The first week of school flew by without further incident. Most students were still assessing Herido, trying to figure out the fact from fiction. From what they'd observed in class, he was only slightly more skilled than the other first years, but rumours were beginning to circulate about an unknown wandless magic he possessed and that he had something to do with a House Elf that had been missing since the first night. Then there was that presence he had; like he was graciously tolerating their existence and sometimes it felt like they were walking on a knife edge when he was around. Even the handful of Slytherins that still suspected he was all-talk were all waiting for someone else to make the first move against him.
Several however had believed their parents' warnings and had offered a hand of friendship. Most had tried to make it seem casual and those that had crowded in the common room on the first night had tried to laugh it off as a misunderstanding. Some had been less conniving in their approach, for example the first years Crabbe and Goyle had simply stated they had been told to be friendly towards Herido and so they were, although they still seemed more comfortable shadowing Draco. Still, their presence seemed to keep some of the more foolhardy Gryffindors at a distance and so Heri put up with them.
This general reaction had, of course, been with the exception of the Weasley twins who had spoken with glee about their own letter and the obvious talent for pranking Heri would surely have, should he ever choose to team up with them.
The first year girls were getting a little peevish in their dealings with Hermione, but she assured Herido that she would handle it. She had told him all about her first sacrifice at the end of summer and Heri thought she deserved a reward and promised to show her exactly what had become of Flint (who had been moved to St. Mungo's and still hadn't woken up), but he was waiting until Saturday night as he suspected she would find it difficult to accept, and he would therefore likely end the boy's punishment then. A shame, really.
All in all, with the exceptions of anxious glances, mean stares, and tentative offers of friendship Heri had been left alone. He noticed Daphne's anxiety disorder hadn't gotten any better over the summer. She looked like she'd hardly slept since school began, poor thing.
Herido was enjoying most of his classes. He'd impressed his Herbology teacher, Professor Sprout, with his knowledge of plant care, although she seemed at pain to inform him that feeding dragon's blood to Venomous Tentacula was illegal in Britain as it made the plants stronger and homicidally aggressive. He was shocked and thought it cruel to withhold their favourite food: his mother's Tentacula always seemed so happy and playful after feeding!
He could tell that History of Magic was going to be a problem. It was boring and Heri disliked being bored. It gave his mind time to wonder to more gripping topics, such as what he was hoping to find once he managed to get away to the Forbidden Forest, or how he was going to stress test the walls of Hogwarts without drawing attention. He just had to know whether the castle was more durable than his home and he would need to find out sooner or later so he could mix the strength of his gunpowder accordingly – he didn't feel like accidentally knocking down the school, at least not until he'd gotten a proper feel for the place.
Draco had interrupted his musings.
"Can't you do something about him?" He grumbled, waving a hand in the direction of the ghost. "Binns has to be senile. I'm not even sure he knows we're here!" Heri had to agree that it was rather rude of the so-called teacher and promised to have a word with him after class.
"Professor?" He called to stop the ghost from leaving after the classroom had been vacated of students. The ghost turned to greet him.
"Ah, Perkins. Did you need something?" Heri narrowed his eyes.
"Cuthbert Binns. My name is Addams, and you would do well to remember it, Professor." He had no respect for this teacher, and after having had over an hour of his life wasted by the man, he no longer had any patience for him either.
"Of course, Mr Addams." The professor responded, not having noticed Heri's tone or annoyance, and with that said he turned and floated through the blackboard, having forgotten that his student had called on him for something.
Well, Heri thought, that decision was basically made for him. He would not accept being 'taught' by a teacher with no respect for their pupils or even their own vocation! He'd mention it to Grandmamma this weekend – she was in charge of his education after all.
He had been looking forward to Charms and Transfiguration, as it was his first chance to learn the lighter side of wand magic and he just knew that these classes would be invaluable. Professor McGonagall was as pleasant and chilly in class as she had been their first night in the castle. In their first lesson, she'd tasked the children with turning matches into needles. It should have been easy enough, Heri had thought. It wasn't. His mother had taught him to use his wand for some basic dark spells, and even though it had been much more strenuous than the magic he was used to, he'd managed it without too much fuss.
This was different though, like he was fighting with his wand to make it do what his will was directing it to do.
Beginning to get frustrated he'd forced his magic through the wand, eyes shut and intent on making a needle, only the little matchstick blew up quite spectacularly. McGonagall had come to reprimand him, but having seen the look of chagrin on his face, she settled for replacing his matchstick and advising he scale back on the amount of power he was using.
Near the end of the lesson, he had managed to make his matchstick, long, silver, wicked sharp and oddly enough, the exact resemblance of a senbon. He smiled; suddenly more motivated to make this class work for him. Wooden or not, he knew this could do serious damage to something with skin as delicate as, say, a human. He wandlessly summoned the box of matchsticks from McGonagall's desk when she wasn't looking and turned to Hermione.
"Say Hermione, have you decided what to do about Parkinson yet?" He asked hopefully.
At first he had been disappointed with Defence against the Dark Arts, thinking this might be another teacher he would see replaced. However, his interest was captured when he took a closer look. He'd ignored the annoying man as he stammered through the history of his ugly turban in favour of assessing his magic. For the first time ever, Heri was amazed to find that he couldn't get an accurate reading. It was as though the man's magic, and his very essence were cloaked somehow, and powerfully so. Someone without the Sight wouldn't suspect the teacher at all. He could tell that the man practised dark magic, but he could also make out something much darker too. But it was like looking at oil and water through heavy smoke – utterly impossible to make out. Heri was pleased. It seemed this man wasn't what he appeared to be and it was the most fascinating thing he'd found at Hogwarts so far.
A clue as to what Professor Quirrell might be hiding didn't come until Friday, during Potions class.
It was another class he had been looking forward to, because he'd wanted a chance to get a closer look at Snape all week, but he'd hardly seen the man, and whenever he was present in the Great Hall, Heri had caught him staring with the most peculiar look.
The potions classroom was very homey: gloomy, decorated with odd, grim looking objects and body parts in glass jars and ah, that smell! It was just like being in Grandmamma's basement room.
Once again he ignored his teacher's welcoming speech in order to finally get a look at the man's magic. He had an obviously dark and powerful magic, but it was oscillating wildly and Heri couldn't help but worry that the man might be ill. Either that or there was something that was disturbing him right down to his core – another interesting project Heri could add to his list. Like Quirrell, Snape also had a darker, almost black magic, mixed with his own, only it was clearer to see on Snape. The foreign magic was tethered to the Professor like a chain and Herido realised that it must be the man's Dark Mark! He could only marvel at how powerful Voldemort must be if the mere remnant of his power was so stark!
It was officially acknowledged that Snape had been a Death Eater, so he wouldn't need to mask his magic, but it made sense that Quirrell was trying to hide his former allegiance if he too had a Dark Mark. It did beg the question of what he was doing here at Hogwarts though.
Heri wondered if he could have any fun with this information and focused on the Mark's magic. He didn't get an opportunity to find out straight away.
Snape had been watching the Addams boy from the corner of his eye since the start of class. There was just something about the boy that riled him up. He'd noticed it when he'd greeted his new snakes, but just couldn't tell what was wrong. There was just something off about the boy and Snape didn't think it had to do with the uncomfortable aura he gave out that the other teachers had complained about. No, he didn't think this had anything to do with the boy's magic at all! Given his heritage, he was expecting to be drawn to the child's magic; to feel instinctual respect or maybe even a little fear of something so dark. And he did! But he'd been around much more powerful adult wizards, so what else was there?
Whatever expression Addams wore, he always exuded a calm confidence that intellectually, Snape knew the child had every right to feel. Emotionally however, something in Snape thought it made the boy arrogant. Sometimes he would catch something about his face and a strange feeling would prickle in the back of his brain. Perhaps the child was purposefully doing something to him.
With that thought he couldn't help himself; he called on the boy for a small quiz. As soon as he opened his mouth, his mind started to come up with excuses in case this backfired and he would need a defence. This was a normal thing to do, he told himself – to test the current level of new students, especially the one who many were expecting great things from.
"Mr Addams! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Heri was called to attention and noticed Hermione's hand shoot up with great amusement.
"I suspect a master such as yourself could get a great deal, depending on how it was added and which species of wormwood was used. For example, if added to an infusion of simple mugwort, it could be smoked to trigger hallucinations of the dead and provides what is said to be a wonderful snack for Shades. Whereas if added to absinthe wormwood, it makes a wicked nightcap! Although I suppose in this school you would be more likely to create a Draught of Living Death. 'Others in Elysian valleys dwell, Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.'" He added the last part wistfully.
Snape took a moment to stare before he gathered himself. What eleven year old boy could possibly be involved with things dark enough to casually know what kind of snacks Shades appreciated?! Ok, he thought, moving on:
"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" He regretted the question as soon as he saw the smile break out on Addams face. He didn't even notice Granger's hand going up again.
"In the stomach or sometimes large intestines of any animal, though they are most often harvested from goats. More potent types can be created by persuading a human to enjoy Rapunzel syndrome or can be… artificially created in the human oesophagus." Snape visibly shuddered. Those last two techniques were dark by any measure…
"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Heri thought Hermione was going to combust if she didn't get to answer a question soon, so kept his answer short.
"Branding." At the questioning look from Snape he continued. "The preferred aconite tea in our house is monkshood, but to each their own." He saw Snape was about to say something else but spoke first. "Professor, as much as I appreciate the personal attention, do ask Hermione a few question too." Snape held back a scowl as he turned to head back to the front of the room.
"I don't accept cheek in my classroom, Addams."
"Oh, I meant nothing of the sort, Professor. I truly believe she would enjoy it and would hate to steal all her fun!" Heri replied and Snape had to take a deep breath. The child was surely giving him cheek, but he sounded sincere…
Soon enough Snape's attention was back on the class as a whole and he set them to brewing a cure for boils. Heri's eyes followed Snape around the room, snacking absently on the dried nettles as he corrected and berated student after student. The man was very amusing and Heri took the opportunity to study the Gryffindors as well. Neville seemed the most nervous around their potions master and he thought maybe the boy had a crush. How sweet. The youngest Weasley boy seemed easy to provoke and very expressive; he turned the most wonderful shade of red when angered. He seemed to have formed an attachment to Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, but Heri thought he could do better as far as friends went. Those two didn't seem to appreciate their education at all and at least Weasley had the decency to look embarrassed about his shortcomings – that could only indicate a desire to do better. He decided that none of the others were worth his time. Even the Gryffindor half of the Patil twins failed to hold his interest as the girls' magic wasn't identical like the Weasley twins and he would much rather experiment on them.
When Snape reached Heri's table, he had demanded an explanation as to why Herido hadn't even made a start on his potion yet. When Heri replied that he couldn't understand why anyone would want a cure for boils, Snape pinched his nose and carefully explained that the boy simply had to do it as part of the curriculum. He was glad to see this was enough to make the boy get to work and not at all surprised when he handed him a near perfect potion at the end of class, even though he'd had half the time to brew it as the other students.
Other than classes, Heri had spent the week exploring the school and learning more about his new friends. The room the Baron had shown him his first night was proving endlessly fascinating and Heri just couldn't work out the magic behind it. Draco was beginning to come out of his shell a lot more, thank the darkness. He was strutting around the castle like he owned it and had started becoming freer in his speech around Heri and Hermione. Blaise was still very cautious, but at least wasn't sycophantic, and after Daphne had taken to hanging around Hermione, she seemed to be mellowing out a little; engaging the girl in idle conversation and helping her avoid the more obvious social faux pas. The blonde was a little flighty, overly concerned with fashion and appearance and generally disinterested in anything she deemed beneath her. Heri welcomed her into his little group – variety was the spice of life after all and she had done well enough in class so far, so she must have had something deeper about her.
Peeves the Poltergeist had seemed happy to show everyone that he didn't feel the need to be as cautious around Heri as the other ghosts. That was until Herido demonstrated that, just as Peeves had the ability to interact with solid objects, Heri had the ability to make solid objects interact with him! Peeves was a lot more respectful after he'd nearly lost an arm trying to throw paint bombs at the first year Slytherins.
When Saturday night finally came around Heri informed Hermione that she would have to wait up a while. He needed Kounna and he didn't yet trust the first year girls not to do anything stupid to Hermione without the snake there to guard her. After he'd refused to give an answer as to what he needed Kounna for, she simply gave her assent and promised to wait in the common room.
When the boys had finally retired to their beds, Heri drew the drapes around his bed and cast and released (some had been prepared for him), every precaution he could think of, as he did every night. If anyone tried to open them, they could suffer from any number of curses, from losing a hand to immolation to simply being knocked unconscious. However, for what he was about to do, he felt more comfortable having Kounna there to protect him – just in case. This would be the most vulnerable he'd ever been whilst at school after all.
Once he'd triple checked his precautions, he lay down on his bed, waited for midnight and drank the potion that would separate his spirit from his body for exactly one hour. He only had a few seconds to look down at his body before he was yanked violently through plains of existence he would never understand and found himself in the summoning circle at 0001 Cemetery Lane, joined by his brother and surrounded by the rest of his family.
"Children!" His father exclaimed as though he'd not seen his sons for years. "How's school? Herido, what's Hogwarts like? Is it as terribly light as Ilvermorny? Pugsley, did they agree to let you back in Arithmancy? Oh, boys, you missed the most wonderful picnic! A hurricane! And Uncle Fester brought down the city electrical grid again when he…" He was cut off by Morticia, while Heri just looked on fondly.
"Gomez." She stoked his face to keep his attention. "You must let the children answer." He shivered.
"Oh Tish, when you stoke my cheek like that…" He closed his eyes.
"We'll have plenty of time for that later, Bubele." Gomez took her arm and immediately began giving it his attention.
"Gomez it just slipped out. Now control yourself…"
Wednesday took advantage of their parents' distraction, ignoring the sounds of Morticia trying to calm Gomez down.
"If I broke the circle, would you two be trapped here?" She asked as she edged her way to the nearest candle, ready to knock it over. Heri just rolled his eyes.
"We already tried that in Pugsley's first year, don't you remember? It just sent him back to his body sooner than planned." He sounded a little miffed about this. They had been trying to permanently separate their brother's body and spirit.
After a brief catch up, he turned his attention to Grandmamma and asked her about Binns and his difficulty wielding his wand. After a little discussion, it was decided that Morticia would get in touch with the Hogwarts School Board and see about getting BInns replaced and Grandmamma reprimanded Heri for trying to force his will through his wand. He was to trust his instincts and allow himself to work with the wand and stop viewing it as something that was taking control away from him.
The Hour ended with much emotional drama (mostly from Gomez), and they agreed to meet again next week.
It took a few minutes for Herido to stop feeling as though the room were spinning once he was safely back in his body. Then he thanked Kounna and headed out to meet Hermione. Time to find out what she would make of a little torture.
He led her to the Room of Requirement and into a heavily warded ritual room. Inside, she spied a small deer and started to get a funny feeling. She already didn't like where this was going.
She watched with mounting dread as he handed her a jade encrusted dagger, smeared what she dearly hoped wasn't the remains of Flint spit on her forehead and then set out a ritual she didn't recognise in the least. Once he led the deer to her and nodded his head though, she hesitated.
"What is it? You already sacrificed that predator from your school and he was a human being?"
"It's just…" She paused. He wouldn't understand would he? "It's just… " She bit her lip and couldn't make herself look at the deer. "Have you ever seen Bambi?" He gave her a blank stare and shook his head. "Right, of course not." She steeled herself. He was right, she'd killed a man and that had to be worse than this… but still… In one now-or-never motion, she slit the animal's throat, allowing the blood to coat the circle in which they stood and promising herself that she would never think about the deer again!
Heri walked to her and took her hand.
"No matter what happens now, no matter what you see or how you feel about it, you cannot let go of my hand! You don't have any mental arts training and if you do… well you won't be coming back here. Understand?" She was a bit freaked out at the suggestion that, well, what was he suggesting? That she could get lost somewhere in her mind? In his mind?
"I understand." She replied seriously and took a fierce grip of his hand.
"Ok close your eyes." He whispered another word she couldn't quite catch and only a second later bid her open them again.
When she did, she found herself and Herido standing in a large room, dank like a basement and full to the brim with medieval looking torture devises. For a moment she couldn't think.
"It's old." She managed to stumble out eventually. She heard Heri give a laugh, but couldn't turn away from her perusal of each object. Some she recognised, such as the rack, a bed of nails, a Judas cradle, a Catherine wheel, a crucifix… she placed a hand to her mouth… there were so many more items in the room that she didn't recognise and she felt disgusted. Most of her disgust originated from her curiosity about what they were, but she wouldn't be admitting that anytime soon.
"I was always taught that torture is a delicate balance between the physical and psychological. These older tools tend to induce more fear and terrified anticipation in the victim, and they don't perform too poorly on the physical front either." He studied her reaction as he spoke in measured, calming tones. He knew that her accepting blood and sacrificial magic would have already started to make her more amenable to the idea of torture, but he had no way of knowing how far she'd come. She looked terrified, and he wondered for a moment if she thought he had brought her here to punish her - for what he couldn't imagine. "You can leave now." He reassured her. "You asked what had become of Flint, but maybe this room is answer enough?"
She took a deep breath and looked at him. His hand was starting to turn white from the intensity with which she was holding onto it. She didn't answer his question. If she had to voice an answer, she feared she would ask him to take her back.
"Do you actually know how to use all of this?" Her voice was shaky.
"Of course. This is almost an exact replica of our playroom back home." She looked at him like she thought he was mad, so he continued. "These stocks, for example, were a gift for Wednesday's fifth birthday." He was trying to be calming, but now she was starting to look even worse. "There is a fine line between pleasure and pain you know. And, for example, between a good stretch and torn muscles and dislocations…" He could see he'd lost her with that line of thought, but carried on regardless, not sure what else to do. "The rack can do wonders for a bad back, if used in moderation…" He was glad to notice that she at least hadn't looked away from him, nor had she tried to pull her hand free once.
"Thi…this is where Flint is? Where is this… here?" She tried.
Heri looked about for a moment in confusion as he answered the second part of her question.
"We are in Flint's mind. But don't let that fool you. Most bodily functions are processed in the brain. Pain is one of those things. I assure you that everything that happened to him here is as real as that deer you killed." She scowled at him and he smiled. He was trying to make her feel better, so scowling was an improvement. "However, when he wakes up this will all be like a vivid, realistic dream. This is actually one of my favourite spells; it produces the same mental scars as torture, but with no physical evidence. Very handy indeed." And Hermione could tell that he really was pleased to have been able to use this spell.
"Can you do this to anyone?" She asked. She may have lost her innocence, may have become a shadowed mockery of the young girl she was at the beginning of summer, but she did not like the idea of people being able to control another person's mind. What if someone did it to her? If she lost her mind what would she be?
"No, the offering, that is, the body part or substance has to be given willingly in order for this ritual to work. However, there are other ways of influencing a person's mind. I just can't use them properly yet."
Well, Hermione certainly knew she would be learning the mental arts soon, if only to protect herself!
All these thoughts flew from her mind at Heri's next actions.
"Hmm, where did I leave him?" He stepped forward, taking her with him. "Ah, yes." He waved a hand and a second later the Iron Maiden on the far wall flew open. A person, she assumed to be Flint fell out. He was covered in major bruising, swelling, cuts and burns. The muscles in his legs had long since grown weak in an effort to keep him upright and he fell to his hands and knees before them, trying to gather a clear breath for the first time in who knows how long.
Hermione dragged her eyes away from the boy and looked in desperation to Herido Addams as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe, she thought, this was the first time she'd seen the real him. Had she been naïve in trusting this boy?
Heri saw the look of uncertainty in her eyes as she looked at him and didn't like it one bit. He'd grown quite fond of his little muggleborn friend.
His eyes narrowed on her.
"Look at him, Hermione!" He commanded, his tone only a little sharper than usual. She reluctantly drew her attention to the cowering mess before her. "This is where he thinks you belong! Where he thinks your parents belong! In pain, cowering, helpless and humiliated at his feet!" She was trembling, but didn't look away from the boy.
"And this is where you think he belongs?" Her voice was quiet, but didn't waiver once.
"Or course," he replied with a smile, tilting her face to look at him, "He insulted me and my friend. Do you think he deserves anything more?" He let her stare at him for a few minutes. He could see the cogs turning in her brain.
Hermione knew that a rather large part of her was glad to see the boy who would deny her the right to magic, on his knees before her; she just didn't know what that made her. Heri seemed completely comfortable with the situation. Maybe he was used to people cowering at his feet?
"Flint!" Heri's voice was suddenly so hard that even Hermione flinched at the sound. It was not a tone any eleven year old should be able to wield. "Does Hermione deserve her place at Hogwarts?" Hermione looked down to hear the boy's answer.
"Y, yes, s of, of course." He managed.
"What of her place in Slytherin?" Again that tone.
"S, Slytherin is h, honoured to, to have her!" Flint sounded a little desperate in his declaration, but Hermione was pleased with it all the same.
"And her place in general?" Heri was wearing that evil smile again. He lifted the older boy's chin with his shoe so that she could see his eyes as he spoke.
"A, above me!" Heri continued to smile. He'd taught the boy well. He couldn't wait to update Wednesday on his progress.
Hermione couldn't deny the thrill she got from hearing those words and from knowing that her friend had made this happen, partly for her. Meeting Herido Addams was probably the best and most important thing she had ever done. Who knows how school would have gone without him, never mind her life in general.
She looked at Heri and gave a small smile.
"Well, Hermione, I think he's learned his lesson. Shall we return him?"
Her eyes flickered down to Flint once more before she spoke.
"Well," she started, unsure if her nerve would hold, "maybe you could show me how to use just one of these… things before we go back?"
She really did surprise him every single time, Heri thought.
It was late on Sunday morning when Marcus Flint woke in his bed in St. Mungo's; shaking, sweating and crying out for his mother.
Thank you for reading!
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