Posted 12/21/2013
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Twelve - Secrets
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Harry stared at the note he had been given by Professor Sprout. Again he had been asked to the Headmaster's office, and it hadn't even been three weeks since the last time. He shook his head and knocked. After being told to enter, he stepped into the room. "Good evening, sir," he greeted.
"Ah, Harry, it is good to see you once again. I take it you are well?" The Headmaster peered over his half-moon spectacles from his place near two comfortable looking armchairs.
"Yes, sir," he dutifully replied. "Although I was surprised to receive your note. Also, I had detention this evening."
"I am aware, Harry. I convinced Professor McGonagall to let me have you for the evening, and she seemed quite happy to not see you for a day. You have been asking her a lot about Transfiguration, haven't you?"
"It is the subject she teaches," Harry said evasively.
It was true, he had asked as much as he thought he could get away with, mainly questions about the theory behind magic. After his first attempt to use magic with intentionally incorrect incantations, he had experimented more and found the simpler spells rather easier to alter than the more complicated ones. He had decided against telling anyone about his findings. It was far too good to know something Hermione didn't. Professor McGonagall might have been able to shed some light on it, but at the same time would surely have disapproved of his attempts. Ron or the other boys were nice, no doubt, but wouldn't have been much use. Harry had been on the verge of telling Professor Flitwick, as he had no obligation to discipline Harry any further and usually showed interest in magic as a whole. But Harry had decided against it. Until he had something to show, a well-rounded theory, he wouldn't talk to the tiny professor.
"It is also a deviation from your past behaviour. Knowing what the Marauders attempted and, ultimately, accomplished, put her on edge."
"I'm not trying to become an Animagus," Harry replied quickly.
"I didn't think so, and for that matter, neither did she. But a curious Potter is a perilous thing, and you have a knack for causing extraordinary amounts of trouble," the Headmaster told him with a twinkle in his eye.
"So... I'll have my detention with you, then?"
"Tonight, yes. Please have a seat." Harry did as he was told, and the Headmaster took the chair opposite of his younger student. "But do not worry; you are not in trouble from me. In fact, you could say we are –should I say? –kindling spirits, and the recent occurrence caused a burning curiosity in me. In my youth, I too set the curtains around a bed on fire... accidentally, of course."
"You did?" Harry yelled in surprise.
"He did," one of the paintings answered with a shake of the head.
"Oh, yes. I had to serve a month for it, but mainly because I had refused to tell just how it had happened. Naturally, I regretted it later. So, yes, I can understand you. These curtains are in need of the occasional accident, and all I want to do is talk to you about it."
"We'll be talking about the curtains?"
"I find curtains to be excellent conversation starters."
"So... that's all?" Harry asked. "We won't watch another memory?"
"No, we won't," Dumbledore answered. "How are you progressing on that front, by the way?"
"I... I asked Professor Slughorn. After class, told him how important the memory would be."
"You asked him. Aha. You didn't mention anything about our lessons, did you?"
"No, sir. I told him I really needed to know about it, but he stormed off before I could say anything more and has been avoiding me ever since. Shouldn't he be on our side, sir? Doing what he can to help us?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Professor Slughorn has conflicting feelings, I believe. On the one hand, he wants to bring Voldemort down just like we do. But if our assumption is correct, then he would have to admit to his own mistakes in the past, something a man like him will find very difficult. It would mean admitting his own weaknesses. Well, be successful in the future. I have faith in you. But that is for another day. Let us talk about what happened last week."
"It was nothing, really," Harry tried. "An accident, I didn't pay as much attention as I should have. Professor McGonagall already assigned my punishment, as you know, so..."
"But this isn't about punishment. It is about the fire itself and how it came to be. I already told you, I am familiar with accidents that set the curtains on fire. Maybe I simply want to compare notes?" The Headmaster joked, but his eyes remained serious.
"And I already told you, sir, that it was simply an accident," Harry countered without any true bite in his voice.
"I still want to hear about it, Harry," the Headmaster said. "You aren't inattentive enough to simply make such a mistake, I believe. However, with your... Charms project, there might be complications. Some, I have heard, had considerable problems keeping up with their spellwork during such times. Since we are to my knowledge the only ones who know about your studies, I worry about such mishaps. I intend to help you, Harry, if you let me, that is. If you were just a bit younger, I might have considered accidental magic; it can happen –rarely, but still –even to students of the school."
"I'm not that old, Professor," Harry mock-pouted. "I've still got my youthful spirit."
"I know, Harry, but accidental magic stops altogether after about two to three years of magical learning," Dumbledore told him with a wave of his hand.
Harry's face heated up. He remembered quite clearly the summer before his fifth year; he had accidentally lit up his wand in distress. And earlier that day, hadn't he made himself impossible to be held by Uncle Vernon? "You are quite certain of that, aren't you? So, what would happen, theoretically speaking, if a child did show accidental magic after that age? Surely not all children develop at exactly the same speed."
"Nothing would happen, at least with regards to the law. I was merely stating a fact. But we are getting a bit off-topic, aren't we? I would rather speak with you about your accident last week." Dumbledore pursed his lips. "I want to make sure it wasn't because of your little side project, and if it was, offer insight into possible solutions."
"It had nothing to do with that, sir, honestly. I merely wasn't paying attention."
"And cast a fire spell in your dormitory?" Dumbledore enquired. "May I ask what you intended to ignite instead?"
Harry frowned. He didn't like tipping his hand, he hadn't talked with anyone about his little experiment or discoveries for a reason. But then, if the Headmaster didn't know about it, who would? And if he did have an explanation, all the better! It would cut his research time considerably. "Sir, why do we use incantations? I fail to see their purpose."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrow. "I would have thought it was obvious. Incantations are necessary to work the magic."
"They are only derivates of languages," Harry argued, "some punny, some merely alluding to something about the spell. Lumos for a light spell, nox, night... they are all related to languages from Europe or close by. But ancient Asians had to have spells of their own, right? And they wouldn't have used Latin or Greek. What's more, why use words? Nonverbal casting proves no one has to hear the words at all, so those aren't really orders for something to hear. And you are wrong about it being obvious. The incantations aren't set in stone."
To prove his point, Harry grabbed a piece of parchment lying on the table nearby, drew his wand, and, pointing it at the parchment, ordered with as much determination he could muster, "Burn!" And, just as he had witnessed before, flames suddenly erupted from his target. "The incantations don't matter, sir." Happy with his accomplishment, he looked to his Headmaster.
Dumbledore stared back at him, horror-struck. Finally, with what seemed like a great effort, he swished his hand, and the fire died down. He locked eyes with Harry. "Promise me," he told with a grave voice, "that you will not do that again so thoughtlessly. What you just did was extraordinary, but also highly irresponsible. Do not play with magic like that, Harry."
"But it works, sir," Harry replied stubbornly. "It shouldn't, according to what we have been taught, but it does."
"Your promise, Harry," Dumbledore repeated.
"Why? Why should I not do it? It seems stupid to teach incantations if they don't actually do anything at all! I won't promise anything until I know why you are so worried by it! Is it dark or something like that?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, his eyes taking in the young man in front of him. To Harry, it seemed as if he was torn, and again, he had the impression the Headmaster was protecting Harry from the knowledge. But finally, the old man nodded wearily. "I guess you deserve as much. Having seen you do it explains a lot about you, actually."
"It does?"
"Oh, yes. Nothing all that live changing, but yes, it does. Your parents would have been very proud of you. Sirius would have been very proud as well, and I expect Remus will be too when I tell him," Dumbledore said with a kind, slightly sad smile.
"Why? Could they do that too?" Harry was suddenly giddy; the prospect of learning something about his parents –anything, really –had often motivated him.
"I don't know whether your parents or Sirius ever did it. But it seems we have found our topic for the night, and again, we will have a lesson –a lesson about magic, Harry. To answer your questions, no, it is not inherently dark. What you have discovered is not a forbidden art, but touches some of the fundamental principles of magic. And it explains your accident. I assume you tried spells without the correct incantation?"
"Something like that, yes," Harry admitted sheepishly. "I hadn't thought about the consequences of using a fire spell after the others didn't work."
"Yes, some I would expect to be more difficult. Tell me, Harry, what are the basic elements of a spell? What do you need for one?"
"Err... the incantation," he said. "Oh, and the wand movements, as well, sir."
"And a usually wand, yes. But then, as you may already know, some witches and wizards do not necessarily need a wand."
"You and Voldemort did magic with your hands. In your fight at the Ministry, I mean."
"Indeed."
"And Lupin made some fire with his hand on the train before third year," Harry added.
"I would expect him to be able to do that, yes. One of the very few upsides of being a werewolf is the closer relationship with one's magic, but it is not worth the price. Yes, Remus will be able to do it, because he is a werewolf," Dumbledore told a surprised Harry. "But we will get to that in a while. So, at this point, we can say that wands –or really any foci at all –are not completely necessary. That is because they have a simple purpose –wands give the magic a direction as well as me a starting point for my explanation. Do you know where your magic comes from?" At Harry's shake of the head, the old man smiled. "Well, in every witch or wizard, there is a core and the source of our magic. You may have heard about that already."
"The core is flagged as either male or female in humans, and that's how the stairs to the girls' dorms work," Harry offered.
"Miss Granger has been very thorough in her explanation. Yes, indeed. Think of the core as a pool of spices to be used in cooking."
"Spices?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, they are only used in times of need, not as nutrition on their own. Back to topic. Magic as such is not simply a power to be harvested, but has something of a mind of its own. When a magical child is born, their magic is running wild, perhaps comparable to a newly born dog that has a mind of its own as well, you see?
"Well then, the dog, to use that example, likes its family of humans and tries to do what they want it to do. The dog barks at strangers because it understood at some point that strangers are not to be allowed too close to the humans it cares for. The dog tries to understand what the family wants, but ultimately doesn't fully grasp their intentions. It may bark at strangers, but friends of the family as well.
"That is what accidental magic is, Harry –a young child's magic tries to follow through on the wishes and intentions of its master. That is why accidental magic isn't random, but rather leads to poorly expressed results. A child wanting a toy will find their magic trying to bring it over, for example by summoning it, if the intentions are clear enough, but it could also very well cause the toy to grow legs and walk over. Or, if the child wishes for the toy to not be in a place out of reach, the child's magic might follow through on that wish and destroy the toy, thus making the toy not be in that place any longer. It is the misinterpretation which is typical with accidental magic."
"So... the dog barks at everyone instead of just strangers? That's accidental magic? It's just a misunderstanding?"
"Something like that, yes. A child's magic reacts to the wishes of the child. Now then, at eleven, a child receives a wand. The magic running wild, trying to satisfy the wishes, has from that point on what is more generally called a focus available. Magic doesn't flow randomly through the body anymore, but has a clear point of where to go. That is why wands are fitted to their masters –the better the match, the better the flow of one's magic through the wand. Once a witch or wizard has a wand, the magic learns to travel through it similar to a dog learning to walk with a leash. It doesn't run rampant anymore and the results become consistent."
"Which is why we are going to school?" Harry guessed. "To learn how to... control it or something?"
"Yes, exactly. At school, witches and wizards are trained to use wands in order to get their magic under control –a necessary step. One could say at school young witches and wizards are taught to tame their magic much like one would tame an animal. Some magicals however, such as myself, can learn to control their magic without a wand as well, similar to some dogs learning to walk next to its master without a leash or reading the behaviour of humans to recognize friends of the family.
"Some people learn select spells by repeating them until they have become second nature. The Animagus transformation is a very specific example and takes a lot of time to master. Others, myself included, instead learn to control their magic without a wand. Once they have, they can learn spells without a wand a lot faster than a member of the first group. Both approaches blur the lines between wandless and accidental magic."
"Isn't that the same? Learning a spell without a wand and..." He trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.
"It is slightly different," Dumbledore disagreed. "Think of learning where at a specific lake the best fishing spots are, or learning how to fish in general and then applying that knowledge to a lake of your choice. The latter is not limited to single spells."
"And how do you learn that? It sounds interesting, sir."
"It is. It relies heavily on a talent, though, that not everyone has –magical affinity. You see, a witch or wizard can first of all be measured in how much power they have at their disposal. Some are stronger, some are weaker, some waste their potential, others use it to the fullest. There is also the concept of magical talent, another dimension. Some people have trouble working spells, while others are highly adept at causing very difficult pieces of magic. This one can be achieved by following two different paths, actually –by following the instructions very precisely or by magical affinity. Both aim to clarify the intentions of the caster.
"I talked earlier about a dog trying to appease its owners. Imagine now that one of the owners teaches the dog a very extensive set of orders. It does just like it is taught to. The other owner has a fair hand for animals. He doesn't need force or orders to get the dog to do his bidding, and he doesn't need to train the dog to guard something, merely telling him to is enough –the dog understands the intention without the tedious process of learning to understand the orders in the insufficient language used by owner and dog. Magical affinity works similar. Some witches and wizards are more capable of expressing their intentions, and their magic doesn't need to be taught to recognize certain movements or signs... signals... or words."
"Incantations?" Harry guessed.
"Yes. People with a high magical affinity may discover three possible effects: They are able to learn wandless magic considerably easier. They may find certain spells, the Patronus Charm for example, easier. These spells rely heavily on intent, and people who can communicate theirs more directly will find them easier to master."
"So... the Patronus Charm would have been easier if I had magical affinity?" Harry asked curiously.
"I believe you have a high affinity, Harry, which would explain your success with the Patronus in the first place. I told you earlier, seeing you use another word instead of the proper incantation explained a lot about you. But back to topic. The third possible effect is a higher sensitivity for magic. The ability to feel magic is the result. So, tell me, Harry, does that sound familiar?"
Harry didn't have to think for long. "It... it does, yeah. When I walked into Ollivander's, I felt the air tingle. I thought I imagined it. And the Hogwarts library as well."
"Both highly magical places, yes. Even deaf people can feel loud music around them, though."
"I... during my... Charms project, I occasionally felt something strange about the curtains. And we're back to the curtains, great. Anyway, it was a tingle. And the doorknob to the bathroom. As if it were cool? And the shower, it was... drainy, sort of."
Dumbledore smiled widely. "Yes, excellent. Far better than I would have guessed. The different sensations are the results of different spells, of course. Let us try something." The Headmaster turned around, and after a few moments, faced Harry again. Placing about ten feathers in the table, he said, "Tell me what you think, Harry. There is no right or wrong, of course, it is simply a test."
Harry reached out. He was far too interested to question Dumbledore's orders at the moment. So he hadn't imagined the strange sensations? It had been a sign of something special? His hand hovered above the feathers on the table. Guessing what was expected of him, he touched the first. Nothing. It felt like every feather he had ever held: dull. Dejected, he tried the next two with the same result. It wasn't until he touched the sixth feather that something was off. He couldn't place it, but it felt... slightly too warm. Concentrating, he tried to get a better picture of it. Did he imagine it? Or was it really slightly too eager to part contact with his skin? Too slippery? Harry placed it down, and tried the rest. The tenth was... oddly bland, but otherwise, they were all indistinguishable. He told Dumbledore of his findings.
"Is that so?" the Headmaster replied with a smile. "Well, you did reasonably well. That last one is a very crude conjuration that won't last very long. Artistically, it is flawless, of course, but yes, the spellwork behind it is lacking, or bland, if you want to call it that. And the sixth I indeed enchanted. There were other, more subtle spells that you missed, though. It is as I had guessed; you seem to have a remarkable affinity. It allows you to feel magic, now you are aware of it, and in times of high sensitivity such as your studies, you have an easier time noticing magic around you. Of course, here at Hogwarts, there is always magic going on, so it won't really matter all that much. I think."
"And that's good, isn't it? Having magical affinity?" Harry asked. "Is it rare?"
"It is not common, but also not really rare in the strictest sense of the word. As I have told you, a high affinity only gives a sense for ongoing magic –which may be useful for the detection of spells and the like, but there are a lot of detection spells –increases the talent for wandless magic, should one try to learn it, and strengthens some spells. It will not make you invincible, and there are quite a few people with high affinity alive. Also, not everyone becomes aware of it in the first place."
"Before fifth year, when the Dementors attacked, Dudley knocked my wand out of my hand. It lit up when I told it to, despite not being in my hand," Harry told the Headmaster. "Or rather, I wished for light, said the incantation and the wand lit up."
"Did it? That is extraordinary. It must have been wandless magic, very rare in one not trained for it, but also not unheard of. Did something similar ever happen again?" Dumbledore asked with a wide smile.
"Well, earlier that day, Uncle Vernon was unable to get a hold of me. And when Lupin and the others came to get me, the lock on the door simply clicked open of its own accord. Oh, and before third year, after I had blown up Aunt Marge –accidental magic, remember? –the cupboard door flew open when I approached it to get my school stuff. And later, I felt as if I was being watched."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"
"Yes, Sirius had been there in his dog form. And during the third task, I felt as if was being watched as well. Which I was –by Crouch."
"With the eye. I am certain those were other instances of your talent coming through. It all but confirms it; you have a high magical affinity. Combined with your, forgive me for saying so, rather unusually emotional side, it seems to be surprisingly easy for you to use it. If I had to guess, I would say your accidental magic also tended to be closer to your intended result than would have been the case for others in your place. Of course, you are free to look up other tests to confirm my suspicion."
"So... that will help me with my magic, now that I know about it?"
"In a way, it already does. It allows you to communicate your wishes better than others, and as a result, some spells will be easier for you. On the other hand, high attention to detail when following the instructions will help with a lot of spells as well since the caster is certain they know what they do and want and unconsciously formulate very precise orders for their magic to follow."
"That sounds like Hermione," Harry joked.
"Because it is likely the cause of her success. She follows the instructions, which include specific descriptions of the intended results, with high attention to detail and as such..."
"... she gets the results. As if she were teaching her magic a lot of tricks. So that's it, then? This test, the one with the feathers... does it always prove affinity? If I were to give my friends enchanted feathers..."
"It is not exact, Harry. But we have veered off far from our original topic, so let us return to it; incantations, shall we?" Dumbledore received a nod. "We have learned you have a high magical affinity, and I have told you of its effect on the relation between a wizard and his magic. I have also told you that wands are not strictly necessary, and that magicals can learn to cast without them, even if it is hard work, which brings us to incantations and wand movements as part of a spell. You have realized that any word at all can be used as an incantation. People with a high affinity will find it a lot easier, but it is true for everyone.
"So, what causes a spell to work, then? It is simple, really. For a spell to work, the magic has to understand the intention behind it. Let us take the simple light spell Lumos. It is a fairly easy objective, but it still needs a clear idea of what is intended. It is still a concept: A movable source of white to bluish light at a specific point without heat, but a specified intensity, under the control of its creator. You will realize the danger of relaxing the intensity constraint. Some particularly bright witch or wizard might blind people with it accidentally. Adding back heat might cause burns. Not specifying the location, tip of the wand, in this case, might cause light to shine out of the nose or ear or from the hand.
"Humans have always struggled with concepts like that, as they are not easy to grasp fully. It is demanding to remember each and every part of it in times of need. But that is where incantations come in, Harry. They work as a label. At school, the students are taught a specific spell, or rather, a set of specifications, and given a phrase or name for it. Whenever they want light, they will say the incantation Lumos, recall the specific aspects without actively thinking about them, and get the results they wanted. Incantations are names, labels to simplify spells."
"So even the stupidest of wizards can learn them? Alright, but wouldn't it be easier to learn how to express your wishes to your magic? Wouldn't that give more options to choose from?" Harry pointed out. He hadn't expected his discovery to be so essential, but was intrigued nonetheless.
"Ah, but you have to keep in mind that freedom is also overwhelming. The absolute majority of wizards and witches simply cannot work with it. That is why everyone is taught a set of predefined spells with predefined results. And keep in mind that it is usually not possible to communicate the intentions clearly to your own magic. Instead, you learn simple signs, for example, the incantations. Whenever you speak them, your magic does as it has been taught. Teach it to create fire when you say or think Incendio, and you will get fire. Do the same with the word Burn, and if you are unlucky, every time you say Burn in any context, you will set something on fire.
"That, Harry, is the reason for wand movements and the second purpose for incantations. Young witches and wizards are taught to say the words and do the wand movements before expecting the result. As such, they do not expect the result without either. Both incantations and wand movements are, in that sense, a safety for the caster. It is something like a Muggle gun, I have heard. They can be secured so they cannot fire a bullet, but having such a safety is not necessary for the function of the weapon as such. Removing it would in fact speed up the use in times of need, but at the risk of accidents." Dumbledore threw Harry a meaningful glance.
"So, alright," the young man said, buying himself time to think it through. "So, it is possible to learn how to use magic without incantations? Or with nonsensical ones?"
"Yes, it is possible," Dumbledore confirmed.
"Dropping them would speed up the casting, but at the same time increase the risk of accidents?"
"Or haphazard spellcasting, yes. Wand movements and incantations are crutches to successful spells for most. They say or think the words, move the wand like they learned it and expect the result. It leads to a clear signal for the caster's magic and as such a defined intention."
"Which the magic can then interpret."
"Yes. Incantations are as much labels to simplify the definition of spells and their effects as they are a safety to help control mishaps," Dumbledore closed. "The miniscule increase in casting speed is paid for with the drastically increased risk."
"So... not a good idea, then?" Harry asked.
"That is the reason I wanted you to promise me to stop experimenting with the spells for the foreseeable future."
Harry thought about it. When he looked at it like that, he could see his reasoning. While it might have been a useful skill to have, it would have meant walking around with a loaded and armed gun. Not a good idea indeed. "Alright, I promise not to dabble with spells for a while, and be careful if I do try something."
"Thank you, Harry. And if you might be so kind as to not tell anyone else about your discoveries? The knowledge I have imparted on you might prove too tempting for some who are not ready for it."
"Do many people know about that?" Harry wondered. "The way you were talking about it, it sounded as if it wasn't exactly kept secret, just not something that was advertised."
"Ah, well, those who looked into magic and the powers in this world usually understand it. In recent generations, the numbers have been dwindling unsurprisingly. Hardly anyone travels the world anymore, sadly," Dumbledore said, receiving nods from the paintings in the room. "It was once tradition for young witches and wizards to travel the world after their graduation and see the wonders of other countries, learning about foreign magic. It was a journey of self-discovery much like the one you made on your own here at Hogwarts. By witnessing foreign magic, those who travelled often realized the true nature of magic."
"And yet the incantations we are taught and asked to memorize don't help us do the magic. We could learn any old wand movement or incantation and the spells would still work," Harry reasoned. "Great, all those hours trying to get them right, and for what?"
"For the betterment of your skills, Harry. Most people can work very well with the set incantations. Let us take a look at Miss Granger."
"Hermione? What about her?"
"How does she perform in class?"
Harry frowned, wondering what the headmaster was thinking about. "She's very good, usually the first to get something. Oh, and she's also following the instructions very closely, which shouldn't make much difference since the instructions are nonsense."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I have heard similar things from the teachers. So she is very good in class and has little to no problems with the coursework. I would wager it is something she is used to and has been able to all of her life."
""Yeah, that might very well be," Harry agreed.
"So we can agree, I hope, that she is known for her exemplary work, and to not expect anything less."
When Dumbledore didn't continue, Harry thought about it. It didn't take long for him to understand. "So she is confident that by following the instructions she will get the results she wants because they worked in the past, and she is confident in her skill to follow the instructions well enough to get the results. In other words, she expects to succeed. And since she doesn't doubt her skill with magic, she communicates her intentions clearly."
"And her magic reacts to the well-defined intentions and gives her what she asks for, yes. Young witches and wizards are told magic relies on intent. They are just not usually told about the extent."
But Harry was already focusing on something else. "So someone who doubts his skills would not expect success, and that can slow him down considerably or even completely."
"You are thinking of young Mr. Longbottom," Dumbledore spoke up. "You are likely correct in that assessment. Yes, I have noticed it as well, and some of his teachers did too. Ever since he realized he was not a lost cause and could learn the magic just like everyone else, he has gained confidence in his skills. Since he no longer doubts his every move, he will have an easier time at school."
"And yet you didn't consider helping him with his issues?" Harry asked pointedly. If Dumbledore had known about it, why had he not acted?
"I did consider to help him. I delegated it to the teachers, from kindly Professor Sprout who took it upon herself to show him his talents, to stern Professor McGonagall who encouraged him to try, and patient Professor Flitwick who is always happy to assisting any way he can to guide children on their path. Some trees need a lot of time to grow before they can bloom, Harry, but once they do, they are the delight of proud and happy gardeners. Some people are the same."
Unsure of what to say to that, Harry returned to the original topic. "So, is that true for all magic?" he asked curiously. "Can incantations be dropped from every spell, then? Is everything we learn at school only to keep us in line or do some of the lessons actually teach us more than those crutches to hobble through life?"
"What do you think Harry?" Dumbledore countered. "Can you think of any magic that would not be a case of what I have outlined? Can you think of any magic that might need a specific language to understand the intentions?"
Harry frowned at the old man in front of him. How should he know that? Or, better yet, why should he answer his own question? It wasn't as if he had studied magical theories and subjects. How should he know all possible spells or… wait, he thought, as he remembered something from an earlier lesson. "Err, runes? You said something about them using a different power? Well, if incantations are all about telling your own magic what to do, but runes are different, and you said the course is a lot about writing the rules for something."
"Correct, Harry. Yes, Runes, Potions, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures all rely on ambient magic, either in other beings, ingredients, or the magic that surrounds us. As such, it is not up to the caster to work with their own magic, which might understand a different language altogether, but with what is given to them. That is why rituals have specific instructions, for example –over the years, ambient magic has learned to react to certain signals in a specific way, much like a river settling into a bed."
"Magic learns? You said something like that earlier, but I thought..."
"That I was giving a colourful explanation? No, it is true, and for all kinds of magic as well. The more a spell is cast, the more established and set in its ways the magic becomes, which is why rituals cannot be altered quite so easily –they are already set in their ways. And the fact that magic learns is also the reason using common words for incantations is not a good idea –if magic learns to react to them, it is dangerous, even if your magic is the only one to recognize the signal you use."
"You do know that sounds completely crazy, right?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Oh, yes, I do, but that doesn't make it any less true, does it?"
Despite her nervousness, Daphne forced herself to walk slowly and as relaxed as she could manage. It wouldn't do to draw attention to herself, not at this critical moment. Still, her eyes jumped all over the corridor, looking for an ambush or someone spying on her. She didn't think anyone would, of course, but she had been a Slytherin for over five years. Especially when it seemed inconspicuous, when nothing out of the ordinary was going on, an attack would happen. Frankly, since the last meeting about a month ago, she had expected each day to be confronted, either by his housemates or her own. Had they kept quiet? She wouldn't have believed it possible; Gryffindors weren't known to keep secrets well. But then, maybe Potter and Longbottom were smarter than Daphne had thought. And as for her own house... they very likely didn't know about it. They would have ambushed and questioned her. Insults, if she would have been lucky, for conspiring with Gryffindors and betraying her house and friends. So, no. The Slytherins were still unaware of the deal with Gryffindor's Finest.
But Daphne had still slept very lightly in the last month, expecting to be attacked in her sleep. Could she trust her dorm mates, should someone come for her? Millicent, nice as she was, would probably play dumb, but help nonetheless until she was 'told' about Daphne's betrayal. Afterwards, she'd have to back down for her own safety. Tracey? Well, she was alright, but prone to lose her nerves in stressful situations like that. Pansy would perhaps assist in her capture, but could just as easily support Daphne, hilariously enough. If Daphne married Potter, then Draco would be free for Pansy. But then, Pansy wasn't stupid. Supporting Daphne and Potter would mean opposing the Dark Lord. So, no, she wouldn't do that, at least not visibly.
Coming from her thoughts, she inspected a painting of two trolls arguing over their dinner. Was it strange to have such paintings in a school full of children, Daphne wondered, as one troll was punched out of the frame and thereby lost his claim. But it didn't matter. Glancing around covertly, she found the corridor deserted.
Taking the opportunity, she turned around and jumped into the nearby classroom. As she closed the door, Daphne looked around. Millicent was already there, silently glancing at the other occupants. Longbottom and Potter were whispering among themselves and, from their smiles, had found something amusing. But as soon as Daphne had closed the door, Potter turned to her.
"Glad you could join us," he told her. "I take it everything went well?"
Daphne forced herself to smile. While she neither liked nor hated Potter, there was no reason to antagonize him. "Yes, thank you for asking. I hope you didn't have to wait for long?" she replied, quickly casting some advanced privacy spells. A random classroom as a meeting place hadn't been the best idea Potter had had.
"No, we arrived only a few minutes ago." Potter watched her closely, his eyes jumping to her wand occasionally. "To business?"
Well, at least he had his priorities straight, Daphne thought. If they wanted to avoid suspicion, then they shouldn't waste time. "Agreed. Since you asked for us to meet again, I'm guessing you have something you want to tell me and that it will be about my... the business deal I suggested."
Potter nodded. "Yes. In principle, I agree to the terms we outlined last time –the heir clause, the timing, the handling of our accounts. They seem reasonable enough."
"Glad to hear," Daphne told him with an insincere smile. Of course these terms were acceptable, if she wanted him to help her, she needed to offer him something in return. And if she had wanted to trick him, she'd have thought of a plan he wouldn't have seen through.
"I want to add three points, though. Well, four, technically, but... The first is the referral to a will for each partner concerning our respective inheritance. That way, whatever we decide to leave to our heirs will not be influenced by the contract. I don't want any conflict because the contract demands something to be given to you that I'd prefer to go to someone else. Also, the less we put into the personalized contract, the less can go wrong due to it. No actual mention of inheritance in the contract."
Daphne frowned at him. It wasn't such a big request; in fact, it had become the norm to deal with the issue in the past hundred years in common marriages and it did fit her own plans rather nicely –the less the contract connected Potter and her, the better. "Well, fine. I guess I can live with that. Your other condition?"
"A minor one, from what I've been told. Each partner retains the right to choose his or her living arrangements. I know traditions dictate the..." He turned to his housemate for help.
"Year of Yen," Longbottom supplied.
"Yes, that one. But then, we aren't in the Middle Ages anymore, and those restrictions aren't in either of our interests. No offence, but I don't want you hanging around for a year just because tradition dictates it. We both have our own lives to take care of, after all."
Daphne pursed her lips, frowning. As if she would have wanted to respect that part of the traditions! Also, he was as good as dead, from what she could tell, and she had intended to stay away from him anyway. "I agree, although I have something to add as well. Since this is only a business arrangement, I want the bothersome infidelity clauses stricken."
Potter smirked for a moment, as if finding it funny. Daphne had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Boys could be really tiring sometimes. So what if she considered finding herself a lover during her marriage to Potter? She expected... no, she hoped, he'd try the same. If he was busy elsewhere, He'd have less time to be a bother for her.
But before she could comment, he nodded. "Agreed. I hadn't intended to have one there anyway, so no worries. Shouldn't be much left of the contract, right?"
"It's not an honest attempt at marriage. If it looks cobbled together, all the better –we're not supposed to have thought about it beforehand, and we certainly shouldn't look as if we wanted to have anything to do with each other. And since we expect it to last for no more than seven years, I see no reason to complicate things," Daphne reasoned. "Or deny us any chances at finding love or, if not that, then the next best thing."
Apart from the glint in his eye and the twitch in the corner of his mouth, Potter showed little reaction. "As for my last two adjustments," he said, "this deal you offered is currently not that appealing to me –I don't seem to gain that much from it, you see?"
"You'd get gold, and quite a bit of it even," Daphne countered.
"Gold is cheap. I have enough of it as well, and I would only get it after all is said and done –after I've done my part and did what I'm supposed to. You on the other hand would get your freedom the moment I'd activate the contract, and it's difficult to put a price tag on that."
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "So what is it then? What is your price?"
"Ah, I'll take the gold," Potter told her, smiling, "no about that, but there has to be something more in it for me. I'm not really known for my patience, and seven years is an awfully long time with just your word that you'll repay my kindness."
"So you want to raise your price now?" Daphne asked, pursing her lips in displeasure.
"I'm not trying to rob you or anything, I just want to add something to the deal. If you were in my place, wouldn't you try to get something more out of the situation than what the other side offered? Especially since you don't have that many options left to you." Potter replied with a shrug. "So you'll growl and grumble, but you won't do anything really harmful. Weren't those your words? Well, you were right, of course."
Swallowing the first reply that came to her mind –which would have been disastrous to her plan –Daphne forced herself to ignore the amusement in his eyes and smiled. "I'm sorry if I insulted you during our last talk," she pressed out, the words tasting vile in her mouth, "it hadn't been my intent. I hope we can move past that misunderstanding."
He nodded. "Well, fine, but an apology's not what I wanted in the first place. No, you are a Slytherin..."
"I won't spy on my house mates," Daphne interrupted. "And as soon as that marriage becomes public knowledge, they won't tell me anything important anyway, so this plan will actually hurt my standing –you might not gain it, but I'll lose nonetheless. What do you think, that we sit down there and plot the rise of the Dark Arts? You're wrong." For the most part, she added in her thoughts. Technically speaking, they occasionally did sit down and thought up plans; it was the first lesson if one wanted to get ahead in life –to know what to expect in the future and be prepared for the plans of both sides.
"Well, that would have been useful, to have you spy for me, but no, that wasn't it either," Potter spoke, raising an eyebrow. "No, first of all, I want a sign of goodwill from you –an advance, if you will. As a Slytherin who likes her privacy, I'm sure you have learned quite a bit of magic to guarantee no one listens in on you. I'm interested in that."
"You could find spells and wards like that in any book out there," she told him with a roll of her eyes. "Anyone could tell you that, even Granger will have stumbled upon one or two of those spells during her studies. You wouldn't have needed me to point that out."
"True," Potter said, smiling slightly. "But those are widely known. I'd prefer a defence that is both reliable and at the same time not common knowledge. I like to keep some of my talks private –I'm sure you can understand that. Well, who better to ask how to do that than those who deal with secrets regularly? And I'm sure you know some pretty ingenious magic to accomplish that, don't think I didn't notice you casting something of that sort earlier; that just confirmed my suspicions.
"So that's it, a sign of your good will –the keys to the secrecy of Slytherins. Or think of it as an exchange –a favour of mine for one from you and a bit of gold later on, in a way."
Daphne mulled it over. On one hand, he hadn't really asked that much. Ignoring the payment in gold yet to be determined, what he wanted was knowledge. Hadn't she offered him just that previously? She had, even if she hadn't meant that kind of knowledge. And it wasn't as if it really mattered all that much. Once he would look through the records of House Black, he would surely find something similar or even superior. Or he might die before he could put any of that knowledge to use.
"That wasn't our original deal," she pointed out, "and I'm hardly an expert on those matters, at best a beginner, whatever you might think of me. You could still easily find something on your own."
"I'm not an expert in marrying someone, least of all on parchment alone," Potter countered. "You could try to find some way to settle with Malfoy, perhaps some precaution so he will put your life and safety first. You could make him give you an oath or something, for example. And I'm more interested in the obscure magic, something I might not need to waste on if you help me."
"And I'm guessing you won't tell me how many spells you want, you just expect me to hand them over until you are satisfied?" Daphne sighed, but kept from rubbing her eyes in resignation. "There's a book," she began reluctantly. "It has a lot of spells that, as far as I know, have never seen publication. If I can get you a copy of it..."
"Those spells you are talking about," Potter asked, leaning forward, "what about them? Do they fit my description?"
Daphne nodded. "It's what you want and no trick. There are both secrecy spells and some counters to popular ones. I've seen a copy in our Common Room, so I know it exists. So, if I get you a copy of it..."
Narrowing his eyes, he watched her closely, likely waiting for a sign of a deception that he wouldn't find. Finally, he spoke up. "I won't sign anything and equally won't activate the contract until I have that book and have confirmed it's what you just told me and not fake or something similar."
With a roll of her eyes at his not entirely unjustified distrust, Daphne asked him, "The book as an advance, then? You will sign once you've confirmed the book is what you asked for?"
If he had noticed she hadn't said anything about the book being useful to him, just that it would be what he asked for, he didn't show it. "If I have it, I'll activate the contract. Your family will still have to pay the gold after the contract has run its course, naturally, but at least I'll have something to entertain myself with until then."
She sighed, but nodded. "Fine. I'll get you that book in time, just make sure you hold up your end of the deal." The tension in the room lifted, and Daphne sat up straighter. "Let us talk about timing, then."
"Actually," Potter interrupted, raising his hand, "there is one more addition I have. I want a token, something of personal value to you, Greengrass, as a guarantee until you do pay the gold you owe me." Daphne sent him a nasty glare for suspecting foul play on her part, but before she could speak up, he continued, "That way, the procedure is like that: you send me that book on secrecy spells –a small favour –in turn, I activate the contract and lock us both in –a big favour. You hand me that security, which will be returned to you after we're done."
"And what will you do in return for the token?" Daphne asked him, pursing his lips.
"It's more to keep both of us in line," he elaborated. "I have no use for the token, but binning it would lose me the gold –I'd stay in line and keep it until I could return it. You on the other hand want whatever it is back –you'd stay in line as well until you get it back."
Daphne sighed, not wanting to lose her opportunity over something so minor. She needed him more than he needed her. "There's a ring," she began hesitantly. "My grandmother gave it to me." After I had dropped it accidentally and she had picked it off the ground, Daphne added in her mind, but she had no intention of telling Potter that. When he didn't speak up, she continued, "I'll hand it to you only after you activated the contract, and so much as a speck of dust is on it when I get it back..."
"You'll, what, growl and grumble?" Potter chuckled. She sent him a cold stare, and it seemed he had gotten the message, as his face fell. "Fine. You'll give me that ring after I activate the existing contract, but before we sign the personalized one."
Daphne nodded, in part already regretting ever approaching Potter. "Now then, if you are done with your interruptions, I'd like to continue. As you know, you will have to wait a few more days, at least until after my birthday," she began, focusing on moving the talk along and feeling slightly better after deceiving Potter about the ring's worth. She hadn't lied, after all, and had told the truth, just from a certain point of view.
"I've already planned what I want to do," Potter interrupted yet again. "Since I have to activate the contract after your birthday and therefore during the holidays anyway, there's little to do in that respect. My plan to activate it will work and does seem like something I'd do anyway, don't worry, but we'll have to act fast after that. Since we will be at Hogwarts come January, we will have to write the personalized contract before that. I can't pull off having one just lying around, but I thought, maybe you could, I don't know, set something up and have a rough outline. Ask your friends on what to write in a contract you don't really want to enter."
"Not a bad idea," Millicent said, smiling slightly. Perhaps she was just trying to keep the peace in the room. "You'd best approach Pansy, I think. Something along the lines of your birthday coming up and you wanting to be prepared."
"Yes, that is what I was talking about," Potter continued with a nod in the big girl's direction. "You'd have witnesses to you composing a preliminary contract. Add a clause or two we can strike without consequences. We'll meet sometime around New Year's Eve, put the final contract into writing –read, amend it to our outline we have now –complain to everyone who can hear us about the injustice of it all, marry, and come back to school with everything done and over with, well before anyone can do much about it."
"Actually," Neville spoke up, "I've been thinking about that. Wouldn't it be better to, I don't know, wait a few weeks? Wouldn't it look suspicious to have you marry so shortly after her birthday? Rushed?"
"Well, what do you suggest, then?" Potter asked with a raised eyebrow.
Daphne sighed. Hadn't they talked it through beforehand? What did they do with all their time? If the stories were true, Potter had had enough time to burn a few beds down and have a tryst with either an unnamed girl –possibly a seventh-year –or a teacher, Professor Trelawney being the prime subject. Of course, knowing the rumour mill, it was without a doubt exaggerated.
Longbottom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, I thought, maybe, you know, a spring wedding or something. It's just, finishing it over the holidays will look like you are prepared. Remember, Harry, normally, you shouldn't know what to write in a contract. And getting the actual wedding done before we return... that is a lot of work."
"Once the existing contract is active, we cannot back out," Potter mused, pursing his lips, "so as long as we write up something along the lines of marrying in, say, spring..."
"Better make that summer," Daphne pointed out, "British spring is still rather chilly."
"If you set the date of the actual marriage for sometime in summer," Millicent added, "you will have enough time to 'come to terms' with it. I think Longbottom is right, getting the actual marriage done before we return to school is be too ambitious. Don't forget, a lot of people will protest and try to intervene on your side."
Potter snorted. "Not just on my side, I think."
"Well," Daphne told him, "my family already knows about the looming contract and the traditions connected to it. They are already prepared somewhat, even if they don't like it. But your people..."
"Alright, alright, I get it. Fine. I'll still activate the contract during the holidays, you just have to make sure you can make time for the actual negotiations," Potter said, "that is, our meetings where we will formalize our agreement in here."
Millicent grunted, and everyone turned to her. "Maybe arrange a dinner with the Malfoys or a visit to Pansy or something like that. It's easily cancelled, but will look genuine."
"Fine," Daphne nodded. "So, I'll set up some rough draft of a contract. I'll plan some outings I can cancel to make time. You get your act together and put your plan in action, preferably early during the holidays to give us some leeway, alright? Yes," she said, slightly exasperated, before he could, "assuming I'll send you that book, and yes, during those negotiations, I'll slip you that ring."
"I'll keep back," Millicent threw in. "For the actual negotiations, I'll better not be involved or it might look suspicious; the same is true for you, Longbottom. Daphne, I guess your parents will want to deal with that?"
"Likely, yes. Potter, you will have to plan for someone to help you on your side as well."
"Think so? I'm supposed to be surprised by it; since I'll be staying with the Weasleys, I'll probably have one of them come me. But that reminds me –Neville, if you're free, I'd like you to come with me to Gringotts when I start the whole mess, have you by my side."
Said boy almost fell out of his chair. "What do you mean, by your side?"
"I've thought about what I want to do," Potter answered with a smile. "You know, what I'd sign to activate the contract, and I think you'll like it and may follow my example." Neville didn't seem to understand what his friend was talking about, but returned the smile.
Daphne cleared her throat. "As touching as your bonding is, maybe we should return to the topic at hand? We're short on time as it is."
"Well, I think we have the important stuff down," Potter told her. "I'll set everything in motion, you'll act surprised, we'll write up the actual contract, wedding set for the summer. Bulstrode will keep out of the spotlight. Do you think your parents will protest against any of our conditions?"
"They might try. Of course, keeping my name will calm them somewhat –no, I don't want to become Daphne Potter for a few years only to change back. If I have to marry an enemy of the Dark Lord, I might as well get a lot of gold out of your death. They might try to alter the terms about our accounts."
"I may be young, but I'm not stupid. They are to be kept separate," Potter replied brusquely, but with a smile. "Separate accounts, and that's that."
"Actually," Neville spoke up, "you will have to think about the, err, dowries. Traditionally, a house, furniture, rudimentary necessities..."
"We'll get to that when the actual negotiations are upon us," Potter waved off. "It's not as if either of us really cares about that small stuff anyway, and we'll need something for the grown-ups to add as well or they might get suspicious if we already have everything in place."
"And it might be a good idea to have a shared account," Longbottom continued. "For living expenditures, you know?"
"But since we won't be living together..."
"Still a good idea," Daphne interrupted. "Some things might come up, and, knowing my parents, they will still try to slip something like that in there. A shared account with gold from both families means some way to feel like they have gained something from it."
"Well, I can live with that," Potter said with a wave of his hand. "A few Galleons is all it would need, right? Just enough to show them I'm not leeching off of the Greengrasses?"
"Something like that, yes," Longbottom agreed, "Although if there is one, you might want to use the vault left for the couple."
"Alright. That reminds me, though. We haven't discussed the repayment down the line –you'll get your freedom with the contract, but somehow I doubt we can include a clause about House Greengrass paying House Black money in exchange for a ring the Blacks shouldn't have in the first place. So, how do we do that part of the plan?"
"Simple, really," Daphne replied with a smile, happy to be ahead of him in that respect. "Do you have a Galleon?"
Harry blinked, but handed her the money. She pocketed it.
"Once I'm seventeen, I'll sign this." She handed a piece of parchment to Harry, who read it. Meanwhile, she continued, "It's really straightforward, obligating House Greengrass to pay back the loan I just received from you on the 19th of December, 2004, should I not have done that until then. You will notice the high interest and the punitive terms for late payment. I'll add that bit about the ring's safe return, but otherwise, we'll use this. Since it is not part of the marriage contract as such, no one has to know about it. If I am alive on that day, I will have to pay the sum, if I am dead, it won't concern me anymore and my family will have to do it nonetheless. Either way, you'll get the money. Or House Black, at least. I'll send it to you once I have signed it; you only have to file it with the goblins. If you don't activate the contract, I'll only return the Galleon. Don't let it come to that, though, Potter," she warned him with another glare, "not after all this trouble getting everything in place."
"... pays the sum of... how much, then? How much is your freedom and life worth, Greengrass?"
She pursed her lips. It had been a tricky topic for a number of reasons. Just how big of a risk was Draco really? And just how much could she reasonably expect to have available by the time the obligation would be due?
"I'm still at risk – although a smaller one, yes –even with this deal in place, so you aren't ensuring my life, rather, you increase my chance to survive the next years, if my guesses about..."
"How much, Greengrass?" Potter asked once more.
Glaring lightly, she said, "Twenty-five thousand Galleons."
"You're kidding," Potter replied with a wave of his hand.
"It's quarter the price of the original buyout and half of what House Black would have to pay," Daphne pointed out. "It is more than fair, seeing as how the marriage still takes place." She didn't mention that even that sum wasn't something her family had lying around.
"If we are arguing with the buyout price, then half the price would be more appropriate. And then, seventy-five thousand would be more appropriate, or did you forget the fifty percent penalty in case one side wants out? I think it's pretty much obvious you want out, while I don't have to get involved at all, despite all our talk."
"I'll still have to fulfil the contract, so the terms of settlement aren't fulfilled," Daphne sighed, this time indeed rubbing her eyes. Did he have to make it so complicated?
Millicent cleared her throat. "How about a compromise? Twenty-five thousand Galleons if you activate the contract, and another twenty-five thousand should Daphne still be alive if this obligation is due? Both to be paid on her twenty-sixth birthday and in exchange for the ring from your grandmother, Daphne? The whole reason for this was to keep you safe, wasn't it? That is still a lot of gold, and it rewards the intention of the agreement, not simply the entering of the marriage."
For about a minute, everyone was silent. Then, as if on signal, Daphne and Harry nodded, but she wasn't happy at all. Fifty thousand Galleons were definitely not something she'd be able to have on hand. She'd have to speak with her parents, or maybe set something aside. Perhaps she could invest in some up and coming business?
"That's that, then," Millicent spoke up. "Daphne will sign that on her birthday, you'll file it, and everyone will be happy."
"Fine," Potter grumbled. "Did we forget anything?" He looked at each of them, but they stayed quiet. After a moment, he jumped to his feet. "Well, that's it then. Best not to linger too long or we might get caught. Greengrass, until we meet again. Bulstrode." He bowed sharply to both and backed out of the room, Longbottom on his heels.
"You know," Millicent said into the descending silence, "he could have been a lot worse, I guess, and he's not as stupid as I thought, that part about the safety was quite clever. If I didn't know it any better, I wouldn't have thought he's a Gryffindor, more like a Ravenclaw."
"He tried to make it needlessly complicated," Daphne pointed out. "Almost as if he didn't trust me."
"Can't imagine why," Millicent chuckled. "Still... cleverness aside, I pity you, having to put up with him for seven years."
"Until the Dark Lord kills him," Daphne corrected dispassionately, trying to decide what to hope for.
So there you go. Explanation done. Also, Harry and Daphne have finally come to an agreement.
Thanks everyone who've read so far.
