Harry Potter & The Door of Dimensions.
Chapter 6:
In Which a Handsome Young Man Is Late
A cold, prickling sensation stung Harry's face, feeling akin to pins-and-needles excluding the cold numbness that it was usually accompanied by. When he opened his eyes he found himself standing in a void of darkness, a cool breeze ruffling his hair gently. Harry turned but he couldn't tell that he had moved at all, there was no difference in air, pressure, atmosphere, light... nothing. There was simply, nothing. He shivered, and found it hard to find his voice, or courage to speak.
Harry Took a step forewords, not daring to utter a word for fear of what would happen. He imagined his voice drifting out into the darkness and then being torn and shredded by the hatred that lurked there. Irrationality crept over his skin like a million spiders and slowly he felt every memory of happiness and hope slip away. He reached out and grasped the air, which suddenly felt like a slimy sponge, instantly recoiling in horror. He sprinted the other direction trying to escape the hungry shadows, but suddenly his feet were touching the sky and he was rapidly falling or twisting through the space.
In his confused ascending descent images flashed before him... A crimson haired woman screaming... a man clawing for the strength to keep moving... a poor soul dwindling into death... a girl crying and crying and crying... a betrayal of friendship... the scream of an equal... a curtain, fluttering and swallowing one last hope...
It was then he heard a whispering, like scratching against a cauldron, it rasped his ears and all sound became an opaque fog. A hand suddenly clasped the back of his shirt, like before on the train, and was pulling him out, pulling him to safety. He could feel a strong connection with whoever was pulling him back but he couldn't quite see the person's face. Every time he turned to look, the features were just out of focus... or just in his blind spot.
It was then, when his mind had been cleared of the terror he felt, that he could hear the whispers.
"Manifestation...the soulless...truth with the rose...pact to break...--" But Harry couldn't hear the rest, as he was violently pulled back, up and out of the memory.
Similar to the feeling of breaking the surface of a lake going 150 miles per hour from the sky, Harry plunged out of the memory, and back into the fresh and still rather dusty air. Gasping and gulping he collapsed onto his hands and knees, trying to control his quivering muscles. The only thing that came even close to what he had just experienced was the aura of a Dementor.
"Harry! Harry! Harry you look awful! My god, come on! I'm getting you to a place to sleep right now! Crap, I shouldn't have let you go in there... He's gonna murder me now..." Harry could feel Markl's hand picking him up and carrying him down the stairs. Somehow his feet were moving without his brain giving the command, but soon he had drifted into a peaceful, if not somewhat confused, state of unconsciousness.
When he awoke he found himself staring at the vast white ceiling of the Hospital Wing, feeling tingly and numb all over. He blinked slowly, looking around as best he could without moving his head. Suddenly a giant cream coloured monster reared its massive head and snarled, "Oh my Harry! You're my first patient; I think you set some kind of a record!"
Harry blinked. Madame Pomphry blinked back. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head, shuffling away, "You still a little bit out of it, I see? Ah well…" The doughty nurse tut-tutted off and Harry found himself alone. His toes poked out from under the covers and he wriggled them experimentally.
'Still have feeling…' he thought numbly, sitting up slowly and carefully. He felt a bit like a drown rat looked. He just hoped he looked a little more flattering than how he felt.
"Harry!"
Harry was so startled by the presence of another person that he jerked so violently he fell straight out of his bed onto the floor in a sprawl, promptly groaning afterwards, "…..Markl… What the BLOODY hell do you want NOW!"
Markl, the boy who he had only just met but now seemed to be attached to him in some mysterious and magical way, hovered over Harry, one knee on the bed, "What are you doing down there? Come on, get up..." He offered a hand but Harry stood without his help. He glared coldly at the red-headed boy, who slowly withdrew his proffered hand with a look of slight fear.
"You slept all night, it's almost noon, McGonagall told me to come get you up straight away so that you wouldn't miss anymore class." Markl straightened and handed Harry a satchel that was ridiculously large with books flooding out the top and all kinds of parchment half hazardly jammed into the cracks. Markl looked a bit sheepish, "…. I was in a hurry…"
Harry rolled his eyes and snatched the bag from him, slinging it over his shoulder, "Thanks." He said in a flat ungrateful tone, "What about my robes?"
Markl looked at his clothes, and soon after Harry did too. He jumped, realizing that he was fully dressed and ready to go, his ebony robes neatly pressed and his tie perfectly wrapped around his neck. The Gryffindor lion emblazoned on his chest was shined and perfectly stitched. He could have sworn his robes had never looked so nice. He also noted that they fit him despite his recent growth spurts.
He eyed Markl, who said in an all too cheery way, "I already took care of that."
Harry stared blankly, "You UNDRESSED me!"
"W-what? Well… Not really, McGonagall helped…"
"McGonagall!"
"….and Pomphry…"
"….!"
"Yep. You're spick 'n' span and clean as a whistle!" He grinned again. Harry just stared with a mixture of rage and befuddlement on his face, "eh...heh... Right let's go!"
Markl quickly turned on his heel and shuffled out of the room at an astonishing pace, Harry followed after a moment, pondering the ways in which he could kill Markl without anyone knowing.
The halls were deserted and Harry kept his distance from Markl as they made their way to the next class. Harry called forewords, "What class is next?"
Markl looked over his shoulder but quickly averted his eyes when Harry gave him a scalding acidic look that warned him about getting to close, "Defence Against the Dark Arts!"
'Thank…. God…' Harry thought to himself, 'At least Ron and Hermione will be….' He suddenly remembered how he had treated them from the day before…. And all his frustrations came flooding back. This was not going to be a good day.
Markl stopped in front of a large doorway before heading inside. Harry could have sworn he had taken a large gulp of air as if preparing for the worst. Harry followed wearily, looking around the corner a little. Some of the students looked up to see Markl and a few noticed Harry in the process, but most were sitting in their desks, looking around the classroom in awe.
Harry too, was suddenly captured by the odd mood within the room. As he edged in, the door behind him slammed with a bang and shoved Harry further inside. Everyone in the room jumped a little, including Markl who looked like he was going to wet himself.
The entire room was engulfed in darkness, from top to bottom the shadows ate at the corners of everyone's eyes and the only light came from the sparsely placed candles. The tiny flames flickered and danced like miniature people, beckoning the darkness and trapped by its wrath. Harry took a seat in the third row, glancing beside him to see who his desk partner was.
Cold blue eyes of ice met his for a fraction of a second before turning away in disgust. Harry was a bit shocked to see Draco Malfoy sitting next to him, his back straight and proper and his hair nearly glowing in the darkness with what little light there was. He said nothing to Harry, only ignoring him with the utmost posh expression on his face. Harry guessed that the little scene at the platform had left a bad taste in Draco's mouth. Maybe he would think twice about taunting Harry the next time.
Harry slouched his shoulders and waited in the dark for the professor to arrive.
He waited.
And waited.
And waited…
Finally Harry heard loud voiced coming from the office, like two people arguing back and forth, another voice chimed in but was too quiet to hear properly. After about a minute of unintelligible bickering from behind the door it swung open and hit the wall, letting brilliant light flood out into the room. All the students were blinded and looked away, and Harry quickly put the Lumos spell out.
When the door closed and the light ceased, all the candles in the room flared up to impossible sizes, giving off plenty of light to see clearly. Harry found it odd that there was no heat whatsoever from the blaze. He decided magic was more efficient than science.
When everyone could see again they would have noticed that there was now a man standing at the front of the room, just behind the desk. They would have also noticed that he was unusually charming and supernaturally good looking. His smile was broad and welcoming and even his suit, which was a deep endless black and trimmed with bright greens of every hue, seemed to announce his presence in the least irritable way possible. Frosty gold shocks of hair feel into his face but didn't obstruct any portion of it, his eyes were still bright and wakeful, the colour of lucid dawns. He waved his arm out to one side, causing the long belled sleeve of his robe to fan and shimmer with hidden embroideries, "I apologize to my first class of the year with a full, honest, heart."
He smiled again and just seemed far too pleased with himself for saying that. The students watched, unable to take their eyes away from the handsome man.
"Let's start immediately, before I am again delayed. It's preposterous enough that I was late in the first place." He took long strides from around the back of his desk, standing in front of the first row of students, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Great Wizard Jenkins."
He looked around, grinning all the while, waiting for students to react in some manner or fashion, however, the most he got out of them was a lone Gryffindor coughing into their hand. He shrugged and began to make a journey around the room, taking slow, even steps that were far too confident to be safe. Harry was reminded of Lockeheart with a pang of hatred.
Yet, Jenkins continued on, unperturbed by the lack of interest, "I'm not going to explain what this class if about, because if you don't know by now than you are clearly an idiot and will fail anyways." He paused, possibly to consider if he was allowed to speak like that to students.
"At any rate," he went on, "I have no interest in teaching students who do not want to be taught…" As he spoke he stopped by every students desk, picking their wand up and inspecting it carefully before putting it back down, "…So if you have no interest in learning.. Or shutting up when I tell you to, please allow me to mark you with a D for Dreadful and we'll be on our merry ways." He arrived at Harry's desk and paused, picking up his wand for a fraction of a second longer than everyone else. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth but he dropped the wand a second later and moved on to the next student.
He stopped over a student and made impatient gestures with his hand while talking that seemed to say 'hurry it up I haven't got all day.' The student quickly forked over his wand.
"I am here to facilitate your learning and your comprehension of magic, if you disagree with my methods in any way shape or form, please refer back to my previous sentence about being dubbed with a D for Dreadful." He smiled, but it was one of malicious intent. His eyes seemed to glow with an eerie green light.
"Most importantly," He had arrived back at his desk, hands on his hips, "… I will not tolerate intolerance. You are all Wizards and Witches, magically gifted people, and while this school enforces the silly rule of having separate 'houses' depending on your personality, I believe strongly that it is extremely dangerous putting several like-minded fools in one room. The same goes for geniuses. The world is still around and revolving on his axis today because of the collaboration of many varied opinions and personalities and its survival depends on those different people's ability to cooperate. If you are unable to agree with another house, than you're mind is as narrow as your wand and something needs to be done." His voice had gone cold and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Even the fires weren't blazing with as much ferocity as before.
"This also means I will not be giving out points to houses. There are plenty other classes that do that, and I for one will not be involved in such rubbish."
Before long the room lit up again, all the rosy colour you could imagine igniting in ever crevice.
"So." He looked around the room, "Slytherin and Gryffindor." He shook his head and sighed, "….I will now teach you the importance of self-reliance and cooperation." He held his hand up, palm facing the ceiling, and snapped once. Above his hand floated every single wand in the room, "Of course, I'll be teaching you to detect spells and jinxes and hexes and curses and every other word you can think of. You will also be forced to use your brains. Intelligence is sadly underrated in this world." He said with an air of knowing what other worlds were like.
"You're first assignment. Cast a Lumos spell without your wand. A LUMOS spell, nothing more and less. I don't want to see any headless students like the last time." He gave the impression of finding 'the last time' amusing as he covered his mouth with the other hand. He concealed the gesture by pretending he was tapping his chin and then scratching his jaw.
A hand shot up from the back of the room, "….Professor Jenkins!"
"Yes, Hermione?" He said amiably.
She blinked, slightly taken a back by the use of her first name so quickly. Harry turned in his seat to look at her. She was sitting next to Ron, her deep chestnut hair drawn into a hair tie at the back of her head. Small, loose tendrils trailed down in front of her ears and her black robes were neatly slung over the back of the chair, "How are we supposed to cast a spell without our wand? Wands are necessary magical instruments that enhance and focus a—"
"--Witch or Wizard's magical potential to create a desirable outcome. Yes, we've all read the textbook, but have you ever considered how Hogwarts finds its students?" Jenkins leaned on his chair. Harry noted he had rings adorning several fingers and even a few charm bracelets that glistened in the fire light.
"Well, it's not hard… Every witch or wizard is recorded at birth and—"
"Why do you think that is?"
"Because the Ministry of Magic has ever—"
"Not the ministry, what about the individual?"
"Individual…?"
"How does the ministry know who to mark as a Witch or Wizard?"
"…they know… how to because… they have a magic potential…"
Jenkins smiled smugly, leaning back, "Magic. Potential. Ah, those words ring beautifully in my ears. Magic Potential means that they can use Magic, correct? And if you can tell this long before a student is given their wand, than that means they have always had he ability to use magic, regardless of instrument. Many students' power manifests before they arrive at this school, and that is without the help of any device."
Harry cringed, remembering his early magical endeavours, but listened on. Beside him Draco seemed to be paying attention, sneering at Hermione when he got the chance, but pleased the new professor was harassing her.
"In short, Witches and Wizards become reliant on their wands, using all their time practicing with them, when it's really, not all that necessary. When you have learned magic without the use of a wand, then you will be the Master of your Magic." Jenkins snapped his fingers again, and the wands vanished with an audible pop.
"But Professor Jenk---!" Hermione was about to protest that it was simply impossible to use magic correctly without the use of a wand when Pendragon held up his hand, one finger pointed upwards.
Above it floated a tiny ball of light. At first it bobbed and wobbled about uneasily, like a firefly stuck in a glass jar, but it suddenly expanded. A glowing balloon of white hot light quickly grew to the size of a grown man, then a grown giant. Again the students were blinded for a moment, but the ball quickly shrunk to the manageable size of a baseball. Jenkins' open hand welcomed it and guided the ball in a small circle. Anywhere his hand moved, it followed.
"I don't want to hear anything about impossible." He closed his hand and the ball disappeared, "And please, don't worry about the formalities while in this room. No need to call me Professor, Sir, Jenkins, Teacher, Good-for-nothing…" He waved each word away with his hand, "Just call me Howl."