Review Responses:

Lordheaven: Heh, I can imagine Harry's face the way you described it. How strong do you think the Rakia should be? I'm not really familiar with how 'strength' is determined with it. Think you could help me out? Your hint about the various 'side effects' intrigued me. Eventually Harry might earn some respect, though you're right—he is going to have one heck of a job earning it! Yakov will come into play with that. Harry's Parslemouth ability will have a part to play, heh—and quite a part it will be. A nasty little shock for dear Dareios...but I won't say anymore than that; have to keep up the suspense, you know? I hope this chapter is bigger than the last, it's hard to tell until you update it. I was wondering, what is Bulgaria like during the different seasons? As is mentioned by Dareios in this chapter, Harry's training will be influenced by the time of year. Do you think you could describe it for me? That'll help with the plan I'm working on. Thanks a lot for your help and your reviews!

MinorMistake99: Thanks for your support, as always.

Thanks also to: Tersios, ForeverUsed, and OnePhoenix for your reviews!

Chapter 16: Shadow Practice

When Harry exited the Artifact Properties classroom after the other students had left, he pulled out his map and scribbled everything Ivaylo had told him earlier that he could still remember—not very much, but enough for him to make his way slowly back to Dareios' quarters. It took him at least ten minutes, but that in itself was a grand accomplishment from Harry's point of view. Apparently, it wasn't enough for his Sponsor. The moment Harry entered the room, his mind set on remaining standing as Ivaylo had told him, his pride in finding his way back had been crushed by the protocol-harping Magister Dareios.

"You're late, boy!" he snapped, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. "Your class isn't leagues away—Ivaylo was here already and gone by the time you got here. What are you, a slug? Use those feet of yours! Now come over here."

Harry obediently walked over to the chair facing his Sponsor, but did not sit until Dareios nodded for him to do so.

"At least you've got a speck of protocol in your dust-filled head," the old wizard muttered under his breath, then looked sharply at his student. "What did you learn of Zotzion?"

Harry opened his mouth, then remembered and hurriedly placed a hand over his heart. Receiving permission to speak, he relayed everything Dareios had told him from the previous night; well, as much as he could recall. Again, it wasn't enough, and Dareios berated his lack of memorization skills before reminding him harshly of the essay-length's-worth of information that Harry had been expected to remember in a matter of hours. "Well?" he barked. "Why didn't you write that down?"

Harry quickly got out his parchment, quill, ink, and a book to use as a hard surface. He'd seen the others carrying a clipboard-like device; he'd ask Yakov about them at lunch. By the time Harry was able to write down the things he had forgotten about Zotzion, Dareios had moved on to a lecture about what it was that he was going to be teaching Harry, while expertly ignoring the frustration of his young pupil.

"As you should know, no student who steps foot on the campus of Zotzion University leaves until they have passed all testing and reached their limits of their abilities for the magicks which they have learned. You will have three other main tutors for these three subjects: Creatures, Artifact Properties, and Theory of Magic. Each Magister there will have their own tests for you, testing how well you have gathered what they have taught."

I won't get far if they teach like Silviya, in Bulgarian or some other language, Harry thought morosely.

"I will teach you the rest," Dareios continued, "And the subjects, while few, will be very in depth. You will learn to increase your status; as in agility, endurance, power, etcetera. These traits will be honed through both magical and physical training in all conditions. You will work hard, or you will break and fail, as many have done before you, and many will no doubt do after you."

Harry's hands tensed at the challenge implied. He would prove that he wasn't weak, that he could do anything these others could do... he continued to write down the lecture in shorthand.

"I will also be instructing you in the art of rituals, spells, lore, and potions which have great use and effectiveness in our Arts." Harry's hand jerked at the mention of potions, which reminded him of a particularly treacherous ex-professor... "I will teach you inner strength, how to find it, how to recognize it, and how to use it; that alone will decide whether or not you succeed in remaining who you are."

Harry looked at him. What did he mean by that? But the Magister went on, offering Harry no chance to ask.

"You will also learn various techniques that are valuable in battle. The elements of surprise, stealth, speed, and secrets—all are precious tools that must be perfected, and createdandperfectedin various means and guises. In addition to those subjects, I will teach you some of the Magical Laws that govern most societies. As you are not Bulgarian, you will not be familiar with much of it, and will no doubt be unable to comprehend the purposes of it." He added the last part disdainfully, aggravating Harry further. But the young wizard remained silent, his quill scribbling away. Dareios paused, and if Harry hadn't been looking down furiously at his paper, he would have seen a questioning, cautious, and even nervous look in Dareios' dark blue eyes. But that look vanished the moment Harry's quill stopped, and the Magister went on.

"Training programs will change with the seasons, though some subjects will always remain present. It is your responsibility to take care of any forgetfulness that is clearly embedded in you, and therefore you must take it upon yourself to relearn anything that might be forgotten from your mind. You have certain study periods for your own use, which you can use to complete whatever work you choose; but choose wisely. Wasted effort or time is the act of an idiot, and I doubt that you wish to remain one." Harry swallowed his anger, but it was hard; he took his anger out on his paper, writing hard and wrathfully.

"As for rules... Should you disobey or disrespect any Magister or Elder, you will be given a number of demerits, the amount will depend upon how grievous the offense. The more you earn, the more dire your punishment work." He looked Harry hard in the eye. "I will not stand for trouble makers, understand boy? Should you give me any reason to believe that you are not in line, you will have a consequence to match. Clear?"

Harry nodded, teeth clenched. "Yes Sir."

Dareios looked shrewdly at him, as if he very much doubted Harry's sincerity. With a sniff, he returned to his lecture. "Very well. Now, for the next three hours, you will be training in these quarters, and then two of your fellows shall arrive, and another session shall begin. For starters, we shall go over the basics of using the Dark Arts and their history. Later today, you will need to find the appropriate texts with which to study from. I will give you no lists, and no two students share the exact same sources." He seemed to be a warning against asking another student for help. Great, more 'earning your way' protocol stuff...how wonderful...

Dareios steepled his fingers and began again, his voice taking on a less-harsh, but still strict tone. His voice was consistent and—as Harry grudgingly forced himself to admit —he took teaching seriously, and would be a good teacher, if only Harry could keep his temper reigned in which- he thought privately- he was doing well enough at; but the protocol was murder already.

The grey-haired wizard told Harry of the discoveries of ancient warlocks in regards to the use and foundation of Dark magic. It was in Africa, where it had been 'born'. An offset in the balance of life had brought strange influences to work, too many people had weighed up, and something had to be done. The offset had improved the good nature of life, the Light, as it had come to be known. There were too many sunny days, too many crops, too many woods, too much water, and too much land. The magic that was the life of all things had grown to an alarming amount, and it had to be corrected. The people of the Light, who had powers that assisted in this growth, had used their magic to keep the seemingly prosperous traits of the world continuous, when in truth they were only damaging their world. Thus, the Shadow was born.

It was a magic of its own. It had different powers, different strengths and weaknesses, and different practitioners. The Shadow magic swept over the world. It brought cleansing fires to the woods, eliminating the threat of uncontrolled wildfires caused by lightning. Floods and torrents of rain and ice swallowed masses of land, creating new habitats for aquatic creatures and people. Droughts created new plots of land in wasted waters, turning waste liquid into solid purchase, good for life to grow. The sun was covered by clouds, easing the brightness and watering the thirsty land. Winds tore the crops that would have spread numerous diseases by those who ate them. The Purging Shadow, its work done, lifted from the world, but it was not forgotten. It remained, and came to life when the Light had overgrown, it returned to restore the balance.

"For even in the dawn, there are shadows." Dareios said, "Even with life, there is death. All things need another to balance them out. That is the nature of the universe. As more and more people began to use the Light, the Shadow was weakened; too many were against it. And then, the people of ancient times began to realize the true gift of the Shadow magic. It could weaken what Light could not. It could grant the power over the land, the waters, the air, andeven the mind. Where the Light was weak, Shadow was strong. And its power could only grow. For there cannot be Light without a Shadow, but in the absence of Light, there is always Shadow. This is what they realized; this is what lured the warlocks to the Arts. It brought them in large numbers, and the balance was restored.

"But everyone fears what they do not understand, and there were those whom could not comprehend what the Shadow was. As time went on, the Shadow's power grew, and more magicks, more variations of it appeared. They flourished in the age of learning, methods erupted around the globe. Shadow was the rising side. And yet balance was still required. As more and more people began to practice the Shadow Arts, which until then had been used equally along with the Light, the power that was clear in them began to confuse the Light practitioners. They feared it; they made no attempt to understand it. Then the Shadow warlocks found new powers that allowed them to do extraordinary things. They could bring the dead to life. They could save others from death. Allat grave prices, but it worked. The Light could not do such things. The acts of the Shadows were seen as evil. They rioted against them. The Shadows fell from grace as the belief grew. Their acts were seen as tainted, evil. And thus, the Dark Arts were born in the eyes of the Light, and the balance has never been quite the same."

Dareios fell silent, and so did Harry's quill. Harry had been strangely entranced by the tale, which had lasted a good hour. While listening, he had been writing down the various names of famous Shadow practitioners, the deeds they had done, and the time they had performed them, along with the place, as Dareios had described him. But this conclusion, it stunned him. He could not bring himself to believe it all. The Dark Arts were...they were evil. They only brought pain, agony, death... Had they really once been used to bring those who had been lost, back? Even from the cold clutches of Death? His thoughts turned to Sirius. If he studied, if he found the old ways...he could bring him back. Maybe even his parents!

But at a grave price...

The thought rose unbidden, a warning, turning him from that path. No. He thought furiously. Things happen for a reason. Thinking that way is what made Voldemort. I am nothing like Voldemort! His hands trembled slightly with rage, but Dareios did not notice. No, the Magister was staring into the empty fireplace, a strange glazed look in his eyes. He seemed to be remembering something. It was the look of someone who was remembering the past, something they wanted to forget, something that they regretted...

Something that had to do with the boy sitting before him.