Disclaimer:I am making no money from this. Anything recognised from Harry Potter belongs to JKR and her affiliates. Anything from the various religions comes from them and probably belongs to them. Anything totally unrecognisable is the result of my warped imagination and perverted sense of justice. No animals, humans, demons, angels, gods, witches, wizards or giant squids were harmed in the writing of this work of fan-fiction.
Warning:Depending on how much attention you were paying to the last chapter, you may or may not have noticed a hint of one of the directions this fiction is going in. So, before you get too engrossed in this chapter, this story will contain slash.
Chapter 2; Regrets
Minerva was lying down in Tristan's bedroom and the other two were talking quietly in the living room. They were currently going over Minerva Persephone McGonagall's record and arguing about a course of action. Tristan leaned back, absently running his tongue over his fangs, "I still say she won't be able to handle it."
Mickey tapped the screen, "I think she'll be alright."
"She's going to run to Dumbledore. She might be able to deal, but she's also fanatically loyal to him."
Mickey sighed and leaned back. Tristan moved around the back of the other man and began to massage the point just above where his wings met his back. Mickey began to purr. A few moments later, his T-shirt disappeared and Tristan began to dig his claws in harder. The angel arched, tying simultaneously to pull away from the claws and push harder against them as Tristan found the knot that he always developed after spending a lot of time on the ground. The wings were heavy.
"Fanaticism is never…ahhh… pretty" Mickey agreed, his eyes closing of their own accord, "But I think we can snap her out of it."
Tristan found a particularly tense bit and went to work, "After watching her for five years, I disagree. I vote for obliviating her ASAP. I like Minerva, but she's too used to seeing Dumbledore as infallible. By the time she comes back in here she will have managed to convince herself that Dumbledore has a way out of hell planned."
"Fine, fine, if she has, we obliviate her. If she's actually thinking about it, we give her time. Agreed?"
Tristan grunted in agreement and let the matter drop, instead turning his full attention to the feel of the angel's skin beneath his claws and the soft sounds of relief and pleasure issuing from the mouth of the man sitting on front of him.
"I've missed this…" he murmured softly.
"You've only been here a week."
"I know."
Mickey reached up and pulled Tristan down so the young human-side was pressed tight against his back, almost uncomfortably compressing his right wing between them. Then he twisted slightly in the circle of Tristan's arms to wrap his own around the other man, "You will be home soon enough."
Relaxing into the embrace of one of the very few people he truly loved, Tristan nodded against Mickey's shoulder, "I hope so. The more time I spend here, the more I realise I don't belong here anymore."
They stayed like that, simply enjoying the physical contact, until movement from the bedroom made them separate. Mickey pulled his T-shirt on as the door began to open and Tristan went into the kitchen for more coke… and chocolate. He definitely needed chocolate.
Minerva was surprising quiet as she sipped her coke and watched them arguing about Voldemort. Mickey was in favour of sending a scout into hell to try to determine where the deviants were meeting with Voldemort's messenger and trying to mess them up, but Tristan was in favour of waiting for the Direct Deviant Action that would give him the needed clearance to act.
"We don't know how long Voldemort will hold them back for."
"And I can do jack shit until the deal goes through! We need proof that the deviants are involved before Obsidian can take action."
"I don't understand?" The soft voice made both men jump.
Tristan ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "One of the Obsidian Orders jobs is to hunt down deviants who escape hell and force them back. The same rules that allow us access to Earth to hunt also prevent us coming here without reason. Until Voldemort actually uses the deviants, my hands are tied. I can't actively participate in the war."
Mickey decided to add something then, taking his queue from Tristan, "That was why that prophecy was made, Harry Potter was meant to have gained access to Heaven's Power, thus negating the need to wait for DDA, Direct Deviant Action. He could fight Voldemort on his own terms and win. Then Dumbledore screwed it up."
"What do you mean?"
Tristan flashed an irritated glare at Mickey; this wasn't something he liked thinking about. With one move, the old man had come very close to damning both him and the world. The archangel ignored him.
"Heaven's Power is specific. It's used to do certain things in certain circumstances by certain people. To access it you need to be a pure soul and to control it you have to be a Holy Warrior. Dumbledore managed to ensure that Harry Potter would be neither, first by leaving him in a place he would know only hate and then by not training him when he had the chance."
"You mean the Dursleys?"
Mickey nodded, "Among other things. In his bid to make or break the boy, he ensured that Voldemort would win their confrontation."
Minerva opened her mouth to say something else and then closed it. She shook herself then, more like a dog then a cat and asked, "But he thought he was right?"
Realising what she wanted, Mickey nodded once, "Dumbledore is a firm believer in the 'greater good'. He believes that anything he does can be justified if it helps someone in the long run. The problem is that there a no 'greater good'. All there really are is choices and actions. Dumbledore doesn't want to see that."
"And Harry Potter?"
"A pawn Dumbledore was willing to sacrifice." Tristan said, obviously irritated, "Dumbledore may not be minister of magic, but he still wields the power. He had no right, legal or otherwise to do anything to or with Harry Potter. The attack, if that's what you're asking about, looked like the work of deviants, but there is no evidence to support it, nor any indication that a portal was opened. No one upstairs is giving us any answers either."
In reality, Mickey mused, they weren't getting any answers because Gaby didn't agree with letting Tristan return to Earth. Minerva was still shuck up, but that was to be expected as she rose to leave. She had all of the next day to sort through her thoughts and decide her stance. Tristan's words came back to him, was she so devoted to him that she wouldn't be able to see past Dumbledore's blinding light? Only time would tell. His mind was dragged back to the present when Minerva said good bye, and smiling shyly reminded him that she had never got an answer to her original question. A quick glance at Tristan told Mickey that he didn't care either way, so he decided to give the girls one last chance to ogle him and graciously decided to go to dinner. It was only after Minerva left that he realised he had no idea what time it was at.
Dinner, was a rather interesting affair, Tristan mused as he watched a third year Hufflepuff miss her mouth with a spoonful a stew. The girl's eyes were on the person sitting beside him. For some reason, one lost in the mists of time and Heaven's Power, or more likely Michael being a twit, the angel had chosen to leave his angelic aura up and running, although only extended along the faculty table. Thankfully, to Tristan's mind, he wasn't glowing, and the effect the aura was having on the other people at the table was… interesting. Unlike the demonic aura that Tristan had been suppressing the entire time he had been at the school, an angelic one wasn't designed to cause fear, confusion or any one of the multitude of other emotions Tristan could draw from a human, it was designed to make people question themselves and to encourage understanding, to literally take about their belief in themselves. It could alternatively sooth and question, but it lacked the sheer danger that seemed to seep from a demon when they weren't holding it back. But then, the demons were the original heaven's army, right up until about three thousand years ago, when the reshuffle had created the Orders of Light and Dark in place of the choirs and armies. Of course, back then they had had better names as well.
Minerva, as expected, was in a world of her own, but both Snape and Dumbledore were acting like they were sitting on nettles or something similar, shifting uncomfortably ever few moments. Flitwick and Vector were eyeing Mickey like they would like to get him alone for a while, proof positive that the two most intelligent of the professors had put two and two together and realised who was causing the unusual sensations. Pomfrey, surprising was reacting rather like the potions professor and headmaster, which Mickey had also noticed and was eyeing curiously. Race-Norris was also not doing too well and was ashen faced and barely touching his food. Sprout, Hooch and Hagrid all appeared completely unaffected. Anthony De Beau, the muggle studies professor hadn't come to dinner. Interesting indeed, Tristan thought absently. It was easy to figure out what had Dumbledore and Snape so jumpy, but Race-Norris had checked out clear when they had ran his file earlier and Pomfrey, as a healer, shouldn't have been effected by the aura at all.
Mickey decided to leave shortly after dinner ended. Flitwick and Vector had been showing entirely too much interest in him and he didn't want to risk another argument with Tristan when he looked like he was going to loose the last one. Minerva was gradually reaching the decision to talk to Dumbledore. When she tried it, she was going to get a nasty shock, but that was beside the point. Mickey hated being wrong when it came to humans. He had been sure she'd see sense, but Tristan was being proven right with every thought that passed through her head. Tristan himself, grunted as he watched the angel draw the last gateway rune in the centre of the duelling chamber. He would have preferred him to stay the night. A week of sleeping alone had not only reminded him how much he hated it, but had also made him more homesick then anything else so far. Demons were naturally tactile creatures, so were angels. It made for some interesting sleeping arrangements. None the less, he stepped forward and added his seal to the runes. As a member of Silver, Mickey didn't actually need one of the Pathway Guards to open the gate for him, but it was still easier than doing it himself and as long as Tristan was willing…
"I'll get Tannin or Nychta to send a scout, with orders not to interfere and send someone to keep an eye on the Black Country." Mickey said softly as he watched the glow begin to spread.
"Ok. I'll be waiting here. Don't forget to update me."
Smiling, Mickey moved to stand in front of the human-side, "Of course not." Then he cupped Tristan's chin in the palm of his hand and lowered his lips to the other man's. The kiss was soft and gentle, an acknowledgment of separation and of friendship, rather then an attempt to arouse. Tristan moaned into it and responded. They broke apart as gently as they had come together a moment later and Mickey stepped into the light, letting it spread over him. A few moments later, he reached out and altered some of the runes and was gone in a flash of light.
Tristan sighed, pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. Then, fag in mouth, he walked back into the living room, changing back to human as he did so. His loneliness came back ten fold when he noticed a white feather on the floor, near the chair Mickey had claimed. Surrounded by humans, separated from everyone he had come to see as family and friends, his own power bound so as not to arouse suspicion, in the first place he had ever called home, Tristan suddenly felt completely and utterly alone.
The next morning Tristan didn't attend breakfast. He hadn't attended on the first day either, but given his companion of the day before and the fact that no one had seen Mickey leave, several rumours were doing the rounds by lunchtime. A surprising number of girls, and quite a few boys, went quite gooey eyed at the idea of their mysterious DSADA teacher and his beautiful friend getting it on together. The more reasonable students suggested they were more likely to have stayed up late talking the previous night and as a result, slept in. Minerva McGonagall was also noticeable in her absence and a few of the more perverted students wondered if she had sat up 'talking' with them. This resulted in said students nursing bruised arms, legs and chests as their fellow students made their opinion of that idea known… painfully.
When Tristan missed lunch, even the more reasonable students began to speculate. The most reasonable, however, pointed out that many teachers missed several meals on days when they didn't need to be there. For example, Snape only came to the bare minimum of meals in the hall. Those teachers who were aware of the speculation were unsure themselves what to think. There was something very strange about 'Mickey'. For that matter, there was something strange about Tristan as well, it just wasn't as obvious. Flitwick and Vector had spent most of the previous evening either pouring over Arithmancy equations or prowling the corridors nears Tristan's quarters, waiting for Mickey to leave. Minerva, who had made lunch, was still in whatever world she had been inhabiting since the previous evening to the point of looking almost shocked when Dumbledore has asked if she felt alright. She had waved him off and gone back to looking for answers in her salad. Two people at least noticed that she couldn't look the headmaster in the eye.
Tristan made his first appearance of the day at dinner, where he took the sea beside Minerva without looking at her. He looked tired… and sad. Mickey was nowhere to be seen. A look flashed across his face and he looked up sharply, his eyes flashing over the students and then he grimaced, "For anyone who is wondering, Mickey left late last night." He seemed about to say more, but then changed his mind. There was no point in encouraging them. Disappointed sounds drifted up to him, but Minerva looked up sharply and frowned at him, "I thought…"
Tristan merely shrugged, obviously unwilling to talk about it.
"A most… unusual man." Dumbledore said from further down the table.
"He's a good friend."
"When did you meet him?"
"My last job. He supervised a different department and I got sent to him for cross training."
"I see." A calculated expression had appeared on Dumbledore's face, "I had hoped to get a chance to talk to him. You must let me know the next time he visits?"
"I'll mention it to him."
Dumbledore go the distinct impression that Tristan really wasn't going to, but he let the matter go, not at all sure he wanted to spend any more time in a room with such a… disconcerting presence.
Minerva blinked and turned back to her dinner.
Tristan didn't hang around after the meal had ended, neatly avoiding both Vector and Flitwick, he escaped back to his rooms to take his frustration out on the equipment in the duelling room, namely, the punching bag. Determined to get over the funk he had been in all day, he purposely turned his attention to something that annoyed him, hoping that anger was the cure.
The previous week had gone reasonably well, but for one thing; the more time Tristan spent with the students, the more he realised how dependant they were on The Boy Who Lived. It was almost as if the younger years had been taught that he was their only protection. They truly believed that they couldn't win without him. It was aggravating, irritating and Tristan thought he knew who was behind it. After all, above everything else Harry Potter had to be controllable and what better way to do that then to saddle him with the expectations of every child in the world?
Still, he found it annoying that his own year mates had been as dependant as they had. They knew him or at least he had thought that they had. The punching bag swung away from him and he paused to catch his breath. Even Ron and Hermione seemed to miss The Boy Who Lived rather then their friend. He had never known how much of Ron's popularity had been because he was Harry Potter's friend, nor had he ever realised how much of Hermione's respect was because of him. Rather then being 'The Golden Trio' as he had thought they had been, it had been closer the Gryffindor Golden Boy and His Two Best Friends. Hermione in particular seemed to resent him for his 'death' and the loss of respect for her it had resulted in. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Although his didn't have to spend any time in his office on Sundays, he made his way there after taking a quick shower. For one thing, he had left the essays he had started marking there and for another, he wanted out of his quarters before the loneliness really got to him.
His office was quiet, and a silencing charm on the door ensured that he was undisturbed. He stood for a few moments in front of the stereo, staring at it, not sure he wanted music, but finding the silence oppressive. With a heartfelt sigh, he flopped down into the chair and tilted it back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, his thoughts chasing each other around his head like a carousel on high speed.
He didn't want to be here. Eight years as part of the Obsidian Order and two before that alternating between Silver, Jade and Obsidian had given him a new perspective on things and a new understanding of the universe, one where 'Good' and 'Bad', 'right' and 'wrong' were nothing more the excuses tossed at their feet by the terrified souls of the damned. In the eight years he had served as one of the Blind Judges, he had heard people try to justify everything from paedophilia to adultery to murder. The 'greater good' was a pretty common excuse. But in the hands of a man who was willing to justify damning the innocent to redeem the fallen, it was a difficult weapon to truly fight. Particularly when most adults seemed willing to let him. To make the children realise the truth, he would have to destroy Albus Dumbledore, but that move could very well hand Voldemort the world.
The rest of the 6th year Gryffindor and Slytherin and 2nd year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw essays were corrected and had been dumped haphazardly into the baskets hanging in the wall beside the door. There was a basket for each class. Minerva had clued him in on the easy way to keep the homework organised and Tristan was just starting on the 3rd Gryffindor and Slytherin class when a knock on the door distracted him.
"Come in." He was expecting Minerva, Vector or Hooch, so it was with some surprise that he leaned back in his chair and watched Ginny Weasley look around the room, her eyes wide as she took in the stationary posters.
"Miss Weasley is there something I can do for you?" he asked calmly.
"I…" she hesitated, "I suppose I just… I don't know. I need someone who doesn't know… a…a teacher I can talk to about this without the weight of the last five years behind me."
"Which is Professor Race-Norris or I."
"Yeah…"
He motioned her to sit down across from him and offered her a tea or a coke.
"Coke?"
"A muggle drink with a lot of caffeine in it. The...some of my friends are practically addicted to it, so I always have some here in case."
Ginny smiled and said she'd try it.
"You can look through the CDs and pick out something to put on if you want. I'll only be a moment."
Looking through the boxes that Professor Daimonas has pointed towards, Ginny was at a loss, not recognising any of the bands or images. She eventually just pressed the button that said play on it and the sound of a single cello filled the air. It was joined by another and another and another and then a drumbeat began in the background. It was unlike anything she had ever heard before and she sat there mesmerized by it until the professor reappeared and startled her.
"You like?" he asked.
"Yes. I've never heard anything like them…"
"Apoclyptica are unique. They're one of my favourite bands." He smiled at her, "You just pressed play didn't you?"
Ginny blushed and nodded slowly, "I didn't recognise any of the band names."
"Ahh… I apologise, Miss Weasley. I didn't realise you wouldn't know any muggle bands.
Ginny mumbled something and opened her can of coke. Taking a gulp, she started choking, not having realised there were bubbles it in. No drinks in the wizarding world were carbonated.
Professor Daimonas waited until she got herself back under control and then said, "Now, Miss Weasley, how can I help you?"
Ginny took a deep breath and said quietly, "You know Harry… Harry Potter used to attend Hogwarts?"
He made a confirming noise.
"He… I…" she signed, "He used to be my brother's best friend. The Golden Trio, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, but then… then he died. I really liked him and after last year I thought we were at least going to be friends and then he up and does this! And everyone is blaming him like it was his fault he died!"
"I see." Tristan said slowly, "How do you feel about it?"
"I don't think it was his fault. But… he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was our hero, our saviour. He should have taken better care of himself."
"What do you mean by that?"
"He should have asked for help… I mean, his relatives, they didn't treat him very well and Dumbledore… well he wouldn't let him leave, but he was always pushing people away, always trying to do stuff alone. It wasn't fair to the rest of us! And then he goes and upsets some muggles enough to bomb him! Didn't he even think about what his death would do to the rest of us? No one knows what to think anymore."
Anger flashed through Tristan, but he quickly stifled it, he wasn't Harry Potter anymore. As much as he wanted to vent at the girl who still seen him as a hero, he couldn't.
"Sounds like you do blame him."
"I don't!"
"Was he a superhero?"
"No, of course not."
"Did he live alone?"
"No."
"Then why did you automatically assume he was the one the muggles were trying to kill when they bombed the house?"
"Well… he was always in trouble. It wasn't always his fault, but…"
"So in the month he was at home, he managed to piss off a muggle who had the connections to gun-runners to be able to get a bomb on very short notice? Isn't it more likely to have been his guardians they were trying to kill?"
"I…"
Miss Weasley, are you angry at him for dying? Or for leaving you?"
Ginny froze and Tristan's suspicions were confirmed.
"Grief is a strange thing, Miss Granger. And the only cure or bandage for it is time. Maybe you should be looking at why his death has caused you such a wound and less on raging over what happened? I'm not going to offer useless platitudes or tell you off for what you are feeling. Even Professor Snape can't control his emotions, only his reactions to them. I'm not even going to tell you it gets better over time. If he was your friend, you will always miss him and a part pf you will always hurt."
"I… I loved him."
"Did he love you?"
"I… I don't think he noticed me. I was just Ron's little sister who he saved from the Chamber of Secrets. He cared for me and I'm sure he would have started to love me given time, but… no, last year, we only became friends."
"Then maybe the real pain is for that might have been?"
"Maybe… I was waiting for him to get his head out of his arse and pay attention though…" she slammed her hands over her mouth and he eyes widened as she realised what she was saying.
Tristan laughed and then he turned serious, "What if he never did feel that way about you? What if he started thinking of you as a sister instead?"
She sighed, "I don't think he would have. I was Ron's sister to him, not his. If he had of had enough time, he would have loved me. I'm sure of it."
Tristan nodded and a comfortable silence descended over them.
"Can I ask a question?" Ginny broke the silence.
"Yes."
"What happened to your face?"
Tristan leaned back and traced the scar over his eye gently, "My familiar… or the creature that eventually became my familiar anyway. The first time I ran into her wasn't in the best of circumstances."
"Oh… what is she?"
He waved the question away, "It's nearly curfew Miss Weasley. You should get back to your common room."
"Good night Professor." Ginny stood to leave.
"Miss Weasley? Another thought before you leave, which do you miss more, the boy or the hero?" He stood up and shooed her out, closing the door behind her, before she could answer. He hadn't meant to say that and it worried him that he was being this catty to his ex-friends. He doubted that he would be recognised by it, but… Maybe he just wasn't used to being this out of control anymore.
Monday morning dawned cold and blustery. Summer was well and truly over. Rather then risk any further gossip, Tristan had made breakfast in the great hall. He slouched back in his chair, a cup of coffee clasped in his hands as he tried to force his still half asleep brain to work. The situation at the school was being to improve. The Hufflepuff students along with the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor lower years had finally begun to snap out of their depression over the death of the Boy-Who-Lived. But more importantly the upcoming Gryffindor Vs Slytherin Quidditch match had begun to distract everyone. Gryffindor was frantically trying to reorganise their team and Slytherin were practically celebrating their victory already.
Outside the school, things were still moving slowly and he had yet to hear from anyone about the situation. Either Mickey didn't have anything to report yet, or he had forgotten his promise to keep the human-side informed. Either way he was stuck here until he got permission to act and he had his ex-friends for his first class.
Absently, he heaved himself up from the table and made his way out of the hall, his mind a million miles away in another dimension.
For the first time since he had arrived at the school, Tristan reached the classroom before the students. It was a strange experience, he found, waiting for them to arrive. He could see what Snape had always gotten so annoyed with tardiness now. The class trooped in a minute before the bell rang. Watching them take their seats, Tristan finally came out of his contemplative daze, focusing his attention on the students, "Last week we discussed the current attitude to 'Dark' and 'Light'. This week, we're going to put it in the context of history. Next week, if everyone gets at least an A on their homework, we'll move onto defensive and offensive theory." He looked around, "I assume everyone read the three assigned chapters? Good. Miss Patil, your opinion please on the result of the 1824 Werewolf Registration Act in Germany?"
"It pushed the werewolves into joining the Dark Lady Xantia and made many of the other so-called Dark Creatures join him as well, out of fear that they would be targeted as well."
"Good. Miss Bulstrode, the attitude of the then German Ministry of Magic was derived from which theory?"
"Ehh… Arbaker's theory of Magical Resonance?"
"Explain the theory?"
"Exposure to dark magic would lead to dark magic tainting you."
"Correct. 5 points to both houses."
"Mr Thomas, that theory was disproved in?"
"1959, by Wendy Wintrop."
"Mr Malfoy, please explain the proof and its impact?"
For a moment, he thought Malfoy wasn't going to answer, then the Slytherin sat up straighter and said, "She disproved it by marrying a Dark Wizard and then after he died eighty years later, had her own magic tested. That proved that she had never used Dark Magic and her magic was untainted by it. As for its impact, there was none. Most people ignore the existence of the proof."
"Very good, Mr Malfoy. 10 points to Slytherin. Now, why has that been ignored? Anyone?"
Hermione raised her hand and Tristan nodded to her.
"Despite the proof, most people rightly see Dark Magic as evil and beings, human or otherwise that are influenced by it are labelled the same way. Rather then try to categorize Dark Magic, the ministries chose to keep the original 1819 definitions. It didn't help that Grindelwald had only just been defeated as well."
"10 points to Gryffindor.
The class continued, but Tristan couldn't quite shake the coldness that had settled into him from Hermione's answer.
Five minutes before the end of the class, Tristan handed out the homework. Most of the class weren't too surprised by their mark, although there had been a few surprises. Malfoy raised an eyebrow in surprise at his O and Ron seemed shocked to have gotten an EE, but Hermione Granger was not happy with her mark. Her hand shot into the air.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Professor, are you sure this mark is right?"
Everyone went quiet as Tristan made his way over to her and looked at the A on top of her page before reading the first few lines.
"Yes, Miss Granger, it is right. I was very disappointed. After everything I had heard about you, I was expecting to be giving you a much higher mark."
"But… but why?"
Tristan leaned against Neville's desk and looked at her, "The question was to explain your understanding of 'light' and 'dark' Miss Granger, not to vomit the official definitions at me. You also failed to justify any of them beyond a three page version of 'If the ministry or headmaster says so, then it is.' I find that attitude useless in DSADA and worrying because it is the first step to fanaticism. It was defiantly not what I asked for."
"I see." Her eyes narrowed and the bell rang.
Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room as Tristan watched
Outside, she pulled herself free and glared at him.
"Come on Mione, it's just an essay."
"No, Ron, it isn't. He gave Malfoy an O! Malfoy who is as dark as they come! He's evil Ron and he's trying to corrupt us!" she hissed. Then she spun on her heel and marched away. Ron hesitated for a moment and then followed.
Inside the now empty classroom, Tristan closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Whatever chance he had of converting Minerva, gut instinct said Hermione Granger was already lost. Sighing, he began to tidy the room, wondering if he should feel worse about the future Hermione was heading towards or if he should be more focused on trying to make sure Ron didn't follow her. No answers where forthcoming. His next class arrived, distracting his thoughts from his former friends and Tristan resolutely turned his attention away from the problem. It was Silver's job to help Mione, not his.
"Right kids! Wands out. Today we're going to be practising the stunning spell. Mr McCarthy, can you tell me the purpose of this spell?"
"It knocks someone unconscious, sir."
"5 points to Hufflepuff. Did everyone check the counter charm?"
There were murmurs of confirmation.
"Miss Gregory?"
"Ennervate!"
"5 points to Ravenclaw. Now pair up and get practising!" Yes… it was out of his hands. Hermione Granger would stand or fall on her own choices. He wouldn't take that away from her like Dumbledore, the Order and even Hermione herself had done to him.
Another chapter up. Quite a bit longer then the last one...
Review please...