The Art of Healing

Part 2

By Phoenixgod2000

Authors note: I forgot to thank my betas when I posted the last chapter. So thank you betas for all of your hard work and insight.

Second authors note: this chapter deals with some pretty dark things. Not explicitly, but be warned. Harry ain't had a happy life.

Harry's story

I'd like to say that all of my problems are because of Luna dying. But that isn't true. I was in trouble a long time before Luna. She was just the straw that broke the camels back. She sent me over a cliff that I was teetering on the whole war.

It started with the DA. After Sirius died at the end of my fifth year, Dumbledore finally decided that I needed more training than Hogwarts could provide me. He arranged for some of the best wizards in the world to come to and train me. I learned from Charms Masters and Shamans, Shape Shifters and Necromancers, dueling lords and Unspeakables. I even underwent an apprenticeship bond and learned from Dumbledore himself. Despite all that, I couldn't learn fast enough to fight Voldemort, so I started using Pensieve training to incorporate knowledge directly into my brain. I used rituals and potions to strengthen my body, mind, and magic. The transformations and everything else I was learning nearly drove me to madness. Only two things saved me:

Luna and Dumbledore's Army.

Everything I learned, I taught to the DA. I taught them things that no student should ever have to know but that might save their lives in a battle. Teaching became my salvation. There's nothing like it in the world. Seeing the light in someone's eye or the smile after a student masters a particularly difficult spell… its indescribable. And I taught them well. When Hogwarts was under siege it wasn't the teachers who protected the school, it wasn't Aurors or Unspeakables. It was the DA. My students held the school against Voldemort's army of darkness for three days. In my pride I thought that we would be enough. That I had taught them enough. We held the school, alright, but the cost was high… too high.

Hannah Abbot, Cho Chang, Michael Corner, Dennis Creevey, and half dozen more of my students died in that siege.

They all got the Order of Merlin Second Class posthumously.

I got the Order of Merlin First Class. My first Order of Merlin. The night I got the medal I cried in my room for hours. I wept because I was the leader. I was in charge. Every last one of the dead was killed following orders I gave them and I wasn't ready for that. All of my training, all of my powers and skills, and no one taught me how the handle the simple pain of losing someone under your leadership. I hadn't taught them enough. I hadn't made decisions fast enough, I hadn't…nothing I had done was enough…

If it hadn't been for Luna and my friends I would have fallen apart.

After the Siege of Hogwarts, I think that's what the newspapers called it, anyway, every last member of the DA was allowed into the Order of the Phoenix. The last veil around Dumbledore's eyes had fallen and he recognized that students were going to have to fight in the war too if anyone was going to survive Voldemort's purges.

Over the years of the war, I became the defacto leader of the second generation of the Order of the Phoenix. I went on missions, traveled around the world, and tried my best to stop Voldemort's plans. All the while I kept trying to get close enough to him to end him and fulfill the prophecy. Sometimes people died, and it got harder and harder to just keep the mask in place.

Then Hermione was killed.

It was bad intelligence—we were going after a book of dark magic that was in some catacombs beneath Paris. In the words of one of my muggle military instructors, the mission ended up being a royal cluster fuck. Voldemort was supposed to be nowhere near France. Hermione came with Ron and me because she was needed to translate the shorthand the book was written in and make sure we got what we were going for. We got the book and were headed back to the Floo hub when Voldemort and a half dozen death eaters ambushed us in the middle of the street near the center of the city. Ron and I were experienced duelists, but Hermione wasn't. She'd never had the killer instinct you needed to take life without hesitation, even a Death Eater's life, so we used her as a magical scholar and intelligence analyst for the Order. Hermione was a fantastic witch, a formidable opponent, but she was never supposed to get into a fight.

But she did.

Hermione Granger was without a doubt one of the best scholars in the entire Order. Probably in all of Britain. A couple of the books she wrote are still used as Charm texts in Hogwarts. Her only real advantage in a battle was her encyclopedic knowledge of spells and her roster of battle spells that only she knew, because she invented them. That was enough to hold her in good stead during most of the fight.

The battle raged across muggle Paris and lasted until the French Aurors showed up. Most of the fight is still a blur to me, but the end is still painfully clear in my mind.

Voldemort detonated some kind of blasting spell that knocked me into a building. I was half conscious and nowhere near battle capable. I remember sitting there, beaten, my head pounding, bones broken, Voldemort standing over me, framed against the sun like a giant blot. I remember his thin, pink smile and his wand slowly lowering towards my face. I remember the bastard laughing at me. He was always big on taunting, you see. Liked to revel in the moment before the kill, like some kind of Dementor feeding on his opponents fear. I remember thinking that I had failed, failed my parents, Dumbledore, everybody. I was as good as dead, and I had just doomed the entire world by not killing Voldemort.

And I remember Hermione calling him out. Part of me was surprised to see her. Ron was down another street, no where near this part of the battle, I was beat, the smart move would have been for Hermione to portkey to safety, try to salvage the mission. Not that she would have left us behind in a million years… I remember Voldemort turning and raising his wand. I remember the absolute contempt he had for her. His posture just screamed it.

And I fondly remember the look of absolute amazement when his first three rapid fire spells were deflected with nothing more than a causal wave of her wand. Then the duel began in earnest.

A lot people at school thought that Hermione should have been in Ravenclaw. After watching her go toe-to-toe with the darkest wizard of the 20th century, though, there's no doubt in my mind that the sorting hat got it right: Hermione was a Gryffindor to the bone. Her challenging Voldemort was the single bravest thing I've ever seen. I faced him many times, but almost always with the knowledge that I could potentially beat him. Not Hermione, though; she knew the prophecy, knew she couldn't win, hell, she probably knew she was going to die before she even opened her mouth, but she didn't even pause before fighting him anyway. More than fought him, she actually forced him back. I can tell… you don't understand the significance of that. She, Hermione Granger, muggle-born representative of everything he hated, forced him backwards. Put him on the defensive. Only five people in all of the Wizarding World can boast of doing that to Lord Voldemort. Of those people only myself, Dumbledore, and Severus Snape are still alive. Dueling the Dark Lord cost Alastor Moody his life and it cost Hermione hers. But she sold her life quite dearly. At the end of the battle, Hermione was a still, crumpled form on the ground, and Voldemort was doing little better. When he apparated away, he did so without his right arm.

She was twenty one years old.

Hermione's death hit both of us hard. Despite everything, I thought the three of us would always be together, deep down inside, I always thought we were immortal and would walk out of the war whole and unharmed. Ron fell apart and I wasn't much better. I don't know how Ron held it together, but for me, I leaned on Luna—just like I always did. She was my rock.

Ron was transformed. He threw himself into his work and dedicated every moment to ending the war so that there would never be another person who would feel the same loss he did. I worked with him myself till he was about as powerful as his raw magical talent would allow him to be.

I gave the war my all too, I drove Luna away, under the mistaken impression that she was my weakness, and started going on more and more raids. Taking bigger and bigger risks. My metamorphmagus talents allowed me to get deep into Voldemort's organization and I wreaked havoc on his army. That's how I got the name Gryffindor's Assassin. I lost myself in the violence of the war until the day I was captured.

You've heard the story. Everyone knows the story of the Dark Lord's Pit and his torturers. Everyone knows how I became the first and only person to escape The Pit after four months of constant torture. But I've never told the story of how I escaped… until now, I guess.

I wish I could attribute it to my amazing magical powers or one of my Animagus forms. But it wasn't either of those things. I simply escaped because I had help. Bellatrix Black's help to be precise.

She was the lead torturer in the Pit. She loved her job and Voldemort put her personally charge of my breaking. Day after day she appeared in my cell and used magic and muggle methods to mutilate me and inflict pain. Thanks to several of the magical rituals I had undergone and my Metamorphmagus skills I healed fast and without scars. Bellatrix is nothing short of a connoisseur of sadism and she relished having a victim that would be unmarked the next day. She was… free… to go to a higher level with me than with any of her other subjects. She worked tirelessly to break me.

And it worked.

I can still remember the day she walked into my cell without the customary smirk on her face. She walked with a seductive swagger and approached me. I can still feel the heat of her body and breath as she whispered that she loved me, that I had impressed her with my resiliency and power. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and I can still feel the stroke of her hands across my groin, her warm serpentine tongue sliding its way along my face...

Somehow, in the middle of all of the torture, she had fallen in love with me and decided to move our relationship to a new level.

And I responded. I responded because I would have done anything to not hurt, to not be subjected to torture anymore. I would have cut Dumbledore's throat to stop the pain. My body betrayed Luna. I betrayed Luna. I allowed Bellatrix to… use me… just so I could have one more minute, one more second of respite from the torture.

I can't tell you how many days or weeks I spent in this new torture. Without constant physical pain, I started to come back to myself. I slowly convinced her that together we could overthrow Voldemort and that she could be my queen. To… convince Bellatrix of my honesty I had to participate with her. I had to show her that I meant what I said.

You see Bellatrix is a skilled Legimens. She knew exactly what I was thinking so I had to trick her. I forced everything I felt for Luna into the tiniest part of my brain and force myself to believe that I loved Bellatrix. I had to convince her that I felt for her and in order to do that I had to literally make that become true, at least in a small part. Everything I had went into the deception.

This meant that a part of me had to stop loving Luna.

Bellatrix Black is a woman of strong appetites and it took a lot of… convincing to get her to help free me. But I did it.

One night we snuck out of the Pit and we made our way to the surface world. We reached the surface and when I no longer needed her I struck her down from behind. At that point I made the worst mistake of my life.

I let her live.

I felt bad because of my lies and I was too weak to take her with me to re-imprison in Azkaban so I just left her to the tender mercies of her lord and master.

I made my way back to civilization and headed back to the Order of the Phoenix headquarters. Luna was waiting for me. Everyone else thought I was dead. But not Luna. She knew I would come back. And when I did she instantly knew what I had done in order to survive and escape. I begged her for forgiveness. Do you know what she told me?

There was nothing to forgive. Harry.

Nothing to forgive? I couldn't believe that she would say that. That she would take me back so easily. After all I had done to her, after the way I pushed her away from me. I disgusted even myself. I couldn't, for the life of me imagine why she would even want me back.

But she did.

We moved in together soon after I got back. Luna nursed me back to health. I was in a bad way after my four months in The Pit. I had lost muscle and weight. Rituals and potions had enhanced my physical body to superhuman levels but it also sped up my metabolism and without regular food I had become very frail. There were other problems too…

Luna understood. She got that it would take time for me heal. After a few months of recuperation I was doing really well. The replenishing potions and hot meals restored my physical strength. I could touch Luna again without flinching. In a lot of ways, those few months were some of the happiest memories of my life other than the few sparks of normalcy that Hogwarts offered in the days before the war kicked into high gear.

Despite my quick healing I wasn't ready for service quite yet. I had lost some of that killing spark, the instinct that made me want to fight to win. It was difficult to maintain that sort of edge after what I had gone through. I was out for a walk around a park in muggle London when it happened.

That day is etched in my brain forever. What the sun looked like. What the birds at the park were doing. Who I passed along the way.

How far ajar the door was opened when I got back.

How empty the house felt. How silent it was.

You might think that it was weird I would remember that the house was silent, but you've never lived with Luna Lovegood. She was always humming some little ditty that she heard somewhere. Sometimes the Wizarding wireless. Other times it was the radio. Sometimes she would make them up and claim that it was the mating call of some strange beast I had never heard of.

The thing that I remember most of all was her eyes. I found her lying on the bed—our bedwith her eyes closed and hands folded sedately. I knew then that there was something wrong. Luna always slept wildly, with her limbs splayed around and her eyes open. This time there was something too peaceful about the way she lay in the bed. It wasn't…Luna. And there was a note.

A Promise is a promise, Harry. And I'm going to keep you to yours.

Bellatrix had done it. She had killed my Luna, my moonshine. Not because of the war. Not because of a mission from her master. She killed her because of me. Because of what I told her, the promises I made to her when I was in the Pit.

I discovered my killer instinct again on that day.

I went back to work afterwards. I threw myself back into the war. I become more than soldier or a leader in the Order of the Phoenix. I became more than the Assassin of Gryffindor. I allowed myself to tap into the darkest parts of my being and my magic. I showed no mercy; I became an angel of death. I took bloody retribution on all of the Death Eaters I came across, and eventually the Dark Lord himself a year later.

But I never saw Bella again.

When the war was over there was nothing left to stop me from thinking about Luna, Hermione, and the Members of the DA who had died under my command. The parties and award ceremonies that I kept getting invited to seemed so meaningless. Everyone seemed so happy and for the life of me I could not figure out why. I was just empty. One day I just decided to leave. It was after a fight with Ron. He had finally started to date again. Two years after Hermione died. And I screamed at him. Shrieked that he never loved her. That he shouldn't betray her memory like that. I was angrier at him than I could possibly say. For a very simple reason that had nothing to do with Hermione.

I couldn't face the fact that Ron was healing when all I could feel was a gaping wound where Luna should have rested.

So I left.

Besides, I knew that Bellatrix Black was out there somewhere since she was never a casualty in any of the battles or one of the prisoners captured and kissed. So I decided to find her.

And now you know everything.

Gabrielle felt the sting of tears as Harry's story ended. Absently she wondered when she started crying. She couldn't remember. And she wasn't the only one crying.

Harry's face was blotchy and streaked with tears. He blinked his red-rimmed eyes, her charm fading from them slowly. "That was unkind, Gabrielle." he rasped. "Now that you know, am I still your hero?"

Gabrielle leaned forward and stroked his tear-streaked face. "More than ever, Harry." She whispered tremulously.

Harry snapped backwards. "I don't want your pity." He pushed her away and stood up. "I don't need it and I don't want it."

Gabrielle stiffened and a frown of displeasure crossed her stunning features. "I don't pity you. I respect and admire you. The things you did… that you endured were necessary. They kept you alive. Long enough to kill Voldemort and save everyone. You are, and will always be my hero, Harry. And I'm not going to let you destroy yourself any more." The teenager got up and stalked into the kitchen with a vengeance. Hefting her wand Gabrielle shouted, "Accio Fire Whiskey!"

Harry started when he heard what Gabrielle was summoning. He stood up and began moving into the kitchen even as bottles from every corner of the apartment flew towards the young veela and arranged themselves at her feet.

"What are you doing, Gabrielle?"

"I'm getting rid of your fire whiskey." She answered back calmly. "It isn't doing you any good and you need to stop drinking it. It's preventing you from healing." She proceeded to pour out the first bottle into the muggle sink. Harry stared as the flaming red liquor drained away.

His first instinct was to draw his wand and stop her from getting rid of his safety net. He wanted to crawl back into the bottle and never come out. He needed it. He needed not to feel, because all he could feel was pain. All he could remember was loss. He didn't even need his wand to stop her. He had been trained by topflight muggle soldiers from America. He was as deadly without his magic as he was with it. He could disarm her with a quick strike. Knock her unconscious and remove her from the room. Sink back into the darkness and numbness she had found him in earlier. It would be easy…

Harry clenched his fist and his muscles bunched. He took an aggressive step forward expecting the young witch to stop what she was doing. Scarier people than a sixteen year old veela had broken solely from the expression on his face. Gabrielle turned her head slightly to watch him, but she didn't flinch in fear or stop what she was doing.

She had faith that her hero wouldn't strike her.

That realization struck him more powerfully than any stunner could have. What the hell was he doing? Had he really fallen so far? Attack one of his students? Attack Gabby? Harry leaned against his wall. Was this who he had become?

No, he realized belatedly, it wasn't. For the first time in ages Harry could see the kind of man he used to be and he realized that he wanted to be that man again. Needed to be that man again. Gabrielle, by forcing him to tell his story, had broken the seal of his pain and opened the door to try.

"You've been there for so many people so many times. You've been there for me so many times. Let me be there for you. Let me help you, Harry." Gabrielle whispered.

Harry Potter closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears from spilling out and slowly nodded his head.

A few days later

Harry thrashed in his bed with inhuman levels of strength. Sweat drenched his body, soaking his sheets. His formerly untamed hair was plastered to his skull and his eyes burned with power and pain the few times he was willing to open them. Both of his legs had been tied to the bottom posts of the frame as was one of his arms in order to prevent him from lashing out against those around him.

Gabrielle sat by his bed and gripped Harry's free arm with a white knuckled grip of her own.

The first step in Harry's healing process was weaning him off his drug of choice. Fire Whiskey was notoriously difficult when it came to breaking the physical addiction and Harry had been drinking like a giant for more than a year. His enhanced physical attributes meant that in order to get the result he wanted, he was forced to drink much more than normal as well as use certain magics that weakened his resistances to the poison. So when he finally stopped drinking cold turkey, his long abused body hit back.

Hard.

Gabrielle spoke with the headmistress and received permission to miss a few days of classes because her veela talents would help take the edge off the worst of the withdrawal pains.

It was highly unusual to allow a student in so sensitive a position, but the past relationship between Gabrielle and Harry convinced Headmistress DuShae to allow the young veela to watch over Harry.

Besides, Sofia was willing to do almost anything in order to see her friend back to his old self.

Harry thrashed and screamed, the bellows of pain not carrying past the silencing wards laid around his room. Gabrielle leaned over his body and slowly released a trickle of her aura. Harry, in no condition to resist the charm, calmed down. His eyes opened and he held Gabrielle's gaze with his emerald orbs.

"Moonshine?" He whispered questioningly. "Is that you?" His voice was hoarse and thick and he spoke in a hesitant voice with an almost painful amount of hope laced through it.

"Ssshhh, Harry." Gabrielle cooed, tears tracing their way along her cheeks. "It's all right. I'm right here." She hated lying to him but in his state he sometimes forgot that Luna was dead. It was just easier to play along and ride the delusion out.

It broke her heart every single time.

"Sssooo, sorry, moonshine," He whispered, "Never… hurt… love you… my moonshine…." With one hand he reached up and started to stroke her silver hair.

Somehow, he was sensing her pain, Gabrielle realized. Even with what he was going through, he was trying to comfort me because he sensed that I was hurt. His hands were so gentle… it would so easy to close her eyes and pretend. Just for a little while… what could it hurt?

Gabrielle reached up and slowly pulled Harry's hand away from her face. Tears which had once trickled down her face began to drop faster, like a slowly building rain shower.

"Wrong one, Harry." She whispered painfully.

Two weeks later

Gabrielle drummed her fingers on the edge of her desk nervously. Where was he? Harry was supposed to show up early to class so she could talk to him. It had been two weeks since Harry had last taught a class. The headmistress herself had taken them over until his withdrawal symptoms subsided. This was supposed to his first class back and he should have been here already.

She could hear the murmurs in the class behind her. Most of them had turned quite unfriendly when she told them that Harry was returning. Harry had burned a lot of bridges with his tough and relentless teaching techniques. Despite his legendary reputation, many of his students detested him. She was pulled from her reverie when she heard the footsteps in the hallway.

The Harry Potter who walked into the classroom was a very different man than the one who had done so more than two months prior.

His hair was shorter and much neater, much of the silver having disappeared. The redness and puffiness in face and eyes had nearly disappeared and two weeks of better eating had begun to put weight on his skinny frame. Instead of his casual muggle clothes Harry wore collared dress robes appropriate for a teaching master.

The mutterings of the class died down. Soon, the whole class silently waited for Harry to speak. Gabrielle held her breath. What would he say? How was he going to run the class? She smiled softly at him when she saw how uncomfortable he was. He returned her smile with a shy one of his own, recalling, to her mind, the young boy who had once pulled her from a cold lake.

She desperately tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

Harry cleared his throat and began to speak. "It's good to be back in class. I'm sorry that I've been gone for the past few weeks. Madame DuShae has told me that you've all begun to learn diagnostic and unraveling spells appropriate for dispelling dark curses and enchantments. Good. You never know when you're going to run across a cursed object, and you need to know how to deal with it." Harry said, recalling the summer before 5th year at Grimmauld Place, cleaning the dark artifacts from Sirius' house. Sirius… best not to think too hard on that now. "The lesson for the next few days is going to build on that. But first," and Harry drew a deep breath, "I have something to say." He looked around the room, making sure to hold each students gaze for at least one moment.

"I'm sorry," he whispered once he met the gaze of each student. Gathering strength, he raised his voice. "I'm sorry that I haven't been the teacher you needed or deserved. I'm sorry that I took out my personal problems on you. I expect better of myself as both a man and a teacher and I failed myself and all of you. I will strive to be better." Harry smiled weakly. "I realize that it's going to take some time, but I hope you will all warm to me in time."

Harry pulled out his wand and performed a quick summoning charm. A bag from outside the door whizzed into the room and landed on the desk with a soft plop. Harry reached his arm inside the bag and pulled out a small palm sized cube. It seemed to be made out of solidified quicksilver. Its seamless walls had small runes carved in the center of each side.

"How many of you know what a room of requirement is?" Harry asked the class.

The students looked at each other but none of them spoke. Harry waited patiently, knowing that he deserved the reluctance they were showing him. Eventually a young looking sixth year male named…Pierre, Harry eventually placed, raised his hand. Harry nodded at him.

"Sir, a Room of Requirement is rare magical rooms imbued with temporal magic, as well as transfiguration and charm magics. They produce whatever the people in the room need, although none of the objects can be removed from said room. No more Rooms are being created because the arts needed to craft them have been lost, and the materials needed are believed to be both rare and expensive." The young man looked nervous; right up until Harry smiled at him.

"Thank you, Pierre. You're almost totally right. The arts of making have not been lost; there just aren't many wizards around with the raw power to make them anymore." Harry dexterously spun the silver cube on the tip of his finger. "This is a wishing cube. Think of it like a miniature, one shot Room of Requirement, except that anything it makes is permanent… as long as it's small enough to fit in the middle of the cube. I made one of these for each of you last night."

The class burst into murmurs, although Harry was pleased to note that they were of quite different tone this time. He raised his hands to silence them.

"This isn't a gift easily obtained." Harry warned. "Before you get what you wish for, you must unravel the wards on each side of the cube. Two of the sides possess spells that a fifth year should be able to dispel. Three of the sides have spells that are of your grade level, and one of the sides has a seventh year level spell on it. I, of course, can't use real dark arts spells, so I chose harmless and amusing magics that have similar craft matrices to many well known dark wards." Harry smiled, "and if you think I can't whip up some annoying magics with regular charms and transfigurations think again. I used to work for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes." Harry was amused to note that many of his students looked askance on the cube in his hand once they heard of who he worked for. It seemed that the Weasley Twins' reputation was international now.

Harry tossed the first cube to Gabrielle. She caught it easily and began to turn it over in her hand. She traced one of the runes on the side of the box. She recognized the dwarfish rune for age and wondered what sort of spell it triggered. While thinking, she absently began to scratch her chin, which had begun to itch.

Harry continued to reach into the bag and tossed a box to each of his students. When the last one was passed out, Harry smiled again. "You have the next three days to work on the problem for full credit. First identify each enchantment, and then break it. It'll take some time so you better get started. Since its so nice outside, feel free to go out to garden if you want to experiment. Oh, and be sure to call me if you have a hard time dispelling the effects."

The class moved as one and Harry smiled at his students, happily chattering about what detection methods they were going to use, a few even started betting pools on who would open theirs the fastest.

Sofia DuShae, Headmistress over Beauxbatons Academy of the Magical Arts, walked sedately down the tree lined path of her school. Her face was safely ensconced in the deep hood of her snow white robe, having no desire to expose her sensitive night elven eyes to the sun. It was on bright days like this one that she most cursed her mother's heritage. The seemingly youthful, but nearly immortal woman drifted down the walkway deep within her own thoughts.

They centered on her emerald eyed friend. She could remember the first time she met Harry Potter, and like always it put a smile on her face.

He had just turned eighteen and was already a decorated veteran of the War. Apprentice to Albus Dumbledore, he was extraordinarily powerful for his age… or any age, in truth. She met him while in a meeting at the order about death eater cells in France. The intense but friendly young man captivated her immediately. Later, she watched him train many of his contemporaries and noticed right away the natural gift for teaching he possessed.

They grew closer when Harry went with her to France in order to flush out several of the more openly dangerous cells. They became quite good friends, and when he departed to work somewhere else, they managed to stay in contact through sporadic owl posts.

When Harry resurfaced a year after Voldemort's fall, Sofia immediately thought of the vacant DADA position at Beauxbatons. He was reluctant at first, but eventually gave in to her wishes. Although it had saddened her greatly to see how low her friend had fallen, she had hoped working with students would help him. Unfortunately, nothing seemed to work or reach him, other than Fleur Delacour's rather stubborn younger sister. Through it all, Gabrielle had greatly impressed Sofia. Not many young girls had the sort of maturity that she demonstrated, and it was even rarer for those of veela blood, for whom lives of ease and immaturity came quite naturally. Of course, Fleur had been much the same, so it shouldn't have been a surprise. Both Delacour girls were strikingly different than their hedonistic and forever immature mother.

The headmistress was pulled from her thoughts when the bubbling sound of laughter reached her sensitive elven ears. Perplexed, she hastened down the walkway toward the sound. Her jaw dropped with amazement when she reached the central garden of the school.

There were students everywhere. All of them had small silver boxes in their hand or on the ground in front of them. She spied Gabrielle Delacour off to the side, a long grey beard and mustache covering her face, clearly attempting some kind of depilatory spell. Another student rolled on the ground, deep in the throes of charmed laughter. A pair of students was sitting on the ground, their cubes rotating in the air in the air before them, colors slowly crawling over the cubes, the sign of a very thorough detection spell. One of the students had rainbow streaked hair and the other seemed to have a beak instead of a nose. Everywhere she looked students were transfigured, charmed, colored, and enspelled in other ways she couldn't articulate. They were about as thoroughly a charmed bunch as she had ever seen.

And every last one of them sported a smile large enough to bring a grin to her own face.

She looked around, trying to find Harry. She found him crouching near a student with a yellow crest of feather replacing her hair, smiling as he carefully demonstrated the wand technique of some kind of spell. He looked up and caught her eye, and for the first time in years, Sofia saw something she never thought she would ever see again.

Twinkling green eyes.

Days later

"This is stupid," Harry grumbled. "Why am I doing it again?"

He and Gabrielle sat on the balcony of his room. An easel and palette were placed in front of Harry and Gabrielle held a lacquered black brush in his hands. Both individuals sat in front of the easel, Gabrielle taking position just over Harry's right shoulder.

"Painting is therapy, Harry. It'll do you some good to paint your demons." Gabrielle told him in a serious tone. "I can show you how to get your feelings on the canvas instead of keeping it bottled up. Seeing your emotions will help you understand and cope with them." She gave Harry a pixyish smile. "Trust me. You will feel better afterwards."

Harry turned and faced Gabrielle. He smiled sweetly and answered in a soft voice. "I wouldn't be here right now if I didn't trust you, Gabby." Sweet smile turning into a smirk, he added, "You've just never seen my artwork. Maybe you won't like me so much after you see what I do to your medium."

This time it was Gabrielle's turn to smile sweetly. "I've seen you the way you use magic Harry, and teach. You do yourself a disservice as an artist." She whispered tenderly.

Their eyes met and something crackled between them, arced like lightening. Something powerful, natural and inexplicable. "Show me" Harry whispered.

Gabrielle felt heat and her face flush but she nodded. She handed him the black handled brush. Their hands met for a second and Gabrielle's stomach tumbled a bit. Forcing her rebellious stomach back into quietude, Gabrielle began to tell Harry what to do. And if she did it in a slightly breathless voice, neither of them mentioned anything.

"Decide what you want to paint." She instructed patiently. "You can pick Luna if you want to. We're going to end up doing a number of different paintings."

Harry shook his head. "Not Luna. I want to do something else first and figure out what to do, so I can work on it alone." Harry was quiet for a minute, and then said, "Sirius. I want to paint Sirius."

Gabrielle nodded. She knew how much Harry had cared for his godfather and how much his premature death had hurt him.

"When you perform Occlumency, you take your thoughts and emotions and push them inside…" Gabrielle began.

Harry started. "You're an Occlumens?" he asked. Harry had only mastered the art of protecting his mind after intense tutelage from Albus Dumbledore himself. For Gabrielle to have acquired the skill at her age was nothing short of amazing.

"Occlumency is very like the method used to train young Veela to suppress our powers. If we don't learn to master our abilities little boys and dogs will follow us everywhere. And stop stalling." Gabrielle smiled. "As I was about to say, this is similar to Occlumency. You're going to focus on a memory, but instead of suppressing it you're going to push it out of yourself through the brush. I'll help you, now close your eyes." She instructed. Harry did so, and she smiled slightly as memories of a different lesson fell into her thoughts. This time though, she was the teacher. "Think about Sirius. Remember what he looked like, how he made you feel. Connect that to your magic. Let the magic guide your hand."

"This sounds like a familiar conversation." Harry joked.

"Shush," Gabrielle admonished gently. "You need to focus on the art."

"Fine." Harry closed his eyes and began to concentrate. Gabrielle was amazed that she could actually begin to feel Harry gather his power. She tapped her own power and reached out to touch the core of Harry's magic, felt where it linked with his emotions and pushed, gently guiding him.

"Tell me what you're feeling." Gabrielle ordered softly.

Harry began to speak as the brush began to move, almost on its own. The story of Sirius Black began to take shape in oil and grey.

More time later

"I'm going to get you," Gabrielle threatened.

She sat on Harry's couch with a stack of scrolls resting on her thighs. Her short robe had ridden up slightly, exposing pale, creamy, and perfect legs. She had become Harry's unofficial teacher's aid, helping him grade the papers of his younger years. She spent almost every evening with Harry, working on lesson plans, grading papers, painting, or just talking about things. It had been weeks since he had last taken a drink and she was bound and determined to watch over him until she was sure he was out of danger.

The reason why she was threatening him was that for the past three days Harry had been running his sixth and seventh years through an obstacle course of wands, charms, and conjured simulacrums of dangerous beasts. He crafted it on the Quiddich pitch overnight, demonstrating astounding transfiguration and charm skills. This day, Gabrielle had gotten soaked by a simulacrum of a dragon that blasted her with green goop. It was better than actual dragon's fire, she supposed, but hell to get out of her silver hair.

"The effect will wear off in a couple days, besides, next time you'll know to move faster." Harry chided. "I've been trying to teach all of you how to trust your instincts in a battle situation." He cocked his head from around the easel he was working on and smiled at the young veela. "You zigged when you should have zagged."

Gabrielle stuck out her tongue at him, then huffed "I'm still going to get you back."

The pair lapsed into companionable silence and Harry continued to paint while she looked over first year homework. Several minutes later she spoke up again.

"It's going to be Christmas in a few weeks and Molly is throwing her traditional family party. You should go." Gabrielle held her breath. This was going to be the next big challenge for Harry: Facing his family and friends after being gone for so long. He and Ron, in particular had not parted on good terms. He needed to face them and become friends again. He needed more connections than just her.

As much as she enjoyed her status as his confidant.

Harry stopped painting and silence filled the room. Gabrielle was getting ready to speak again when Harry answered her.

"I… I don't know… maybe." His voice was hesitant and Gabrielle was sensitive enough to his moods to realize that Harry was scared. Terrified of seeing and being rejected by his friends.

"They miss you, Harry." She answered his unspoken question tenderly. "They will be glad to see you."

"Maybe."

They entered companionable silence again. Harry continued to paint with single minded concentration. He had finally begun painting Luna after painting a number of scenes of darkness and evil. Sirius's death. The Pit. Bellatrix. The Siege of Hogwarts. The slaying of Voldemort. Harry had tapped into something primal, and like all things having to do with magic, once he devoted himself to learning it, he did so with phenomenal skill. The paintings were dark and powerful. They radiated naked emotion that would forever haunt Gabrielle. In particular, the painting of Voldemort, all red with swirls of animated shadow and splashes of emerald, troubled her dreams. Seeing his emotions scribed in oils, Gabrielle discovered a new respect for Harry. If they affected her that much just in painting form, she couldn't imagine what actual memories of the scenes would be like.

"I'm done."

Gabrielle looked up. He was done? With Luna? She was amazed. He had been working on the painting for only a few days. He had spent nearly three times longer on each of the darker paintings he had been working on.

"Do you want to see?" Harry asked shyly.

Gabrielle nodded and pushed a few stray strands of green-streaked silver hair out of her eyes. She got up and carefully placed her papers on the coffee table and walked over to stand behind Harry. Tears welled in her eyes when she was what he had wrought.

Luna was sitting on a tree stump in the middle of the Forbidden Forest at night. Her robes were of the palest blue and silver, and her long willow wand rested across her knees. The moon overhead illuminated her large eyes and transformed them into pools of twilight. Her hair was wild and untamed, flowing down her back like an ashen waterfall. A small smile curved the corners of her mouth—as if she were privy to a joke not meant for mortal ears. Various forest creatures, including squirrels, sparrows, and a unicorn surrounded her. A small pug-nosed creature knelt at her feet and gazed up at the sitting witch adoringly. Everything was brushed with loving detail, as if Luna were only moments away from waking up. She looked like the avatar of a nature goddess being paid court by the creatures in her dominion. She was perfect. Beautiful. In truth, more beautiful than she had been in real life, but that fit. To Harry, Luna had always been the most beautiful woman in the room. It brought to mind everything that Luna represented to Gabrielle. The moon, serenity, beauty… love. Everything about the young woman that made her one of the most universally loved members of the order and the woman who caught the eye and love of the most eligible bachelor in the world.

Their fingers entwined and Gabrielle whispered, "She would love it, Harry. Absolutely love it."

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