Disclaimer: I don't own the name Harry Potter or the characters. Need I say more?
Harry Potter and the Potion of Devil's Tears
Harry awoke the next morning, slowly opening his eyes and sitting up. He groaned as he realized that he had fallen asleep in his jeans and sleeveless shirt. He rolled out of bed, taking note that everyone was still in their beds, and they were all wide awake, sitting up in bed, staring at him.
"What?" Harry asked, grabbing his glasses.
"Oh…nothing," Seamus said in a unconvincing voice.
Harry shrugged, not up to extracting information. "Fine. I'm going to take a shower." He walked out onto the landing, padding down the steps to the landing that led to the showers. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, as it was standing slightly open. There was the sound of running water, and Harry saw through the steam that someone was bent over a sink, splashing their face with the water. Harry quickly ducked into the shower room, poking his head out as he heard the sink turn off. It was Colin Creevey, and Harry was immediately thankful he had avoided being seen. The very last thing he wanted was to be pestered over his arm again.
Harry heard the bathroom door shut, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He emerged from the showers, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto a bench. He pulled off his jeans, folding them quickly and placing them next to his shirt.
He turned to go back to the showers, but stopped briefly as he passed a mirror hanging over a sink. He put his face up close to it, really studying for the first time the stump of his left arm. The end was perfectly rounded and without blemish, or hair, even. Harry ran his hand over the end, getting a very disorienting experience as he felt his hand pass through an arm that was seemingly there. It still caught Harry off-guard, the phantom arm being there.
Wait a minute, thought Harry. He could still feel his left arm, unlike everyone else who had had an amputation. Harry wondered if the silver arm would be able to feel anything, or if it would be a dead limb, not experiencing any sensation whatsoever.
Harry tried to remember if he had felt anything yesterday when he had placed the silver elbow on the table to support himself. Try as he might, Harry couldn't recall any sensation. He supposed that he had be so wholly focused on maintaining his concentration that it wouldn't have registered even if he had felt anything. Maybe he wasn't used enough to not being able to feel a left elbow anymore that he had dismissed it as a regular thing.
Harry sighed and walked into the showers, removing his drawers and deftly flipping them onto his other clothing. He kept his glasses on, though. He didn't like not being able to see very well when he was showering. That, and the episode with Moaning Myrtle in the prefect's bathroom in his fourth year had stuck with him too well. He imagined that if he had been wearing his glasses, maybe he would have noticed Myrtle long before he had gotten into the bathtub.
Harry turned on the hot water, stepping under the spray. He enjoyed taking warm showers, even in the summertime. It helped him to think.
Harry wondered to himself whether or not the silver arm was susceptible to water. However, he quickly dismissed the idea, as it would be foolish to think that so powerful a transfiguration would render the user helpless against even the slightest downpour.
Harry also wondered how the silver blended with the rest of the skin on his body when he performed the transfiguration. He admitted to himself that he hadn't been paying that close attention to the details. Then that thought struck him again, like a mental double-take.
Attention to detail.
He hadn't been very meticulous in his study of how the arm actually looked when it was forming because of his concentration on maintaining it. He concentrated on the image of himself with the silver arm, making sure to keep the image the same as his other attempts. As soon as he had the image fixed in his mind's eye, he let himself flow into that image.
This time, he watched carefully as the silver dot appeared on his arm, no bigger than a freckle. It slowly encircled his arm, flowing together on the underside of the arm. He could still feel the unusually hot sensation even through the shower water spraying his skin.
He carefully observed (while still fighting to maintain his concentration) that the silver was not a film that enclosed his arm, covering his skin; rather, it was his skin, being turned into the material. Yeah, stupid, that's why it's transfiguration, a voice in the back of his head told him. Up to that point, he had envisioned a silver shield about his arm, rather than the mutation of his very skin.
Harry also saw that the silver blended with the rest of his skin in a most interesting way. It lost its metallic sheen as it moved up to the top of his shoulder, so it was merely a dull grey. It then slowly faded into the flesh-colored skin of his collarbone. The transition from the silver to his skin occupied less than an inch of space.
Harry erased the image from his mind, halting the process. The silver hadn't gotten very far, only about halfway down the stump. Harry considered the image that he was procuring in his mind. He wondered what adding details to the image would do. He started with a picture of his left arm as it used to be: pink and slightly toned from Quidditch. He imagined the hairs on his arm, and even attempted to visualize the miniscule crevices of the skin of his arm, and the fingerprints on his hand.
He began to let himself flow into that image, but he lost hold of the details as the burning sensation began again at his shoulder. Slowly, with his eyes closed and concentrating as hard as he could, he added the discreet transition from the skin of his body to the silver at his shoulder. To Harry's amazement (he almost lost his focus), he felt the burning silver actually cool slightly, so that it was merely the temperature of hot dish water.
Harry continued to focus, and added with painstaking attention to detail the hair of his left arm. The silver again dropped in temperature. Harry erased the image from his mind, attempting to preserve his mental stamina. He was astonished to see that the silver had worked all the way to the elbow, the same point where he had collapsed just yesterday. He resolved to finish his shower, then go back to the Room of Requirement to practice some more. Breakfast didn't even cross his mind.
He hurriedly finished scrubbing himself, then twisted the shower knob off. He grabbed a towel off the rack at the far end of the shower room, and dried himself as quickly as he could. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and grabbing his clothes, dashed up to his dorm.
Thankfully, Dean, Seamus, Ron and Neville were all gone when Harry returned. He only spared their whereabouts half a thought before yanking some drawers and socks out of his trunk. He pulled them on awkwardly (it was hard putting socks on one-handed) and grabbed a pair of shorts out of his wardrobe. He also grabbed his other sleeveless shirt (he only had two, although he was thinking about converting a few of his hand-me-downs into sleeveless shirts as well). He got dressed as quick as he could, and picking up his cloak as he ran past, flew out the door, down the stairs, across the common room and out the door.
Harry slammed the door to the Room of Requirement shut behind him. The room had changed, since Harry had instead wanted a private, quiet room to practice the Third Arm Transfiguration. Harry stopped and stared.
It was his bedroom at the Dursley's.
Harry walked over to his bed, running a hand over the bedposts at the foot, and surveyed the dresser and closet. It was all the same, except for one thing. There was a book sitting on Harry's pillow. He picked it up, and read the title.
Dark Arts and Transfiguration: How To Make It Work For You.
It was the same exact book that had been in the room before, when Harry had returned to it to get his cloak back. He sat down on his bed as he flipped it open, and turned to the index. The Third Arm Transfiguration was on page 237. He turned there, his eyes roving over other spells as he turned the pages. Then he forced himself to close his eyes.
I am not going to learn any more Dark Magic than I need to.
He opened his eyes, fixing them on the page number as he resumed turning the pages backward. When he reached page 237, he looked at the picture. It was a rather muscular wizard driving his fist through a pillar, then actually taking hold of the stone and breaking off a piece in his hand. Harry couldn't tell if the arm was supposed to be silver, but the picture entailed a strength far beyond that of any normal human.
He read down the page, reading the description. Most of what Hermione was here, about how to conjure the arm. Harry scanned down farther. His eyes lit upon the subtitle, 'Spell Attributes.' He read the small paragraph.
The conjured arm has a strength that is unsurpassed by even the strongest animal on the face of the earth. It is capable of crushing stone, metal, wood, and Muggle plastic alike. It is not vulnerable to any physical damage whatsoever, but may be affected by strong enough curses (namely, the Killing Curse). It offers no resistance to the Killing Curse; however, any other spell will be reflected. A spell of higher potency may be absorbed, causing the transfiguration to be cancelled. In this case, the spell must be re-instated by the caster.
The transfiguration lasts only as long as the caster wishes it to or is able to concentrate upon it. There are unconfirmed suspicions that the spell becomes much easier to manage as the attention to detail increases.
Harry smiled to himself. They obviously hadn't done their homework, or else they would have known it was true. He continued to read.
The Third Arm Transfiguration renders the arm impervious to any fire, water, and chemical damage (including potions). It is invulnerable to the most extreme temperatures, from a vacuum to the heat of a star. The arm cannot be crushed, bent, or broken in any manner. Any violence sustained to the arm during its transfiguration will have no aftereffect after the spell is removed. This protection extends only to the areas of the arm covered by the transfiguration.
So, Harry thought. It was an invincible arm, with the exception of the Killing Curse. Stronger spells would cancel it, but Harry estimated it would take a very powerful charm to cancel the transfiguration. It would be great for dueling as well, Harry realized. Something that couldn't be affected by most charms and curses would be valuable indeed.
Harry closed the book, sitting on his bed. He looked around at picture frames of his friends, and his eyes lit upon the photo album that Hagrid had given him. He realized that being in his bedroom offered too much nostalgia for him to be able to concentrate. The moment that the thought entered his mind, the bed disappeared out from underneath him, and the room turned to white fog. Harry flailed as hung suspended in the middle of white clouds, nothing supporting him. Suddenly, there was a floor beneath his feet, and a room around him. It was the room that Dumbledore's Army had used last year. Harry grinned. This was much better.
He sat on a comfortable pouf, thinking about the image of himself with the silver arm. What would make it a more complete and detailed image? He remembered that he had noticed the silver was actually his skin morphing into the silver, and added that to the image, not really changing the outward appearance of the mental picture, but the realization was there.
Harry also realized that he hadn't really incorporated any details into the hand. He pictured the fingernails, the creases on the palm of his hand, the individual fingerprints. Harry didn't really know what the fingerprints of his left hand looked like, so he simply conjured the presence of fingerprints, not actually sculpting them. He was struggling to maintain this highly detailed image, sweat beginning to form on his brow. He blanked his mind, attempting to perfect the illusion before he attempted the transfiguration again.
As he was resting, the words Dumbledore had spoken yesterday bubbled to the surface of his mind.
"I'd suggest practicing fixing the image of yourself in your mind for as long a time as you can before your mind wanders. I believe it will aid you in concentrating better."
That was it! He could build his mental stamina that way! Harry leaned back in his pouf, thinking about the image with all its details. He closed his eyes, letting it occupy his entire brain, shutting out all other thoughts. For several hours, Harry sat there, concentrating on the image as hard as he could, then resting when his mind began to wander. It was close to lunch time when Harry's concentration was interrupted by the loud growling of his stomach.
I should really get something to eat, Harry thought. No sooner had it flashed through his mind then a table loaded with sandwiches and a large jug of pumpkin juice materialized in the middle of the room. Harry began to think that a Room of Requirement should be an opportunity that every wizarding architect should offer.
He sat down at the table, eating the sandwiches ravenously. As he ate, he contemplated the progress that he had made in the space of one and a half days.
He picked up the transfiguration book (it had materialized with the table) and flipped it open to the page of the Third Arm Transfiguration. He re-read the information, perusing it carefully. His eyes stopped when he got to a certain passage.
The Third Arm Transfiguration renders the arm impervious to any fire, water, and chemical damage (including potions).
Did that mean that he could handle the Devil's Tears Potion safely? Was he capable of touching the potion without any harm to himself? He couldn't think of a safe way to find out, short of dipping the arm into the potion. That idea didn't appeal too much to him.
He gobbled down the sandwich he was eating and stood. He stuck his book under his arm and went back over to the pouf he had been sitting in. He sat down, and after making himself comfortable, he resumed concentrating on the image. He found that he could hold the image in his mind for quite a long time. It was much easier to hold the details in place, and he could practically feel the strength of the transfiguration. He released his being into the image.
This time, there was no burning sensation. In fact, Harry realized that the silver that was slowly encircling his arm made practically no sensation whatsoever, except for a extremely slight tingling, electric buzz that ran down his arm with the metallic substance.
Harry's focus was undiminished as the silver reached the end of the stump, and enclosed it entirely. The silver then pushed out beyond the stump, forming the elbow and continuing on. Harry's concentration was beginning to slightly strain, but Harry kept the image firmly in mind. The silver continued to coalesce, traveling down and shaping into a forearm. It was like watching a mold of his arm slowly fill with a metallic substance, Harry decided. He tried moving his arm, and found that the phantom sensation of his left arm paralleled this chrome arm. Harry watched as the silver came to the wrist, then broadened into the base of a hand. It continued to morph, and the silver extended into fingers, and then his thumb.
The shaping suddenly halted, the silver stopping and becoming quite still. Harry's concentration was starting to wane, so Harry looked at the arm closely while he could still keep the image of the arm firmly locked in his mind. There were individual silver hairs on the arm, and Harry could even see the miniature crevices in his skin, added in by his attention to detail.
Harry' mental image began to dissolve, and he desperately bent his will on maintaining the image and on maintaining the arm, but he found himself instead thinking of his failed attempts, and the silver receding…
Harry realized that as he battled to re-establish the image of the arm in his mind, it was not fading as it had before. Harry stopped his mental exertions and forced himself to relax, but still keeping his will bent on maintaining the silver arm. It remained as it was.
Harry suddenly had an epiphany. He only needed to concentrate on the image to establish the arm; after that, he just needed to will it to remain there. Harry realized that this little side note had not been included in the book on transfiguration. Maybe I should write an article and give a hands-on point of view, Harry thought. He stood up, flexing the chrome-colored arm. His fist closed, and he could see the muscles stand out as he clenched his fist. He reached out with his other hand and touched the arm. It felt quite odd, as the arm was warm, like it was really skin, and he even could feel the creases in his hand as he ran his fingers over his palm. However, it was a metallic feel, and when Harry dug his fingernails in and ran them down his arm, a screech was produced that gave Harry gooseflesh. He noted that everything felt normal to the left arm.
Harry picked up the book that he had put on the floor next to the pouf. He closed his fist on the binding as hard as he could, and was thoroughly startled when it collapsed with a shocking sound, his fingers going through the cover and most of the pages. He admitted that he had been trying to get something to happen to it, but he supposed to himself he really had not anticipated such a result. The piece of the binding he had closed his fist on had been crushed paper-thin.
He discarded the book, wishing he had not destroyed it. Then he had to remind himself that he had vowed not to learn any other Dark Magic, so it was probably better that the book was gone.
It's just the history of its use that makes a spell Dark Magic, a voice said in the back of his mind. Harry told himself that he would not just go randomly trying Dark Magic, but not necessarily research it.
Harry draped his cloak about his shoulders, and willed the arm to disappear. He watched the silver fade away, soon disappearing into his shoulder again. He thought about what he should do now that he had gotten the hang of the transfiguration. He realized that he should probably let Dumbledore know about his success, and perhaps Ron and Hermione. Harry didn't know the password to Dumbledore's study, however. He thought about how he might get in, then remembered that Dumbledore's walls were lined with the pictures of previous Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses. He thought to himself, I wish there were a picture of Headmaster Dippet in here, and sure enough, an empty picture materialized on the wall. There was just a chair in the picture, but nobody sitting in it. Then, a white-bearded man walked into the picture, looking around at it.
"Oh my, didn't know this was here. How in the world…?" Then he spied Harry. "Ah, Harry Potter! Is this your doing?" he asked, gesturing at the chair behind him.
"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I wondered if I might have a word with Professor Dumbledore in his study."
"And how are you aware that the headmaster is in his study?" Dippet asked, a suspicious look on his face. In truth, Harry hadn't known that Dumbledore was in his study, merely assumed so, as it was a Sunday afternoon.
"Just a lucky guess," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders. "So, can I talk to him?"
Dippet peered at him. "I'll ask him. Wait here." He moved sideways out of view. Harry stood there, impatiently tapping his foot. It seemed like hours later when Dippet finally came back into the frame.
"He says he'll see you. Come to his study. The password's 'Canary Cream.'" Dippet had a slightly sour look on his face, as if something hadn't gone his way.
Harry didn't spare a second thought but was out the door in a flash. He ran down the corridors and pounded on the staircase until he got to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
"Canary Cream!" Harry said, grinning inwardly. A tribute to Fred and George, he thought. The gargoyle leapt aside, and Harry charged up the winded staircase, ignoring the fact it would have gotten him there without him running.
He reached the door to Dumbledore's study, and pushed it open.