CHAPTER 29: SMELLS LIKE GENIUS
By the end of the second day, Sparhawk was the talk of all the professors. "He's got a flair for transfiguration." Mc Gonagall declared. "He's got Lily's talent in charms," said Flitwick. Professor Binns as usual was snoring in his arm chair, as much as a ghost could snore. Quirrell was twitching nervously, agreeing with both the professors. As for his own subject, the first class was mostly theory, so he didn't have anything to say. Aurora, the astronomy professor, a dark skinned witch with silver hair said he was very fast on the uptake, but Granger gave him healthy competition. This led to a discussion of Hermione Granger who they also agreed was unusually bright. Sprout chipped in saying both were neck to neck in her class, but somehow the plants just seemed to like Sparhawk more. The mark of a true Hufflepuff.
Dumbledore sighed. It was at times like this that he wished he was still a teacher, watching the younger generation grow, nurturing them, reveling in their success. Snape maintained his characteristic silence. "What about you Severus?" he asked. The others turned to him. "Unfortunately, " he began, his tone dry, "I haven't had the pleasure of having Potter in my class yet"
"Sparhawk." said Professor Sprout automatically.
"Ridiculous." Snape muttered.
"Professor Snape, I must insist that you call my student by his assumed name. It's come to my notice that calling him Harry unsettles him deeply."
"What about Potter?" he ventured, but that was shot down too.
Snape wasn't going to get into a first name basis with non-Slytherins. It would ruin his reputation. "What is his last name? Maybe that..." he asked, mildly irritated.
At this, all the Professors looked at one another. Professor Sprout shrugged. "Beats me."
They all turned to Dumbledore and he stroked his beard for a few moments before admitting that he too did not know what it was.
"Strange," said Sprout. "I'll ask him when I see him."
That such a thing as a remnant of Azash could exist added an element of unparalleled danger to Sparhawk, but at the same time, it was, perversely a source of comfort to him. He knew what it was and he knew what he wanted to do with it. Grind it to dust.
That night, in his dorm, when all his roommates were asleep, he gently tugged out his wand and sought Aphrael's council.
"Azash. Even millennia apart, he continues to plague me" observed Sparhawk.
"Are you complaining, Sparhawk?" asked Aphrael, amusement colouring her voice.
Sparhawk snorted softly. "I must destroy him. It is my duty as a church knight." Aphrael said nothing for a long moment. "Then you must grow stronger, father. For it may be just a remnant of Azash, but he was an Elder God nonetheless. And remember, where the Elder Gods are concerned, nothing is impossible"
Sparhawk was silent, contemplating. "I have neglected my training." he said shortly, "Starting tomorrow, I shall have to correct that. As for magic..." He could sense Aphrael's anticipation. "Go on, Sparhawk" she goaded, "you know you want it."
He sighed. "As for magic, I need your help mastering it"
"Oh Sparhawk, you just had to ask! Of course, I'll help you. But..." she dragged.
"But?" he asked, eyebrow lifting
"But, I may be rather limited in what I can do for you. As you have no doubt observed, magic no longer seems to follow the same rules, so I'm not sure how much I can help you along, but I'm sure we'll be fine." Sparhawk rather doubted that. Aphrael's explanation had him mastering the transfiguration spell on the first try. "Mmm" he grunted and turned to sleep.
The next morning saw Sparhawk up well before the dawn and out on the quidditch field. He began doing laps, and before long, unsurprisingly, was worn out. As he trudged, gasping and feeling his lungs and his thighs burn, he sensed that he had a long road ahead of him. But the wonderful thing about children's bodies is they bounce back like a rubber ball and grow like fungus on a wet day.
He untied his wand from the makeshift holster he had made out a rag and felt Aphrael's disapproval. "How are you going to be my champion if you're a little weakling, Father?" Sparhawk did not deign to reply to that. He made it back to the dorm before any of his friends were up and after a shower, was at the great hall for breakfast. He was one of the first students there, and as was his wont, descended into people watching and lonely brooding. He'd gotten a good bit of brooding done before his classmates arrived and he had to unbrood. They had potions today and everyone seemed rather anxious about that.
Sparhawk had gone and read ahead. It was better than sitting around and moping about what could have been. It helped that Aphrael read along with him. It was a bit like cheating, but she was really good at pulling out obscure bits of information that he might have forgotten. Not that he forgot a lot.
They trooped into the dank classroom deep in the dungeons. Aphrael disapproved of these arrangements. "You're going to be cooking stuff, father" she reasoned, "I'd have thought you'd do it somewhere a bit more airy"
"Want me to ask him?" he asked
"Couldn't hurt."
They'd settled down, Sparhawk with his small group which was coming to consist of Neville, Cullinan, Warrick and the occasional Hermione. The bright girl was having a bit of difficulty with social interaction with children her age, what with being academically accomplished and overbearing, but the Hufflepuffs were warm and welcoming and she was beginning to settle down.
They'd all been seated and Professor Snape had yet to arrive. The other children began to fidget. Neville turned to Sparhawk, presumably to ask something about the teacher, who had quite the reputation, when the door flew open. Neville nearly fell out of his seat. The teacher strode into the room, his black robes billowing behind him rather dramatically and the children were hushed into silence.
Looming over his desk, like some dark shadow, Snape started the class by taking roll-call. He paused at Sparhawk's name. "Ah, yes." he said softly, "Sparhawk. Better known as Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity"
Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands, but Sparhawk ignored him. Snape finished calling all the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black and unfathomable as he looked upon them.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion making," he began, in a soft, low voice that somehow seemed to reach all corners of the room. The children listened, their tiny little child minds enraptured by this mysterious-looking man. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach"
"Eloquent" commented Aphrael.
Hermione was on the edge of her seat, looking desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Sparhawk stayed silent. He was beginning to get irritated.
From the back of the class, a voice piped up, "It's Sparhawk"
Snape isolated the offending individual with a stare. It was one of his Slytherins, surprisingly. The "It's Sparhawk" madness was spreading.
"Sparhawk" he ground out, noticeably less chipper than before, which wasn't saying much, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"A sleeping potion," he answered, "I think it's called the Draught of the living Death"
Truthfully, it was Aphrael who'd given him that titbit. It could be considered cheating, but he was a Pandion knight and that lot didn't care how they did it as long as it got done.
The potions master looked taken aback. Heh. Guess he wasn't expecting that. Hermione who had her hand raised, drooped a bit.
"Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"
"A goat's stomach. But I think humans can get them too."
Snape looked put out. Well, third time was the charm.
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"The spelling? They're the same plant, after all."
Snape looked absolutely miserable. "One point to Hufflepuff for reading ahead." he moaned out. The Slytherins gasped.
Looking around, he suddenly spotted Hermione who had just about fallen off her seat trying to raise her hand as high as it would go. His eyes brightened. "Five points from Hufflepuff for disorderly conduct in class."
Hermione turned bright red and it looked as if she was about to cry. Sparhawk sighed. Oh, this man was going to be an irritant.
The rest of the class passed uneventfully, except for the end when Neville did something to his potion that made it spectacularly melt his cauldron and start dissolving the desk. Sparhawk leaped forward and dragged his friends back before they could get hurt.
"Five points from Hufflepuff for reckless conduct" came Snape's voice as he vanished the stuff with a wave of his wand. Sparhawk didn't mind him. If Snape was going to be childish, he wouldn't indulge him.
Potions with the Slytherins had been the last class for the day and the group disconsolately trooped back to the Hufflepuff common room. "Snape seems to have it out for you, Sparhawk," said Neville. "How did you ever figure that out?" asked Warrick, rolling his eyes.
Sparhawk just shrugged, while Cullinan stared at his feet. He seemed to be struggling with something. "What is it?" asked Neville. "I dunno. It's just that Snape was acting very weird, you know."
"Like he totally hated Sparhawk?"
"Yeah. That. But I also watched him throughout the rest of class. And you wouldn't believe it, but while we were mixing up our potions, he had his eyes on Sparhawk the entire time. He was watching him...like a hawk."
The rest of the group stopped in their tracks. "Are you being serious?" ventured Warrick, "Or did you just want to make a horrid pun?"
Cullinan shrugged. "Both"
They groaned. Well, Neville and Warrick did. Sparhawk had a reputation for being unflappable and he wouldn't let these minor matters get to him.
"Well," said Warrick after trying to get a swipe at Cullinan, "why did he do that?"
"Do you think that's why he missed my mistake? I mean it was pretty obvious." asked Neville
"Could be. Maybe he knew you as... Harry? You know, before you lost your memory and all?"
Sparhawk nodded. "Could be."
They all looked at him expectantly.
"I don't remember."
There was a collective sigh of disappointment. "You know, I once saw a movie. A doctor in that said that these things come back with time," said Warrick.
That triggered a discussion on what movies and doctors were, Cullinan and Neville being from fully wizarding backgrounds. Sparhawk had the opportunity to watch one himself and had a bit of experience with doctors and was feeling rather superior.
"Well, anyway" Warrick cut off the two young wizards' questions, "It also said that the memories would come back sooner if you come in contact with things with a connection to your past life. Or something."
"And what are you suggesting?" asked Sparhawk, suspicions growing.
"We have to expose you to Snape as much as possible," said Warrick with finality.
Sparhawk sighed. This wasn't going to go anywhere good.
"Look," he said, trying to stall the inevitable, "how about we ask Hermione first? Or even better, Pomfrey?"
But they were as averse to talking to teachers as all boys that age were and Hermione it was.
Evening in the Hufflepuff common room found Hermione surrounded by one reluctant and three eager Hufflepuff boys. To Sparhawk's horror, once Warrick had managed to explain their plans to Hermione, him being the most vocal one of their little group, the girl agreed and even seemed most eager to join the cause.
Having one of the top students in the class on their side seemed to bolster the other three boys' confidence. Hermione's word had been law as far as their homework was concerned and they saw no reason why it should be otherwise in the complex field of memory and neurology. Never mind she was just eleven years old.
"Smell" she declared, "is the most likely to awaken dormant memories."
"I don't think Snape would like it if I showed up constantly trying to sniff him." Sparhawk protested.
"You're right." agreed Warrick, "We need something different."
Sparhawk sighed in relief, "How about Madam Pomfrey, then?" Using the proper salutations when within hearing distance of Hermione was conducive to one's health.
"No, no, no." he disagreed, though it seemed like Hermione was about to protest. "We don't need Sparhawk to smell HIM. Have you ever taken a sniff of your mom or dad's clothes?"
Hermione caught on to what he was suggesting. "I have! And it smells just like dad!"
Sparhawk was getting horrified by the logical conclusion at which they were bound to arrive.
"So he doesn't need to smell Snape," finished Warrick triumphantly, "he just needs to smell Snape's clothes!"
Sparhawk groaned. The minds of children were fascinating
It had gotten pretty late by then and Hermione still had homework to do, so she'd roped them in to do theirs as well, promising to discuss their plans in detail tomorrow and the rest of the evening passed in relative peace, though Sparhawk noticed the distracted look some of them seemed to be wearing. No doubt cooking up schemes to relieve the potions master of his clothes.
A/N: Not much in this chapter. Next one will probably get things moving. As always read and review. I await your words with bated breath.
