I do not own Harry Potter. I only own my original characters, of which there are many and all of whom I am fond of, and the story.

Chapter 27: First Lesson

Harry was frankly exhausted that evening, supper weighing comfortably heavy in his stomach and rendering him sleepy and content. He yawned as he made his way up through the halls that led to Mitexi's apartments. He rather wished they had been a bit more accessible.

Finally he climbed the final staircase and arrived at the painting of the ballet dancer, who eyed him cheekily while waiting for the password. It was evidence of his tiredness that he stared at her blankly, trying unsuccessfully to summon the word to mind. Some sort of fruit? Or was it a vegetable?

"Take your time, cutie." The dancer told him, moving to her bar and starting some stretches. Harry watched her movements for a few moments, sufficiently distracted. Another couple of long moments later, he heard voices in the room, coming closer to the other side of the portrait.

"Suppose he got lost?" He heard Tainn saying. "I mean, judging by the odd places Sarven's turned up over the past couple days..."

There was a sharp yet unintelligible reply to this, and Tainn laughed in his wild way. "Settle, lad." Tainn commented. Another sharp reply greeted this. "Yes, yes, I know. You're not a lad anymore. Nineteen years make a man old, right?" Harry heard Tainn's voice fading as though he moved away from the portal.

He forced his sluggish mind into action. "Avacado!" The portrait remained closed, the dancer laughing quietly as she performed a pas de chat. "Er...guava?" He asked. She shook her head, leaping into a jete. "Can I get a hint?" She merely turned her back on him.

Harry sighed and sagged against one of the walls, closing his eyes. It was just on the tip of his tongue. He was just about to start yelling, hoping someone would hear him, when the painting swung open and Texi leaned out, spying him.

"It's Kumquat, remember?" Her amused voice sounded in his mind.

"Augh, I do now." He buried his face in his hands before climbing in after she withdrew. A sudden question struck him. "How do you get in, Texi?" He asked, "You said portraits can't hear you?"

"Yes, that's true." She said. "I use a code of sorts, Dumbledore told her to accept it."

Harry straightened, looking about the room with heavy eyes. The first thing he spied was Tainn, sprawled across a sofa across from the fireplace, as boneless as a puppy and with his arm flung over his eyes. He lifted it slightly to peer at Harry, then, with a wink, lowered it again.

The next thing he noticed was Sarven sitting by the window, in front of a canvas tilted to catch the waning light of the evening sky. He glanced at Harry, smiled, then turned back to his work, selecting a pale carmine from his pallet and making delicate strokes across the painting that Harry couldn't see.

Texi caught the direction of his attention, and nodded, although she seemed somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing. Her eyes became suddenly tired.

"Sarven paints?" Harry asked at last.

"Yes," She told him, "He does paintings to pay for his habit of buying every book he gets his hands on, scholars don't really make much unless they're published." She tilted her head towards the pile of books littering the long table along one of the walls. There was a small cleared space in the middle, cleared of books, that is. It was scattered with parchments filled with scribbled, ink spotted notes, and a battered looking quill.

"It also relaxes him," Texi said. "or so he claims."

"Who is he painting?" Harry inquired.

"His favorite subject." Texi told him repressively, her tiredness becoming more pronounced.

Harry was still curious, but from her manner this was another thing that she was reluctant to talk about. This seemed to be a common pattern concerning Sarven.

Texi changed the subject. "Shall we begin your lesson?"

"I guess so." Harry replied, wondering what her lessons would consist of.

She guided him to a quiet corner of their comfortably sized common room, seating him in one cushy armchair while plopping herself down with a sigh in the other. She looked at him, her pretty face set into lines of concentration.

"Did you find a receiver?" She asked suddenly.

"A receiver?" He asked in confusion.

"I'm sorry. I mean, did you find what I asked you to look for last night?" She clarified with a half smile. "I just use the term for convenience." She asked again, "So did you?"

Harry ducked his head, wondering if she would ask about it, wondering if he could bring himself to talk about Sirius. Sometimes he did wish to talk about him, the problem was he wasn't sure who to talk to.

"Very good." Texi smiled, "I won't ask you what it is, it is often best to keep it to yourself."

"Then why did you answer when I asked yours?" He asked curiously.

"One often does things for reasons that they themselves do not know." She told him, "But I think it may have helped you to know, did it?"

"Yes," Harry nodded. "It gave me the idea of what it should be like."

She tilted her head back against the back of the chair and surveyed him over her lower eyelids. It was an odd pose, Harry thought.

"Well, then." She said finally, "I have heard from Dumbledore that you have experienced feeling impression, that you could feel Voldemort's emotions. Has that been happening recently?"

Harry thought back, then shook his head. "No, I don't remember any occasions, not even when I didn't have Durry with me."

"Actually Harry," She said in a serious voice. "Durry would have had no effect either way on those types of reception. Chronogryffons only operate through the sleeping, or unconscious mind."

"So what does that mean?"

"He must be keeping you out," She told him thoughtfully.

"And my dreams?" He asked, "What about when...?" He trailed off on her sharp look.

"What dreams?" She asked, her voice cracking like a lash in his mind. He shook his head, reluctant. "Harry..."

"True dreams," He spat out as though the words were forced from his mouth. "But not from Voldemort. Remus said that Durry couldn't prevent me from dreaming them, but could, I don't know, move them somehow."

"Move them, shift the pathways...take your vulnerability and turn it into a strength...but for what is this strength?" Her voice murmured, her eyes seeming to turn inward. "It isn't strong enough to stop the dreams...or is it?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, leaning forward, his hands gripping the green plush arms of his chair.

Her crystal green eyes focused on his with a start. "I forgot to shut it off, eh?" She smiled ruefully. "I really don't know what I mean, I was letting my thoughts ramble."

Harry looked at her doubtfully.

"What do you dream, Harry?" She asked, holding her hand up in a helpless gesture at the expression on his face. "I must know. Speak quietly and I'll make sure they don't hear." This with a glance at her roommates.

Tainn was still flung across the couch and Sarven was turning his canvas and lighting a lamp so he could continue his work even as the sunset tinted mountains faded into darkness. Harry could just make out a human figure set against light blue draperies. Then Sarven took his seat again, blocking it from view.

He looked back to Texi, who was watching him expectantly.

He told her briefly what he had told Remus in the cabin on the Ramien, wondering briefly if Captain Joseph got his new ship. Then he realized that he was trying not to think about what he was saying.

When he was done, Texi stared at him with pursed lips. "Your godfather...fell through the veil?" She asked for clarification.

"Yes," Harry told her, blinking rapidly.

She sighed soundlessly, shaking her head, "Once again you give me something that sets your case apart from any other I have known." She finally shrugged helplessly. "All that aside, for now, we must get started, the hour grows cold."

Harry thought that an interesting expression. "What do you want me to do?"

She nodded at him, "We will start with you using the receiver to empty your mind of all thought. Then I will try to enter your mind. You will concentrate on pushing me out, shutting me out, forcing me out. You'll know when you hit on something that works."

Harry closed his eyes and summoned up the form of the great black dog in his mind, again wondering at the clarity of the vision as it came into being, looking at him with its strangely human eyes.

"Can you see it with your eyes open?" Texi's voice sounded in the blank space surrounding the image. Harry saw the dog's ear twitch. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see that he could still make out the image of the dog. It looked like it sat beside Texi's chair, staring at him.

He nodded, his eyes glued to it. Taxi shifted in her chair to glance at what held his attention, but of course she saw nothing. "Is it so clear?" She asked.

Harry, not trusting himself to speak, merely nodded again.

"Well, then. Do as you did last night. Pour everything into the image, clear your mind." She instructed him.

Harry did so, noting that as the image accepted his emotions it seemed to grow more distinct, while everything else in the room faded into unimportance. Soon it was as though he wasn't even really there, just a formless mass called Harry occupied the space in which he had sat.

The being that was Harry stared at Mitexi, who slowly emerged from the formlessness of the room so that only she and the dog were clear among the white shadows.

"Do you see me? Can you hear me?" He nodded again. "Close your eyes." She instructed.

He did so, but even in the act the picture did not change. Mitexi still sat in the misty room, the dog that was Sirius sitting beside her, radiating tension. "You still see me." She said. "Why? Why do you see me?"

Harry found he couldn't speak.

"Can you not control your own mind? Do you wish to share your thoughts with others? Take control of your own psyche." He voice sounded, low and insinuating, somehow scornful. "Do you wish me to sift through your memories? Find your most dangerous thoughts?"

The image of Mitexi lifted her hand, her fingers spread as though she let sand trickle between them. He other hand moved beneath it and he could see something sparkle in her palm. "What's this I see, Harry? Could it be the memory of your breakfast this morning? No."

She plucked something from her palm and held it glittering between the tips of her thumb and index finger. She released it and it hung in mid-air, growing larger and Harry could see shapes flickering within it. "No, Harry."

He became aware of trembling in his limbs that were not limbs, felt beads of sweat on his non-existent forehead. He tried to fight away the memory she had plucked from within him.

"Why do you fight the memory and not the one who summoned it, Harry?" She said very quietly. She peered at him through the translucent screen the spark of light had become, watching the figures move.

There were great sliding hooded figures, they surrounded a man curled on the ground, his head guarded by his arms. The moon hung heavy and full above them. "Sirius." He forced himself to whisper.

"Would you like to see another, Harry?" She waved her hand, clearing the image of Sirius. But why before his rescuer had appeared, why? She plucked another spark from her hand. Sirius in the Shrieking Shack. Another, Sirius at the cave where he had stayed hidden in Harry's fourth year. Another, Sirius falling, falling, falling, the darkness of the veil embracing him.

Harry tried to rise, to strike at the memories, to banish them.

"Why do you allow this, Harry?" Mitexi said, and his fury turned on her. "Why don't you stop me? You lose your composure, you lose your control, you open yourself to it. ...You are afraid."

Harry struggled within himself. Horrible anger warred with the knowledge that he must stop this, he must use any means.

Another, Sirius tossing Kreacher out the door, sealing his own fate.

He must not feel, he realized. He must not let this affect him. He must close himself to it and make his mind his own.

Another, Sirius singing Christmas Carols.

He felt as though he were burying his face in his hands, if he had a face, if he had hands. Then he looked up, seeing the memories flashing before him.

Another, the first time he had ever seen Sirius. A great black dog watching him with bright, glowing eyes.

He heard a voice in his head, and shifted his vision, seeing the dog still beside Texi's chair, his eyes bright and glowing, a peculiar tension in him, as though he were waiting for some action.

"Are you calling me a COWARD?!" Roared the memory of Sirius's voice. Harry heard himself echoing it.

"Are you one?" Mitexi murmured, "Are you, Harry?"

"No." Harry said, extremely quietly and in a steady tone of voice. He could tell by her expression that she was startled. Her image suddenly became blurry, then came back into focus.

"I can control my own thoughts." His voice was dead, dispassionate. "I am the owner of my own mind." Mitexi's image flickered. Only the dog stayed steady. "My memories belong to me and me alone."

He moved without thinking, the dog following him with his eyes, as he seemed to glide forward, confronting the flickering image of the girl who was in his mind. She faded in and out like a poorly broadcasted radio signal.

The dog rose and padded to stand beside him. "Mine." He said concentrating on her image, seeing it gone. Mitexi disappeared, and all that remained was the thought form that was Harry and the great dog that contained his consciousness.



Harry opened his eyes.



Texi was sitting across from him, slumped back in her chair. Sarven had abandoned his painting and was kneeling beside her, holding her hand as she smiled through the tears that rolled down her face. She opened her eyes and looked at Harry, who felt his strange trance leaving him, aware that his mouth hung open in astonishment over what had happened.

"A good start, Harry." Her voice sounded in his head, tentative at first, then growing stronger. "Forgive me." Then her presence was gone from his thoughts. She turned, accepting Sarven's embrace, trembling against him, unable to voice sound even in the bonds of grief.

He felt that he would. But not right now. He stood, ignoring Sarven's angry look, and turned towards the door, lost in his thoughts. Before he turned he glimpsed the painting and, unthinking, took a few steps towards it.

It was a painting of a woman, dressed in the deepest blue, nearly black where the light did not touch it. She stood silhouetted against the light blue draperies that Harry had glimpsed earlier, a pair of net black gloves held in long fingered, delicate hands.

Her face was slightly square, surrounded by waves of black hair swept up into a knot on the back of her head. Her brows were delicate black slashes above eyes the same pale blue as the draperies she stood against.

Her expression was regal but at the same time slightly sad, as though she tumbled unhappy thoughts behind those silver blue eyes. She moved slightly as Harry watched, quickly, jerkily, then froze again, only her eyes following as Harry stepped even closer.

"His favorite subject." He heard Tainn say from behind him. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the assistant professor padding towards him on his noiseless feet.

"Why does she move like that?" Harry asked, as the woman made a jerking step forward. "It's like she's, I don't know, stuck."

"She is," Tainn told him. "He's never been able to get her quite right. He tries and tries." Tainn's serious mien was completely unfeigned, his feral smile tamed. "She is incomplete, never quite attaining full consciousness. It is a sad thing."

"Who is she?" Harry asked, turning slightly to see Sarven still completely occupied with Texi.

"This woman." Tainn said with a gentle hand on Harry's arm. "Was Sarven's mother." He turned Harry and guided him away.

"Now, it grows late, and I must see to my sister." He looked at Harry closely as they moved towards the door. "Are YOU all right, little Scar?" He asked him.

"I...I am, yes." Harry replied after a moment's thought. What had happened in his mind that night seemed to have been relegated to a small corner of his consciousness where he could look at it if he wished. He did not wish it at the moment.

Tainn nodded slightly, looking at the window, where the position of the stars told that the night was well advanced. Harry was surprised that he could see that. He wondered what his Astronomy examiners would think.

"I should bring my invisibility cloak next time, I think." He said thoughtfully, and Tainn perked up, interested. "It was my dad's." Harry provided.

"I think that's a good idea, little Scar." Tainn told him. "Makes it easier if lessons go overtime." He pushed aside the tapestry that covered the portal wall, and pushed open the painting that guarded it. "Good night." He said, smiling.

Harry climbed through, then turned to Tainn, who paused in the midst of pulling back into the room. "There's something?"

"What was her name?" Harry asked.

Tainn did not have to ask who Harry meant by 'she'. He looked reluctant for a moment, then shook his head and leaned against the side of the entry.

"Her name, was Eloise Chatterhall." He said quietly.

"But isn't Sarven's last name Pensouss?"

Tainn just smiled and waggled his fingers goodnight, pulling himself back into the room and letting the portrait swing shut behind him.

Harry stared at the Dancer for a moment, who tapped her little foot and pointed him down the stairs.

Finally, he turned and made his way to the Gryffindor common room, his exhaustion returning.

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