Beta: Digitize27
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"All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind." - Khalil Gibran
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With Hermione avoiding him, Harry had all the time he could ask for to play with the Dementor corpse, even if he was a little distracted.
He needed to find out what a connection between souls meant and where they came from, and that meant trips to the library.
He didn't know what a soul was, even still, so how could he hope to understand how a connection between souls might work and, perhaps most importantly, why Dumbledore would keep it from him?
Harry breathed to calm himself, refusing to allow the amperage to flow across his teeth in his anger. He bottlenecked the cold in his throat and turned his attention to the corpse in the box.
A radius was fitting itself back into an ulna, so Harry reduced them apart. Ribs were cementing themselves to a sternum and a spine, so Harry tore it back to pieces. He would have to watch that. Make sure that the body didn't put itself back together and set itself on some poor student.
That would be a disaster.
He could imagine trying to explain that away.
Oh yeah, I'm basically like a Dementor, so I ripped one apart and was keeping it in the school to study, you know? Regular third year student things, honestly.
No, he was pretty certain that explanation wouldn't fly. So, he checked on the creature every day and reduced it more and more each time.
He pulled out his book on the God-Kings of India and noted his own success in imitating them, before moving on to his blood magic work.
It didn't ease his distraction. He kept coming back to questions about the soul. He poured into Lebendie, eine kategorishe Studie to try and find an answer but, whether the subject was too abstract, or he didn't understand the German well enough, he could find no answers.
He did find a single reference to soul-based connection to an object called a 'phylakterie', but he struggled to make heads nor tails of it.
The tome was dense and in a foreign language, he felt he deserved some slack.
He stood with a sigh after several hours of studying German-to-English dictionaries and set the work aside, resigned – for now at least – to his own ignorance.
He checked his watch. He could still probably practice his patronus for a few more hours before the castle began to wake up and he could hunt down Luna Lovegood.
The thought of the girl made him frown.
He hadn't kept his promise to help her, had he? And here he was, preparing to abuse her gifts again.
Why did he recoil from it like this?
He waited for the sun to rise and reach about midday so the Christmas feast would be in full swing. If Luna Lovegood was in the castle she would be there. At least, that was probably a good bet.
He made his way down to the Great Hall, past innumerable sparks of light. Closer inspection revealed them to be fairies trapped in glass bulbs.
Is...is that cruelty?
Harry wasn't sure.
But with the tinsel lining the corridors and wonderful wreaths on every door they certainly fit in with the decorum, so Harry pushed past his concerns regarding the small winged humanoids.
The Great Hall was filled with twelve Christmas Trees, all glittering with golden stars and sliding silver lace which, coiled by magic, ran up and down their lengths. He smelled the powerful odor of turkey and gravy as he walked in. There was a single table, set for perhaps a dozen people. Hermione was already there, eating alone while stroking Crookshanks. When he stepped in she looked up and met his eyes.
[Doesn't he understand who Dumbledore is? He-]
Harry broke the connection. He didn't need to hear her tired old rhetoric again.
Dumbledore.
This would be his first time seeing the man after what he learned. Did the wizard wish to keep Harry in the dark? What lengths would he go to do it? Would he be disappointed that Harry learned he and Voldemort shared a connection on their deepest levels?
Dumbledore's eyes conveyed the man's smile better than his mouth could, twinkling merrily like all the other festive ornaments. Harry met them as he normally would.
He took a seat at the table and spotted two nervous looking first-years. They looked up at him curiously and somewhat afraid. He read them and saw rumors about himself; that he cursed students who got in his way, and that he was favored by Dumbledore. That he was a powerful and dangerous wizard.
It amused him that, for once, all of those were completely correct.
He had no illusions about how long he would last in a duel against an adult wizard, let alone a trained one, but compared to his peers he was pretty much unmatched up to at least fifth year, probably higher.
On the other hand, assuming he couldn't be matched seemed like a bad idea.
At any rate, Luna wasn't here. He figured he may as well eat instead and get back to work.
"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as Harry took his seat. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables... Sit down, sit down!"
"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Professor Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witches hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Harry eyed the witches hat with recognition, it was a great deal like Neville's Grandmother's.
Professor Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed it back towards the eccentric wizard who immediately, and without apparent reservation, placed it on his head.
Harry dug into a pile of roast potatoes as the doors of the Great Hall opened again. Professor Trelawney strolled in with wide glasses that seemed to give her the appearance of an insect. This was Harry's first look at the Divination Professor, so he eyed her up carefully.
Were those runes on her exceedingly large earrings, or just decorative markings? Was she a talented seer who gazed beyond realty and to the outer reaches of time? Was she dangerous? Could she through him into his deepest intents? Could he keep his secrets from her?
"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," she said in a faraway voice that, at least in part, reminded him of Luna's. "And to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."
"Certainly, certainly," Dumbledore's eyes were filled only with good humor. "Let me draw you up a chair -"
And he did indeed draw a chair in mid-air with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Harry eyed the conjuration with great interest.
A conjuration was technically any transfiguration that went from air, into a solid or liquid substance. They were taxing, magically, speaking. Dumbledore actually proved why when he was a student here. It takes a great deal of energy to pull something from nothing and to compress air enough to make it solid. Air is the most free of all elements, so naturally it resists conformity more than any other.
Harry had yet to perform a conjuration on anything more complicated and more massive than a quill. The concentration and technique involved put the subject in NEWTs range which he still had yet to cross in most subjects.
He watched the sorcerer carefully at the casual display of magical might.
He felt a pang of… anxiety?
Was he afraid of Dumbledore? When had that happened? What had changed?
No, he wasn't afraid, just… nervous, perhaps? He struggled to pin down the name of the emotion and, in the end, simply set it aside.
Professor Trelawney did not sit down. Her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of soft scream.
What does she see?
Had magic torn her head open and filled it with a vision, the way it often did to poor Luna?
"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise will be the first to die!"
Perhaps not.
"We'll risk it, Sibyll," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."
Harry though he could detect some professional animosity there; but from Professor McGonagall? Surely not.
Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table at any second. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.
"Tripe, Sibyll?"
Well played Professor McGonagall.
Harry chuckled lightly at the pun.
Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"
"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."
Ah, Lycanthropy was technically a sickness, Harry supposed.
"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" Professor McGonagall stabbed, eyebrows raised mockingly.
Professor Trelawney provided her colleague with a frosty glance. "Certainly I knew, Minerva," she asserted stiffly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."
"That explains a great deal," Professor McGonagall did not relent.
Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. "If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him-"
"Imagine that," commented Professor McGonagall dryly, already turning back to her food.
"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a still cheerful but slightly raised voice (Did Harry detect a hint of irritation?) which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's barbs, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"
Harry's eyes snapped over to the potions master.
Wolfsbane?!
It was incredibly difficult to brew. Harry leaned forward with interest and cocked his head curiously at the Potions professor.
Snape nodded. "Of course, Headmaster." He turned to catch Harry's interested gaze. "Curious, Mr. Potter?" The greasy man resisted sneering; Harry chalked it up to a small Christmas miracle.
He nodded honestly, reciprocating the small – and likely reluctant – gesture of goodwill. "Nothing that can't wait."
"Another project?" Madam Sprout cut in. All the attention was suddenly on Harry. "You know I was certainly impressed with your last publication. I never would have thought of it myself. How ever did you come up with it?"
"I didn't, not really," Harry answered first, before looking away from Snape towards the Herbology teacher. "Muggles do it all the time, crossbreeding their plants to improve their crop. I just asked myself why we couldn't do the same."
"Marvelous, of course," Professor Flitwick pushed in. "Simply marvelous, though I must admit to a bit of a personal bias and curiosity. I have heard from Professor McGonagall about a set of enchanted mirrors you designed. I must wonder if you are planning anything for my subject."
Harry saw Hermione clutch at her mirror out of the corner of his eye.
He shook his head. "Not since I finished the pensieve," he frowned and stroked his jaw. "Most of my charm work recently has been towards my patronus."
"You enchanted a pensieve?" It was Professor McGonagall and she sounded a little flabbergasted. "Does it work?"
"It hasn't broken yet, so… maybe?" Harry shrugged, thumbing his chin as he considered the question. "It could still fail, and it stutters occasionally."
"Did you say you could cast a patronus charm?" Professor Flitwick cut back across, meeting Professor Sprout's gaze in some communication. "Or are you simply practicing it?"
"Both, I suppose." Harry answered. "I can't cast a corporeal one. Not yet."
Harry took a bite of potatoes.
"But, you can produce a shield?" Professor McGonagall asked. "That's well beyond OWL level."
Harry swallowed and nodded, meeting her astonished gaze.
"I did want to ask you, Professor," he began, directed towards the Transfiguration teacher. "About the nature of Animagus transformations."
She looked slightly taken aback. "Did you wish to know anything in particular?"
I want to know what happens to your soul, as you change.
"I wanted to know about how it changes your mind. Does it change your thoughts? Surely a cat doesn't think the same way a person does. Does it? Do the experiences blend together?"
"For me," she began, considering the question, "I have always been able to keep the cat separate from the person, although it is trying at times to keep the two instincts and memories distinct enough to recall a cohesive narrative. I could probably point you in the direction of a few books on the subject, if you are so inclined."
He nodded at once. "Please."
The conversation ebbed and flowed for nearly an hour before Harry stood to return to his studies. When he did so Professor Trelawney shrieked.
"My dear, don't you know? Whoever departs from a table for thirteen first shall meet a grisly end!"
Harry nearly jumped at the sound. He was starting to understand why Hermione hadn't liked divination so far. He was starting to think Trelawney wasn't much like Luna at all.
He thought about saying he wasn't superstitious, but he was a wizard. He was totally superstitious.
"Do you know when?" He asked her honestly. "When I'm going to meet a 'grisly end?'"
"No…" She started. "But my dear-"
"I'll just take the chance that it isn't today, then," he returned, and summarily walked out.
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Harry rose from the pensieve frowning. At one point, Grindelwald used a spell that caused a wave in the air, visible like heat over asphalt. It was one of several spells which were occurring within the famous duel which he had trouble identifying in both cause and effect.
"-n't touch Harry's things."
Harry heard the voice and smiled. He had been looking forward to Daphne's return to the castle. He had been, well… lonely, he supposed, without her around.
"What, this? He has a diary?" Astoria giggled from the entrance room. "Have you read it?"
"It's full of his ideas, and more importantly, protected, Aster," Daphne defended.
"So, you haven't read his diary, or this other book." There was a pause. "And don't call me Aster!" The younger voice replied. "What is this?"
"Some of Harry's notes, you shouldn't touch them."
"Why? Because only you get to?" There was a giggle. "Is this Norwegian?" She then said something in another language that Harry didn't understand. "Is it?" It sounded Scandinavian, but from context clues he could guess that it was Norwegian. "No, it looks like German," she rambled right along.
I forgot about their Scandinavian roots.
"I haven't seen that one before," Daphne remarked, decidedly less chiding now that her curiosity was piqued.
Harry walked back into entrance hall of the main room.
"Harry!" Daphne turned away from the table where he had laid out several books and notes on various subjects. On one end was his German studies and the book Dumbledore gave him, on another was his French work, in a corner was a pile of notes on Dementors, and at the far end was a collection on parchment filled with Arithmancy equations about temperature and weather.
She came up to him and hugged him, causing him to stiffen slightly before she released him.
"I... ah ... I brought Astoria to see the room. I told her about it over Christmas and she wanted to see it." Daphne bit her lip cutely and wrung her hands.
It took Harry a moment to realize that she was nervous because she was asking for permission – kind of. There was a pleading quality, and something apologetic in her tone.
Harry shrugged. "Alright."
She sent him something relieved and something... betrayed? Like she expected him to put up a fight and was disappointed that he didn't, but was also glad that he hadn't.
Confusing.
Harry resolved to ignore it until it otherwise turned into a problem.
"You made all this?" Astoria asked.
"Kind of," he said. "Daphne helped."
"I really didn't," she huffed and crossed her arms glaring at him half-heartedly.
"Is it true that you get help from the Headmaster?" Astoria pushed on. "Is that why you got published?"
"Astoria!"
Harry shrugged, taking a seat and pushing paper aside until he found what he was looking for. A set of thermomantic arithmancy equations for reducing temperature in an area. He reached across the desk towards his Dementor's box and made sure that it was double sealed.
"Well!" Astoria crossed her arms and gave him an impatient glance, looking a great deal like her sister had a moment ago.
"He shrugged, Astoria," Daphne informed her sister with a tired sort of amusement.
"That's not a very good answer."
"I bring questions to him sometimes, and he points me in the right direction," Harry said to alleviate the pressure.
Astoria grinned. "I knew it. You're just getting special help."
"Aster!"
Harry shrugged again. "Yeah, kinda."
"Ugh." Daphne ran her hand across her face firmly and set the other on the table leaning onto it. "Don't encourage her, Harry, she'll-"
She pulled back and snapped her eyes towards him.
"What did you do to the table?" She asked.
Harry's eyes flicked between her hand and the table.
"You're getting stronger," he commented idly.
"What? He knows you're psychometric like Dad?"
"He knew before you did, now hush."
"What?!"
"Harry, what did you do to the table? Was that… lightning?" Daphne pressed him.
Harry held up a hand and let go of some capacitance, letting sparks fly from between his fingers. "A little."
"Ooh, sparkly."
Daphne ignored Astoria. "When did you become an electrokinetic?"
Harry shrugged again. "Weren't you going to give Astoria a tour?"
Daphne frowned, but nodded all the same.
"Hey, I want to know about this too," Astoria whined.
"Tough," Daphne shot back, grabbing her sister by the hand and dragging her towards the room with the pensieve.
"Wait, what about that box he has?"
"I'm sure it's very interesting. He'll tell me all about it later."
"What about me?"
"You'll probably be standing near Draco Malfoy, stuttering and blushing."
"Daphne!" Astoria whined.
Harry looked over his workspace and frowned. He waved his wand at the mess and parchment stacked itself, books aligning into neat piles by subject.
He really needed to visit Germany and France and spend some time in the heads of the people who spoke those languages. Working through and translating word for word was one thing, but actually being immersed in the language was quite another.
After a few more minutes Neville walked in, followed by Lisa.
"Hey Harry." Lisa plopped down across from him.
Harry nodded at them both. "Have a good Holiday?"
Lisa nodded, before frowning. "Well it was alright, we just…"
"You had to deal with the Ministry?"
She frowned at him. "What do you know about that?"
"Nothing," Harry said honestly. "I have a few guesses, but that's about it."
"And you don't want to know?"
"It's not my business."
"You're a strange wizard." She gave him an odd look.
If I had a knut…
"Yeah, I've heard," He said with a nod. "Have you two made a decision about Beauxbatons yet?"
Lisa shook her head while Neville nodded almost tiredly. "I think I need to stay. I can't afford to miss the time here, not with my OWLs coming up." The teen looked down at a book on Harry's desk. "And I don't think I could learn French fast enough, either."
Harry nodded. He had figured as much.
"I still haven't decided, but I don't think I'll go either," Lisa added. "It'll just be me and Tracey, dragging Neville to Hogsmeade and out of the greenhouse next year."
Harry stood up. "Come on then, Neville."
"Wait what for?" Neville asked.
"We're going to practice some spells, since I don't trust Malfoy not to mess with you when I'm in France."
Neville shot a nervous glance at Lisa.
"Uh… well...um… I don't know if that's necessary," he replied after a moment.
"Maybe, maybe not." Harry motioned to the dueling chamber. "Let's practice."
Neville followed Harry to the other room, where they exchanged spells until Harry was satisfied.
Of course, even without his mind-magics and elemental abilities he could have trounced Neville. Harry had an elementary understanding of dueling techniques, had practiced dueling chains, had a wide variety of spells in his arsenal and could probably cast all of them more competently than Neville.
But he was trying to teach, which was why he sent only light stinging spells Neville's way instead of lightning, while Neville attempted to disarm him or hit him with the appropriate spell. Or any spell, really.
He never did hit Harry, but he could probably give Malfoy more of a run for his money.
Neville was sweating slightly in his position opposite Harry when Daphne cane back, leading her sister like a puppy.
"Are you dueling?" Astoria asked, the tour apparently doing little to quench her energy.
Harry shook his head, sparing a look at Neville's slouching form. "No, we're done."
He stepped back and Neville gratefully caught his breath as Tracey strolled in.
"You know, you guys could spend some time out in the castle," she informed them." The other students don't bite." She spotted Astoria. "Who shrunk Daphne?"
"Funny," Daphne said, swatting at her friend. "Did you have a good holiday? How was Paris? I got your letters by the way. You know you can just use the mirrors."
"You did? You got them?" Tracey beamed. "It was wonderful. It was all lit up because of Christmas and the city was gorgeous. Muggles may not have magic, but they really know how to be festive. Think, somebody actually had to cover the Eiffel Tower with lights by hand. Could you imagine? Like, that's your job. You and a hundred people have to hang lights for days to get the city into the Christmas spirit." Tracey breathed. "But it would have been better if you'd have come. It was kind of lonely with just me and my parents."
"Christmas is for family," Daphne reminded her.
"Right, right, whatever," Tracey muttered. "It's not like you couldn't have portkeyed or something…" Her face brightened instantly, moving over to poke Astoria's face. "What's up shrimp?"
"Hey I-"
"Has anyone seen Hermione? It's not like her to not be here. I thought I saw her in the library. Did you two make any spells over the break?" Tracey wasn't stopping.
"Yeah Harry, did you two make some magic?" Lisa snorted.
Harry scrunched his brow for a moment as Neville abruptly turned away. Harry caught his eye.
["Neville I'm telling you, Harry is doing some serious dark magic. He's turning on Dumbledore."
"I-I'm not sure, Hermione. He's always read books from the restricted section. That doesn't make him evil, does it? At least, no more than before."
Hermione harrumphed at him. "You don't understand. He was reading about soul magic! Blood magic! He said Dumbledore was responsible for You-Know-Who and Grindelwald!"
"W-w-well there is some historical debate about that, Hermione. My gran thinks he probably could have stopped Grindelwald sooner. Granddad died fighting Grindelwald's reapers, see? She still blames Dumbledore a little. Lots of people argue about that to this day."
"Neville you can't keep defen-"]
Harry stepped back into himself.
"Have you heard something? Neville?" He asked his friend. The time he spent in Neville's thoughts was barely a heartbeat.
Neville rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "She said you were dangerous. That I shouldn't be around you."
Well I am dangerous.
Tracey cut in. "Wait, why? Did you two fight? Is she avoiding you?"
"Yeah, probably."
"Wait you probably fought, or she's probably avoiding you?" Lisa asked looking confused.
"We had an argument," Harry clarified.
"And?" Tracey pressed.
Harry shrugged.
"You're the worst." Tracey sighed. "What did you fight about?"
"Dumbledore," Harry said. "She idolizes him to godhood. She can't see the mistakes he's made."
"I don't get it." Astoria was looking at him, clearly confused.
"Shush." Daphne waved her sister off. "Is she coming back?"
"Maybe?" He shrugged uncertainly; he wasn't Luna.
Daphne looked elated, but tempered herself with occlumency almost fast enough that Harry didn't see. Almost.
"You're not going to go talk to her?" Lisa asked.
"Maybe." Harry considered stroking his chin. "Should I?"
"Hermione is…" Neville began "…Hermione." He looked as though he had wanted to say more, but struggled to figure out what.
"So, should I go talk to her or not?" Harry pressed.
"She seems pretty set that you're a bad influence," Neville said carefully. "She was thinking about going to Professor McGonagall about it."
Harry made a face. He didn't need to deal with that.
"I'm not sure about it," Harry decided. "I'll wait and see how it plays out."
Tracey seemed content with that. The latest piece of gossip, and it was all hers.
"I have something for you," Harry told her as he handed her the slip Dumbledore had signed.
"You can go to Hogsmeade now? That's so wonderful! We can finally go the three broomsticks and get sweets at-"
"I thought he wasn't going to sign it until you could cast a patronus." Daphne peered at the slip over Tracey's shoulder. "You can cast one? What's it look like?"
Instead of being upset at the interruption, Tracey joined her in staring at him curiously.
"It's not corporeal," Harry told them. "But it's a shield."
"So you don't know the form?" Daphne asked.
"Form?" Tracey asked.
"A corporeal patronus takes the shape of a symbolic, animalistic manifestation of the caster," Harry lectured. "It's not unique to the caster and certainly doesn't represent the whole of their personality, merely a certain aspect. It is subject to change. Emotional upheaval can cause a patronus to change drastically, but it can change even day to day. Not much; say, a gazelle to an antelope, but it can change."
"So whatever shape yours took would be unique to you?" Astoria asked.
"Not unique, just representative," Daphne corrected. "Is it time for dinner?"
"I've been looking forward to the welcoming back feast," Neville remarked as he walked out.
"Coming Harry?" Lisa asked.
Harry considered it, then shook his head. "I had a decent sized lunch. Don't wait up."
I want to play with my pet Dementor.
Harry waited them to file out before settling into his work and cracking the box open.
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Harry attempted to find more about the 'phylakterie', or phylactery in english. It was an ancient hebrew device, he learned, which made sense given the sophisticated ancient-judaic understanding of the soul. It was a magical device which connected, or perhaps anchored, the soul to an object for some vague purpose. He was pointed in the direction of a book, Secrets of the Darkest Arts. It was a book Harry had seen in the library, in the restricted section, but he could not find it again.
Another student must have gained access for advanced study of Defense Against the Dark Arts and taken it. Harry would have to wait anxiously until it was returned.
Harry also informed his Quidditch team captain that the Dementors would no longer be a problem in any of their matches. The captain had been worried that they couldn't keep him as a seeker and win the cup because of the monsters, but Harry put his worries to ease.
He also gave up his hunt for Luna. He… couldn't bring himself to use her like that. Not again.
Harry stepped down into the dungeons to speak to the potions master in mid-January. He knocked on the office door heard the man's drawling voice bid him enter.
A potent and most powerful smell washed over him as he walked through the door. A cauldron was steaming in the centre of the room, packed in ice. The contents were greenish, and its odor was sour, yet pungent. It tickled his nose in an oddly deep way, which was the only way he could think to phrase it.
He wrinkled his face from it.
Professor Snape turned towards Harry, but if he was surprised to see him it never reached his face. "Recognize this potion, Mr. Potter?"
"It's Wolfsbane," Harry said.
"Do you know why I might be brewing Wolfsbane?"
"Yes, Sir." Harry said.
Professor Snape made a 'hm' sound before turning back to peruse some shelves.
"What do you know about werewolves?"
"Not much more than the usual," Harry began. "Magical resistant hide, increased physical prowess, they become mindless when they turn." Harry pointed at the potion. "Wolfsbane allows a werewolf to keep their mind when they change, stop them from hurting people."
"Not always," the teacher corrected. "Fenrir Greyback was a werewolf who served the Dark Lord. He would drink the potion so he could choose whom to kill and maim."
Harry frowned, having not considered that.
"The potion is supposed to be difficult to brew, and expensive besides." Harry stepped closer to look down at the shifting liquid.
"Perhaps not for much longer," he was corrected again. "The jazbay grapes that make the potion so costly may become cheaper. Thanks to you." Professor Snape gave a slight smirk. "You may allow many werewolves to fit into society with greater ease."
Harry frowned. "I didn't consider werewolves at all. I had Dittany in mind for the project."
"Did you also consider. that in driving the price of ingredients down you may put potioneers and apothecaries out of business?" Professor Snape pressed. "Economics may not be taught here, but I expect you understand supply and demand."
No, he hadn't thought of that, and he told the teacher as much.
"You should be more careful with your discoveries and how they impact society," the professor lectured.
Harry thought for a moment. He had already sent off his research on Dementors to be published. He hadn't considered how that may be positively or negatively impact society.
"I'll be more careful in the future," he vowed.
"See that you do," Professor Snape drawled. "Now, I doubt you came here to discuss werewolves and the magical economy."
"I didn't, Sir. I wanted to ask about potion ingredients. We often use ingredients like gryffin claws or unicorn horn as sources of magical energy."
"And?"
"Well I was wondering what that meant. What does it mean to be a source of magical energy?"
Snape's brow quirked ever so slightly, but after a moment's pause he answered.
"Some creatures and plants absorb magic, or are so inherently magical that we can use them to catalyze our potions," he lectured, all the while giving Harry an evaluating look. "Though, you may be wondering where magic comes from. I have little time to answer such philosophical questions."
Harry nodded. "If we were trying to invent a potion, how would we decide which ingredient to use to power it?"
"Trial and error," Professor Snape answered. "Careful trial and error. Saint Mungo's is always full of those who displayed critical lapses in judgement where a cauldron is concerned."
"So you add ingredients slowly, and in small amounts," Harry surmised.
"Low temperatures can help stabilize a critical part of a reaction." Professor Snape gestured towards the cauldron packed in ice. "If the ingredients have been arithmetically quantified then one can predict the effects of that ingredient."
"And if they're not?" Harry pressed.
"You must, as you guessed, add them little by little, in low quantities. However, too little and you will not produce a potion from which you can measure the effects and determine the course of future brewing attempts."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, Sir."
"If that's all." Professor Snape dismissed him with a wave of the hand.
Harry found his way to the room and found Daphne already working on some homework. She pointed across the table. "Who's that?"
She was gesturing towards a painting posted on a stand right in front of the large window.
"Maximilian Bernard," Harry said. "He's a French wizard who explored India a few hundred years ago. He agreed to practice French with me if I gave him a window with a view." Harry pointed towards the window.
"You can't imagine how boring it is here after a few hundred years." The explorer said distantly; he had an almost stereotypically thick French accent.
"Did you want to practice?" Daphne pointed towards the hidden boggart.
"I moved it. I don't really need it anymore."
He had told her about his box, and at least part of how he had overcome Dementors.
"You worked on it without me," Daphne accused without much heat.
"Only once."
"Where is it now?"
Harry pointed towards the room with the pensieve.
"So, did it change?" Daphne pushed. "You were going to work on it until it changed."
So I did.
"Let's do it," He decided.
"That's fine, just ignore the painting!" The painting shouted back at them as they walked away.
"He's temporary." Harry assured Daphne when he saw the look on her face.
Harry pulled the boggart out of its hiding place and nodded at Daphne to open it.
It swung open and Harry felt the light probe of its legilimency to see what he was afraid of.
Out stepped a lean boy with dark hair, fiddling a wand with both hands.
"Tom?" Harry said, curious more than scared.
Daphne gave Harry a worried look. "Harry what's-"
"Not quite," the boggart replied with an unsettlingly familiar voice, ignoring Daphne.
He looked up and Harry saw his own face reflected back at him, only with deep-set snake-like red eyes he had only seen in the back of Professor Quirrell's head.
"Did you think you could escape me? Harry?" It asked, stepping closer and letting out a short laugh. "We are bounded by more than blood."
"What's going on?" Daphne asked panicked.
The boggart flicked its gaze towards Daphne. "Do you think she understands you?" The boggart asked, and Harry felt himself freeze. "If she knew what you really were you'd be alone again. You're a monster, like me."
"It's not the ways we're similar that matt-"
"You don't believe that," It accused, and it was right, Of course it was right, because it knew him.
Harry said nothing, understanding why the creature had chsen this form as he felt a deep gnawing fear claw up his insides. The sort that usually only took hold while he lay awake at night, alone with thoughts of his future.
"You're just a piece of me," it continued. "You think your accomplishments matter? You told me I never accomplished anything noteworthy. Never made any discoveries." It smirked. "But with you I have. Any ounce of greatness you have, comes from me."
"That's it!" Daphne said stepping closer to stop the exchange.
"Compungo."
The boggart dropped to the floor bonelessly from the piercing hex, before Daphne knocked it back into the wardrobe.
Daphne jumped back from her approach. "Harry what was that?!"
Harry breathed to calm himself. He felt his fear and anger slowly melt away. It may have taken a minute or two, but he did it.
"We're done," he said.
"No we absolutely are not." Daphne caught his arm.
He sighed. And breathed. She was right up next to him. He could smell honey and a gentle, creamy smell from her hair.
"The man who would become Voldemort-" Daphne flinched slightly. "-Was once a boy named Tom Riddle," Harry said.
"So, what does this mean?"
"Daphne please don't," Harry said. "I'm asking you."
She grimaced. "Fine." He stepped away from her. "Wait." She grabbed him again and stood close. She hesitated for a moment, like she wasn't sure what to say, before taking his hand in both hers. Her skin felt soft under his fingers. He felt a moment of weakness and reached out for her mind.
[What did it say about me?]
He pulled out immediately and if she felt the intrusion she didn't respond.
"Where are you going?" She finally asked.
"Ravenclaw tower," he replied immediately. "I'm going to bed."
"Okay…" She said slowly. "Are you going to be alright?"
Harry paused, and after a moment he nodded, just the once. "Yes. I will be."
"Alright." She let him go and stepped away.
Harry turned and left.
Harry found Ravenclaw tower common room empty except for one platinum haired girl sitting in a corner, facing the walls
Harry hesitated. He had resolved not to find Luna. She had enough problems already. He couldn't bring himself to inflict his own on her. He felt the same pull he had felt in the chamber towards Ginny. Sympathy, guilt and empathy.
"Harry Potter," she said, turning towards him with that placid, airy smile.
"Hello Luna." He could feel his own exhaustion quite acutely at this point.
"I expected you to come find me," she mused. "But you didn't."
"When?" He asked.
"You changed your mind. I thought you'd come find me when I came back. I thought you wanted to know."
Ah.
She knew that he thought about using her power.
"Sorry," he said.
"You didn't do it." She dismissed breathily. "Don't you want to know?"
"Of course I want to know," he replied, anger slipping past his occlumency and into his tone.
Don't tempt me.
She stood from her seat and walked up close to him. Harry stepped back from the proximity.
"Did you know when we met, about this?" Harry gestured to the room.
"It doesn't work that way," She informed him, staring above his head rather than at him.
Harry breathed and made his decision.
"Have you ever visited a mind healer?" He asked.
"No." Luna said. "They're quite expensive."
"Do you know where my room is?"
She nodded. "I do." He felt that feeling from before. That anxiety, like she was playing him.
"You're welcome there." He told her.
Voldemort wouldn't have done this. He would have taken what he wanted.
"Thank you." She smiled gently, before stepping away from him and back towards the corner she had been sitting in before.
Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and felt some part of him relax.
"I'm sorry I didn't try to help you earlier."
"You did say that you would," Luna said, nodding. "And you are now."
"Is that enough?" Harry asked.
"Enough to help me or enough to alleviate your guilt?" Luna attempted to clarify.
Harry said nothing. Silence answered her question.
"Perhaps," she answered. "Who could say?"
You could.
She sat back down and stared at nothing. Or perhaps past it.
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Harry was pulled up to the Headmaster's office for their monthly meeting once again. Harry hadn't been sure that they would continue, now that he could defend himself from Dementors. He was at once relieved, and entirely on edge.
He stepped through into the office feeling a strange cocktail of emotions. He looked at the desk filled with magical instruments and books. Secrets of the Darkest Arts was there, buried under a golden spinning astrolabe-like device.
Harry felt a rush of anger. The book he needed to understand the nature of the connection between himself and Voldemort was here. Had Dumbledore pulled it, knowing Harry would want to read it? Dumbledore had allowed Harry to explore every other field he had so wished, why had he lied about this one? Why had he taken steps towards stopping Harry from learning about this?
Oh? Headmaster? Any fruit of the garden, but not of this tree?
Harry calmed himself.
"Ah, Harry." Dumbledore said. "I wanted to be the first to congratulate you." Dumbledore pushed an article across the desk.
The Magic of Dementors
By Harry Potter
"They published it, then," Harry said, voice coming off a little flat.
"You'd be surprised how few people have studied Dementors," Dumbledore replied merrily. "Most people avoid them."
Harry nodded.
"Something wrong Harry?"
"I didn't think these meetings would continue, now that the Dementors aren't a problem."
"Did you want them to stop?" Dumbledore said. If he was offended though, Harry couldn't hear it.
"I didn't say that."
"Indeed you did not." Dumbledore leaned back and popped a candy into his mouth in what was becoming a familiar image to Harry. "Are you looking forward to your first trip to Hogsmeade? It's this weekend, is it not?"
"It is. Though my friends are likely more excited than I am."
"Ms. Davis?"
Harry nodded. "She is the excitable sort, Sir."
Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "And your studies?"
Harry debated with himself for a moment. "I may have had a bit of breakthrough." Harry held up his hand and let sparks fly down it.
Dumbledore leaned forward.
"I wasn't aware that you were electrokinetic."
"Perhaps I'm not. It could just be wandless magic."
"As any ability like this could be," Dumbledore agreed as he examined Harry. "Wouldn't you agree that pyrokinesis is just a breed of wandless magic?"
Harry felt confused. "I thought they were different, Sir."
"Perhaps they are. Some are born with an innate ability to summon fire, some learn to summon fire with wandless magic. There is little difference in the effects, so who is to say there is a difference in sources?"
Harry considered that. It seemed reasonable.
"Professor Snape informed me of an interesting conversation you two shared."
"On potion creation," Harry affirmed with a nod.
"I must ask that you don't attempt to create any such thing for at least several more years, unless you are supervised," Dumbledore requested. "Many bright witches and wizards have harmed themselves and others whilst creating potions."
"It admittedly seemed a bit complex for now."
"Working on other things," the Headmaster correctly interpreted. "I understand. You have heard that Peter Pettigrew was spotted recently."
Harry cocked his head. "I hadn't."
"He was seen in Greece, near the Albanian border. It is curious however."
"Is it?" Harry asked. "Why?"
"When Tom Riddle began his change to Voldemort he spent some time in Albania." Dumbledore leaned back. "Indeed, before the late Quirinus Quirrell became professor here he embarked on an expedition into the Albanian forests. One wonders what he may have found there."
"Voldemort?" Harry asked. "Why Albania? Did he return there again?"
"One wonders." Dumbledore nodded. "I intend to spend some time in Greece this summer, enjoy the atmosphere and so forth."
He's going to investigate then.
"How's your French coming, Harry?" Dumbledore continued, switching to the language in question with ease.
"Slow," Harry returned, taking his time to enunciate the word after a moment to pause and try and translate what the Headmaster said to English, then form a response and translate it back.
"When you can respond in the language without translating, you'll know that you are bilingual," Dumbledore explained.
Harry nodded, committing to memory. There was silence.
"It seems that we have reached the end of our discussion. Now Harry, before I let you return, I must ask if there is anything you wish to tell me."
"No, Headmaster," Harry responded immediately.
Dumbledore hummed lightly. "Off you go then."
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Harry enjoyed his trip to Hogsmeade the next day.
His friends watched him anxiously as they passed the Dementors but they were the ones who turned pale while he maintained his complexion. The Dementors truly couldn't harm him any longer. Tracey dragged him from shop to shop to show him the lay out of the small village laughing all the while. To be honest Harry was happy up at the castle but sitting down for a butterbeer with his friends was perhaps patronus worthy.
In fact, he enjoyed those trips for all the rest of the year, which rapidly became a blur. His visits to Dumbledore became bi-monthly and he made quick progress in all his studies. Perhaps the crowning gem of the year was when Ravenclaw won the Quidditch cup.
He had never before understood why he was so entranced with Quidditch, but he did now. The aerokinesis he felt had always been there. A connection to the air that had drawn him into the sky even from his first week at Hogwarts.
He never talked about the Boggart with Daphne, even when they practiced Occlumency. She made great leaps in progress until she could divert him slightly. If he was being gentle and not truly trying to hurt her. If he had been trying to rip her open it would have been easy, but he never did.
Luna Lovegood had begun visiting Harry in the room, only ever joining him when he was alone. Likely because she knew he was alone before she showed up each time.
She would usually sit and just talk in his direction about wrackspurts or some creature which she claimed existed but that only she could see for an hour or so and he would listen. It felt nice to help someone like this. It was unusual, and as an added benefit he found himself pitying her less and less.
"It's like having a friend," she told him.
"Friends are nice things to have," he told her back.
"You have many of them." Luna informed him, something almost bitter in her airy voice.
"I didn't always." He returned. "I know what it's like to be alone." There was something almost prideful in that and defensive. Like he had overcome some great obstacle.
"We should all be so misfortunate." Luna seemed to agree.
She seemed to know how to put him off balance.
Internally, even as he took his exams and had fun with his friends in Hogsmeade, he was nagged by thoughts of the soul and how Dumbledore had yet to return Secrets of the Darkest Arts to the library. It was becoming more and more clear that Dumbledore was keeping something from Harry. He already knew that at least in part; Dumbledore was keeping secret why Voldemort had targeted his family to begin with.
The year quickly drew to a close without Hermione doing any more than glaring at him from across rooms. Harry wished her the best.
Harry demonstrated his project to Flitwick, using Central American Runes to reduce the temperature in an area. It was suitably impressive, and Flitwick passed him for both Magical Theory and Ancient Studies.
With the end of the year came the knowledge of who would be going to France. Harry and Daphne were going, and Tracey knew the others given how keyed into the Hogwarts gossip line she was, but Harry never cared to ask.
She told him anyways.
"Mandy Brocklehurst out did Su Li this year," Tracey said. "But previous years count so she's still going. Hermione was offered it, but nobody is sure if she accepted or not. Ernie MacMillan is going, he's always done well at school. I'm not sure who the last boy who was offered the position was. It could be Corner or Zabini, it's obviously not one of the other Gryffindor boys though." She snorted. "No offense Neville."
"None taken?"
Before long it was time to take the train ride away from home and back to the Longbottom family manor. He waved goodbye to his friends, to some of them for more than a year, which was difficult but… he couldn't miss the opportunity to see Beauxbatons.
Daphne promised to schedule some meeting between them to keep practicing Occlumency and she said that he was more than welcome to visit her.
He waved goodbye to them at the train station and departed with Neville and his grandmother to their house.
When he reached his bedroom he slowly approached his bed.
There was a letter, written on yellowed parchment in an old envelope, waiting for him there. Sitting, like for all the world it belonged there, and daring him to pick it up and read it.
So, he did.
To Harry Potter
From G.G.
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"And the LORD God commanded the man, saying, Of every tree of the garden thou mayest freely eat: But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die." - Book of Genisis 2:16 and 2:17
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Alright, so next is 'The Hermit'
WG