as surprising, for instantaneous movement was much easier for a child to comprehend than for a baby - but all the same, the sheer power used for such an act; accidental, untrained, and without any splinching - was astounding.
There were a few smaller acts here and there; a banishing charm, a hair-growth charm; even a transfiguration at his play-school, which needed an Obliviator's attention to wipe the memories of a teacher and several children.
Transfigurations were almost impossible for accidental magic to perform.
The aristocrat adjusted the charcoal, custom-tailored suit and tapped the pen thoughtfully. Once the boy had got to Hogwarts, his power seemed almost to have diminished. He required assistance from his friends to get to the Philosopher's Stone, needed help in the Chamber of Secrets from the phoenix and the Sorting Hat; it was only be chance that he happened to be going across the school grounds when Sirius Black was there.
In his fourth year, Crouch had helped him get through the first and second tasks.
Only in the third task, the ensuing duel with Voldemort - and perhaps in his summoning of the Patronus in his third year - had there been any real power shown.
It was very interesting to note, however, that Severus Snape had been given the instructions for a potion that Potter had devised - a cure for lycanthropy - and it appeared to work. How could Potter, usually an average student, leap so far into his studies and become so proficient in Potions in a single year?
He had taken two OWLs early, and passed them at nearly full marks; developed what looked like a successful cure for lycanthropy; and achieved a full Animagus transformation a long while before any of the others in his class. Top marks in Basic Auror Training, as well.
Strange, and it certainly would require more research...
Now though, there were more pressing matters - things that might interfere with the Eclipse. The dragon that had appeared twice now was no closer to being found, and some background-checking on the latest Divination teacher had found that all references had been false - they were perfectly fine until you dug deep enough.
So that was another problem to be sorted out - she could be working for the Five, she could be a third party, or she could be a nobody that merely didn't want anyone to know her past, for some obscure reason.
Lord Abyssay transferred the papers to the out-tray without even looking. They'd done a good job of covering up the daemon's murders - numbering nearly seventeen in total now: it was imperative that the news of the daemon didn't become public, especially so close to the Eclipse. If people found out it was still on the loose and killing, then the Ministry would be forced by the public to increase security and hunt it down - but it was far too important. Without the daemon, the whole plan might fall apart.
Dumbledore was doing a good job; Potter wasn't suspicious, and it was unlikely he would become so in the time left remaining. Everything was going as planned, on schedule and without any nasty little surprises so far...
It would be coming in less than two weeks.
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The beast that cantered around several acres of Thetford Forest was no longer recognisable as the golden unicorn foal it had once been. Levina had cared for it when it was younger, and as it went through the change - knowing the agony it was going through, the torture caused by the bloody bones that ripped their way out from the inside.
It wasn't in any pain now; nearly a year and a half in age and already without a mother, it called plaintively for those that had once been its herd. Nothing answered.
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"Do you think she's ever going to speak to us?" Ron muttered at breakfast the next morning. Harry followed his gaze over to the other end of the table, where Hermione sat, chatting with Ginny and pretending the two boys didn't exist. "I mean, all right, it was pretty bossy with her - but I can't say I'm entirely happy about you reading those Dark Arts books myself."
Harry felt a spark of anger inside him. "Yeah, well." he said, not meaning anything in particular. "When she comes to apologise to me, then I'll forgive her."
"Okay," said Ron uncomfortably, shifting slightly in his seat. "But - well - what if she's the one in the right?"
Harry banged his cutlery down on the plate, getting a few stares until he glared at them. "I don't see anything wrong with reading a few books. It's not like I was planning to use any of the spells in them, so why shouldn't I?"
He was up and sweeping out of the room before Ron could reply.
He did feel more than a little guilty, he had to admit. Perhaps Hermione thought she was doing the right thing... still, he decided, there was no harm in what he had done. What harm ever came from reading a book? Well, except the ones that made you speak in rhyme and what-not; but there certainly weren't any of those in the dormitory.
Did Hermione even have the right to tell him what and what not to do? Of course not! The books themselves weren't dangerous, she should see that; and just because he read them, didn't mean he was going to run off and start using Dark magic left, right and centre.
Pulling a face, Harry wondered whether he should be the first to apologise. It wasn't really fair that Ron, who hadn't even wanted to see the books, had been forced to choose sides - even if he made Hermione choose sides he previous year, when he and Harry were arguing.
Harry checked the watch that the twins had given him. Nearly two hours until the Transfiguration exam, and he was certainly not in the mood for it. He was depressed, more than little angry, and he couldn't help feeling slightly hurt by Ron's uncertainty.
Harry shook his head and made his way up to the dormitory, to read a few of the rods he had brought back from Atlantis, and study some more Techno-Magic. The portraits lazily watched him pass by; in a secret passageway behind a worn old tapestry, Draco Malfoy watched him pass as well, a nasty gleam in his eyes.
Slipping out from the hidden corridor, he masked his expression again and slipped off in the opposite direction from Harry. In case anything went wrong, he had a stand-by plan to take care of.