UnlimitedFreeIceCream: Dude, write your own story if you find so many faults in mine. Sheesh.
JokingWyvren: Yes, there will be. Some from surprising places, others I'll have to introduce from outside of the story.
qwe123: Sounds like a plot bunny. Never seen a Batman! Harry before. Could be nice.
Ddragon21: No parselmagic here, sorry. It's like if Harry learned incantations in Spanish. The only advantage would be that the foe does not understand the language. Unforgivables aren't common x-x stahp it.
xp3r1a: Yes, I've seen the "Using Diffindo on someone's throat is worse than using Avada Kedavra." argument used so many times. To me, it's all the same. Death is death, no matter what. Diffindo can cut an arm off; they might still live. If you use Avada Kedavra on someone's arm, they die, no questions asked. All that spell can do is kill. It is not as benign as people like to make it, since it drives a soul out of a body.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
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Lightning Dragon's Roar
A Harry Potter Fanfiction
By Zero Rewind
© 2014
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"I breathe for you now,
Yet you seek to the dark infested,
Home of my kind,
Look inside,
Past the guarded walls of hope..." - Maka & Waeck ft. Farisha - Breathe (Vexare Remix)
Chapter 11: Hermione's not a Seeker, She's a Snitch. Also, PLOT TWIST!
It's been a few days since my first Defense Against the Dark Arts class; and I use the term 'class' loosely in this situation.
If I had any say in it, I would not attend. I had already begun skipping both History and Divination, seeing as I slept in one, and had to endure predictions of my death in the other. Listening to Trelawney's speeches about the Inner Eye were dreadful.
Half of her lines involve her bragging about her Seer abilities. For example, the phrases "just like I Saw you would" or "you're doing as I predicted" were used quite liberally. She knew her subject, of course. I had to give her that much...
She might be a crackpot, but at least she tries to teach something. Unlike dear old Umbridge, who would simply tell us to read the book.
I, of course, kept up with my amusing shenanigans in that particular class. To avoid punishment, I was always excessively polite and eager to please when spoken to. During the reading period, I would look at the book and nod thoughtfully, as if I were learning the very secrets of the universe itself.
I supposed it was good practice at keeping my calm. There were times, in which I had to stop myself from laughing out loud, lest I get in trouble. All in all, a decent way to work on staying composed.
Potions class continued as usual. Snape kept up with appearances, looking like he was horribly displeased whenever I succeeded— all the time, basically. It was definitely a little trickier for me now, due to the fact that I was now aware of my magical energies seeping into the potions I was concocting. Professor Snape was surprisingly helpful in that regard, having directed me to a certain book in the Library.
It was a bitch to find, but I managed to get my hands on it. Apparently most NEWT level students ended up buying their own book, considering that everyone and their mother would fight for the few copies in the Library.
Magical Infusion in Potion Making was a pretty interesting read. I figured, since Snape thought it was important enough to stealthily give me a slip of parchment containing the book title, that I should give it a try. It went into detail of how exactly infusion took place during the course of the brewing of a potion.
Apparently, low level potions didn't really require a lot of magical energy, if at all. It made sense, in a way. The amount of energy needed should increase with the difficulty of the potion, shouldn't it?
The book also went on to explain how you can figure out the potion's critical moments and act accordingly, giving a fair number of examples in which you should either infuse the potion with magic, or not at all; constant magic infusion, while not necessarily bad, would not yield a perfect potion.
It was like cooking, in that respect. Too much of a single ingredient would ruin a dish, after all. Dumping more salt than was needed would make your spaghetti sauce taste terrible! Terrible, I say! I know from experience.
Care of Magical Creatures was boring as shit, without Hagrid introducing dangerous/illegal creatures. We studied bowtruckles; it was some kind of tree-guardian that ate wood lice or some such. I lost twenty points from Gryffindor for joking about how they were protecting their wood— Get it!? Hermione was greatly displeased, seeing as the ten points she managed to scrounge up were taken away in an instant.
She glared at me for the rest of the period— not that I cared.
Transfiguration had McGonagall starting us with the Vanishing Spell, something I'd been wanting to learn for a while now. The Professor had us vanishing snails to start out with. Surprisingly, it was a very difficult spell , but I was one of the few that actually managed to get the snail to vanish. Hermione had done it in her third try, and then spent the rest of the class watching the others fail at completing their assignment. I shook my head at her behavior.
Currently, I was sitting in the Charms class, bored out of my mind. Flitwick wanted everyone to review the Summoning Charm, a spell I had a good grasp on due to last year's close encounter with a dragon. Felt like a lifetime ago, really. I wondered how I would fare against a dragon with my Lightning Dragon Slayer magic. Was my magic truly capable of slaying dragons? I supposed it didn't really matter, in the end. I've already shown I could crack concrete, and break through wood like it's not even there.
With a lot of dedication and practice, why shouldn't I be eventually capable of such feats?
The diminutive Charms teacher ended up giving us so much homework it made Ron gape in disbelief. He grumbled about how he was never going to get some free time, what with his Prefect duties and other classes. I merely smirked in response, and said that I didn't get it. It made Hermione glare furiously at me. When the class ended, she angrily stomped out, with Ron following her, giving me an apologetic grin.
I didn't understand why she was being such a bitch about it. It's not like I was lounging around in the common room when I skived off those classes! I trained, trained, and then— guess what?— I trained some more. With every session, I could see the progress being made. Fine tuning my Edge was the ultimate proof of my hard work so far.
I shook my head warily, before heading to the Great Hall for dinner. I sat alone this time, not wanting to deal with Hermione's attitude, and helped myself to some chicken breast.
"Well, well," I heard a mischievous voice say from behind me. I turned to see—
"Look at what we've got here, brother mine." Fred said as he sat to my left.
"The infamous skiver himself, is it?" George sat to my right. He shook my hand with excessive eagerness. "Pleasure to meet you, good sir."
"To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?" I stifled a grin, pretending to be annoyed by their presence.
"Just checking up on our dear friend." Fred waved the question off.
"We heard from Alicia—"
"Who heard from Katie—"
"Who was told by Angelina that—"
"— Yes. I told Angelina quit the Quidditch team." I gave them a wary look. "Are you here to try to convince me to rejoin? The answer's 'no', by the way."
"Nothing of the sort!" They chorused, before Fred continued. "While it is truly regrettable that our star Seeker is no longer with us—"
"— Bless his soul! He was one of a kind, that one! I'll miss him." George pretended to weep loudly.
"We understand." Fred said, giving me a knowing look. "To be honest, we could've chosen to not attend Hogwarts for our Seventh year."
"Really?" That was news to me. "How does that work?"
"Does ickle Potter not know how the system works?" George lightly taunted, a smirk plastered on his face.
"You only really need your OWLs to be ready for what's out there, mate." Fred informed me. "While it won't get you a high paying job, you can still find work."
"So I'm guessing it's your NEWTs that let you get the really good jobs?" I wondered out loud. Fred gave an affirmative nod.
"Indeed. Though you can still do well for yourself with just the OWLs, partner." George smiled, hinting at the joke shop.
"That.. sounds like a nice plan." I said, a little touched at the offer. "Thanks, you two. I might just take you up on it."
"No problem... Who are you again?" Fred said, giving me a faux-confused look.
"Just a nameless stranger." I grinned.
"Well nameless stranger, it was nice meeting you— but we must be off!" And with that, the two devils left the Great Hall. I shook my head in amusement at their antics.
At least something was good about this day.
"Mr. Potter." The stern voice of Professor McGonagall reached my ears. I turned to see her glaring at me.
Spoke too soon. This day was going to be shitty.
"Follow me." She didn't even ask if I was finished eating, and made to leave the Great Hall, expecting me to follow her, no doubt. I glanced in Hermione's direction, seeing her look at me guiltily. Tattled, did she?
"I don't have time for this shit." I grumbled, before complying. The trip to Professor McGonagall's office was eerily silent, and tense. I already knew what she was going to tell me. We walked through the halls at a brisk pace, passing students who were— as usual— whispering amongst themselves.
She opened the door, and I followed her inside, stiffly taking my seat. She sat behind her desk, heavily frowning at me. I returned the gaze with a fair measure of contempt.
"Is something the matter, Professor?" I asked her outright.
Her lips pursed in response. "Mr. Potter. I've had some disquieting news pertaining to you from Ms. Granger."
"What kind of news?" I played dumb, though inside I was angry at the confirmation of Hermione's betrayal.
"Ms. Granger has told me that you have not been attending your History and Divination classes since the beginning of the school year." Professor McGonagall began. "I have checked with the corresponding professors, and they have confirmed this. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"Well," I said. "Yes. I skipped them. Why shouldn't I? They're a waste of my time."
"Waste of your time or not," The old witch retorted almost angrily. "You must attend your classes, Potter. This is non-negotiable."
"That's nice."
"Five points for cheek." She said sternly, before continuing. "You will have detention for the next two weeks, and another fifty points taken from Gryffindor for your appalling actions."
"Detention?" I gave her an annoyed look. That would cut into my training time.
"Yes, Mr. Potter." She confirmed gravely. "Misbehavior is not tolerated at Hogwarts."
"That's all well and good." I said in return. "But I'm not going."
"...What?"
"You heard me, loud and clear, Professor." I stood up, and made to leave. "I'm not going to waste any more time than I have to on this crap."
"Mr. Potter!" I ignored her indignant shout.
I reached the door, but it abruptly shut in my face, locking itself with a clicking noise. I turned to see McGonagall with her wand out, giving me an exasperated look.
"You will attend your detentions, Mr. Potter, even if I have to escort you there, myself!" She snapped, staring me down like a hawk, but I was past such pathetic stares. I faced Voldemort himself; McGonagall was nothing in comparison.
"You think you can force me to go?" I challenged, anger seeping in my tone. Didn't she understand that I had bigger things to concern myself with?
"If I must, yes." McGonagall said, standing up.
"I'd like to see you try." I said, and called my lightning forth, shaping it just like I practiced in the days before. The lightning quickly formed into a furiously spinning drill, filling the room with the hum of its power. I knew I wasn't thinking straight, but I couldn't care at the moment. She was getting in my way, and I didn't like those that impeded my progress. Not. One. Bit.
The air grew thick with a strange pressure. McGonagall was beginning to look at me warily.
We stared each other down for the longest time, before she finally relented with a resigned sigh. She waved her wand and the lock clicked open. I reined myself in, the lightning fading from my hand with a small shock wave as as I clenched my fist. The strange pressure disappeared.
"Don't get in my way, ever again." I threw in, before leaving.
I didn't even wait for her to say anything, choosing to run as fast as my feet could take me. I ran, I ran, and I ran some more.
Why didn't they understand? Angelina, Hermione, McGonagall. Why couldn't they just accept that this was necessary? I ran faster, ignoring all the looks I was getting from other students.
Did they think I wanted to live like this? Did they think I wanted to constantly train? Did they think that I enjoyed living my life in fear, always wondering if my skills would be enough for the next confrontation?
Hermione's idiotic ideas could go fuck themselves for all I cared right now. Maybe she needs the OWLs to do well in the real world, but I've already got plenty of money; enough money to last me dozens of lifetimes!
And if that didn't work, I had the Weasley twins backing me up.
Quidditch could go and hang itself. Politeness and propriety in school were a waste of my time. Most of the classes were a waste of my time, as well.
I finally stopped running, and sank to my knees, taking deep breaths. I looked around, recognizing my surroundings.
Why did I come here, of all places?
A giggle grabbed my attention. I turned to see an all too familiar ghost.
"Hello, Myrtle. How are you?"
"You came to visit!" She looked ecstatic. "Just like you said you would."
I remembered some halfhearted promise I made last year, when I figured out the egg's clue for the Second Task. I had promised to visit, hadn't I?
"Yeah, I always keep my promises." Even if accidentally, but she didn't need to know that, eh? I took a few more steadying breaths. How long did I run? I checked my watch. It'd been thirty minutes since I left the Great Hall with McGonagall. The confrontation we had was around two minutes at best.
So, I've been running for around twenty minutes...
I stared at my surroundings, once more. I remembered how we brewed Polyjuice Potion to spy on Malfoy. Hermione— I stopped my thoughts right there, not wanting to get angry again. I stared at a seemingly inconspicuous sink. The very same sink which opened up the Chamber of Secrets.
§Open.§ I hissed out in Parseltongue. The tap glowed white, as the sink sank— amusing— showing the entrance to the Chamber.
Ignoring Myrtle's mindless chatter, I jumped down the hole, feeling the adrenaline rush as I twisted and turned along the pipe's path, thoroughly enjoying the ride. My furious anger simmered down as I reached the bottom with a thud.
I got to my feet and marched forward, looking around, recognizing the small path in the giant rubble caused by old Lockhart's attempt at erasing our memories.
I pulled out my wand, and cast the Reductor Curse over and over, until the rubble turned to nothing but fine mist. Satisfied, I delved deeper and deeper into the Chamber, stopping for a moment to cover my face when the smell of rotten flesh wafted in my nose.
I forced myself not to retch as I got closer and closer to the source; the giant basilisk that I'd killed with nothing but a sword. It looked almost just like I remembered it, if a little bit holey. The dead basilisk was surrounding by other, much smaller, dead animals.
I could only assume they tried to feast on it, and died from food poisoning. Even the rotting process was bound to take quite some time, as the bacteria would have to overpower the basilisk's poisonous nature. I stared at the gigantic snake for a while longer, getting lost in memories.
I remembered how Riddle had set this thing on me, and the ensuing struggle to stay alive. Being injected with both basilisk venom and phoenix tears was very peculiar.
However, was that the only danger lurking around here?
This place was the Chamber of Secrets. The only secret here seemed to be a millennium old monster. That sounded very lackluster, though. Wasn't Salazar Slytherin supposed to be one of the most powerful and influential wizards of his time?
I found it hard to believe that he would simply put a basilisk as the only form of protection, especially since it had glaring weaknesses such as the crowing of a rooster.
Maybe he didn't get to add anything else before he died? Or did Voldemort already figure out what the other secrets of this place were?
Or maybe there was nothing else here, I mused wryly. Why did I even come down here?
~The Orb...~
What was that? I whirled around. There was no one. Was I imagining it? I turned to look at the basilisk, noticing that part of it was glowing.
~Take the Orb, hatchling...~
"That voice again.." I looked around, still seeing no one. Someone— or something— was here, watching me. Talking to me.
I glanced back at the basilisk, whose belly was glowing a bright silver. I cut through its thick hide with constant use of the Severing Charm. After I got all the annoying poisonous flesh out of the way, I noticed something quite peculiar.
A sphere, about the size of a marble, floated in midair, untouched by any of the flesh around it. I carefully reached in there to grab it, making sure to avoid touching the dead, rotting flesh with my bare skin. Who knew what could happen?
I held it gingerly in the palm of my hand. What was this doing in the stomach of a basilisk? The orb seemed to seep into my flesh, perfectly melding with it. I was too late to stop it.
Before I could chastise myself for being so stupid, images rushed to the forefront of my mind. Images of humans, demons and angels, locked in endless battle. Images of an ominous castle in a perpetually dark world. Images of a majestic fortress in the skies. Images of a dark, bottomless pit at the center of the world.
The images disappeared as soon as they came.
"What the hell...?"
~I have done all I can...~ The voice said again, before growing silent.
"Done what? Who are you?" I called out, hearing my voice echo.
No answer came.
"Who were those people?" I wondered out loud.
"What..." I backed away, trying to make sense of what I'd seen. The images were jarring, and unlike anything I'd ever seen or imagined before.
I felt like I'd stumbled into a entirely different world. Why was this in a basilisk's stomach? Did Slytherin put it there? What did Slytherin know about this? Where did he even get it? Were those really angels and demons? Who was talking to me, just now?
What had I gotten myself into this time?
"This was a mistake." I finally said, before hurriedly leaving the Chamber. The trip back out was fairly easy; I charmed my clothes to carry me up the pipe. It was slower than I was hoping, but I eventually made it to the Second Floor girls' bathroom, quickly closing the entrance.
Myrtle was not here, for once.
I figured I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, and promptly made my way to the Gryffindor common rooms. I ignored Hermione's attempt at approaching me, going straight to the boy's dormitories. Suppressing my anger at the bushy haired girl, I instead focused on what I'd learned down in the Chamber.
The images were starting to make a little more sense than before. They even seemed slightly familiar to me. I'd seen something like this before, but where?
I heard the door open, but didn't turn to see who it was.
"No, Ron." I said before the boy could say anything. "Hermione was behind all this trouble, and I don't feel in a very forgiving mood right now. Not after what she did."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Potter." Dumbledore's voice made me shift in surprise. I turned to see the old wizard standing in the doorway, twinkling eyes gazing upon me. "I am sad to say that I am not Mr. Weasley."
I scratched the back of my head in embarrassment. I hadn't expected Dumbledore to intervene.
"Heh. Sorry about that. Hermione's attitude has been getting on my nerves, as of late."
"Indeed." The old man sat on a nearby bed. "I have been informed by Professor McGonagall that you have not been attending your classes. She seemed quite distressed, and— dare I say— worried about you."
"That's definitely true. I've been putting all my efforts in my training, instead." I explained curtly, ignoring the feeling of guilt seeping into me. McGonagall was worried about me? Why should she be?
"I am well aware of your training, Harry." The man said with a look of wry amusement. "Some of our resident portraits were disturbed at the loud noises of senseless destruction emanating from one of our unused classrooms."
I snorted at that. I did tend to go overboard on the furniture, didn't I? It made for good anger management, after all.
"So are you here to try to convince me to go back?"
"Goodness, no." The old man exclaimed, a flash of horror appearing on his face. Where did that come from?
"I have been one of the few who have faced your mother's stubborn streak, as well as her wrath." Dumbledore explained, almost shuddering at the very mention of Lily Potter's wrath.
If she had one of the most powerful wizards in the world wincing in fear— much like how people feared Voldemort, actually— then her anger must have truly been legendary.
"I will not force you to attend your classes, Harry." The venerable wizard said patiently. "I have, perhaps rightfully so, assumed that you find your OWL scores meaningless due to your families' wealth and the growing influence of Lord Voldemort. Am I correct in doing so?"
"That's more or less it." I confirmed without a hint of shame. "My education can wait until after the war, as far as I'm concerned. I will dedicate my time to mastering any offensive and defensive magic I can get my hands on, instead."
"Ah, I see." The old man gave me a long, steady look.
"Perhaps I shall assign you a few detentions— which I will oversee." Professor Dumbledore interrupted whatever I was about to say. "To make sure you learn these lessons; you understand."
So, unless I was horribly wrong, Dumbledore just offered to teach me magic.
Neat.
I wondered if I should tell him about my foray into the Chamber of Secrets.
...I'll do it later.
You know what they say: 'procrastination makes perfect'.
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A different turn, eh? The orb can be something important, or it can be nothing at all. Who knows...?
Don't worry, this will be much later, after Voldemort's defeat or close to it. Haven't decided, yet. Right now, Harry will try to play that event off as his imagination. For one, there's no more proof, except a few voices he heard when angered. The mind does play tricks on you.
And yes. Dumbledore is playing favorites.
Yes. I know I said Hermione wasn't blindly obedient, but she also is jealous of Harry, and thinks he's jeopardizing his future by not attending classes. She probably assumes he cares about wanting to be a useful member of society— have you ever met a basement-dweller that wants to work? We only work for the money, so we can come home and enjoy some games.