Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Sistat Inter Bitu pe Marvos
Chapter Four
The Noble Art and an Immoral Teacher

"Tell me, how is it that someone managed to better Albus Dumbledore? How is it that someone managed to take his life?" Torres asked.

Harry eyed the man for several minutes. They were seated at a small table in a kitchen. Light from the candles lining the walls in brackets pooled upon his lined face. His expression held none of the anger Harry had seen during the interrogation.

Finally, he opened his mouth, unsure how to explain. He had to stay with this man to honor Dumbledore's request, and if he was to stay here he would have to tell what had happened to Dumbledore. But, he told himself, Torres would have to earn back the trust he had already lost.

"Did you know Albus well?" Harry asked his own question in reply.

"Not as a well as others, no," Torres shrugged. Harry was not surprised by the answer; he was willing to bet that Albus would not have sent Harry here had he known that Torres would beat him. The silver knife Torres held in his hand made short work of cutting the tender steak. "Albus was a friend of my father's. I saw him regularly when I was a child, but once my father passed to The After I saw little more of him." Torres's eyes dimmed and regained their malicious at the mention of his fathers passing, and yet they returned to their sedated gaze so quickly Harry almost thought he'd been seeing things. "I've met him a few times since then. I was charged with guarding him when he was here in Brazil with the International Confederation of Wizards, which, I might add, always brought assassination attempts with it. I remember him well," he continued, calm once more. "He was an extraordinary wizard with few faults. Father spoke most highly of him, and I wish I could have known him better."

"Albus spoke highly of you, too," Harry replied to the man. "He said you were 'an extraordinary duellist who has even managed to teach me a few tricks.' in his letter."

"He speaks too highly of me, of that I am sure. He always complemented me on my unusual duelling style, but other than that I see no reason for him to say such things about me," Marques answered.

"Unusual duelling style?" Harry asked, his interest piqued.

"Yes," Marques replied. He was gazing across the room and looked to be deep in thought. He carried on with his answer, although it was clear to Harry that his full attention was not on it. "I use apparition a lot in my duels. Most people have to stop and concentrate for a short while whereas I can apparate extremely quickly. I use that to my advantage."

They sat in silence for a while after that, Harry picking at his food and Marques staring at the wall with clouded eyes.

"I cannot understand how someone such as Albus Dumbledore could have been killed," Marques broke the silence. Harry snapped to attention; he had long since begun daydreaming. Marques was frownning in thought. "Albus had no faults, none that I saw at least - whomever killed him must have been extremely powerful."

"Albus had many faults," Harry informed the older man, a slight, bitter edge to his tone. Torres looked at him curiously for several moments before Harry decided to continue. "He was too trusting. He was always a believer in second chances, always wanted to believe the best of people no matter what it was they'd done. He was too forgiving, too trusting." Harry voice became more bitter. "He trusted people who didn't deserve to be trusted and that got him one thing, it got him on his knees begging for his life at the wrong end of a killing curse." Harry held his knife in a white-knuckle grip as he fumed over Snape's betrayal. "He was cut down and murdered by the very man he handed out a second chance to when he should have sent the bastard to Azkaban during the first war."

Torres placed his knife and fork gently onto the table at either side of his plate and looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Albus always was one for second chances, but I always viewed that as a good thing in my younger years. I trust by your outburst that the man who murdered him was on the side of the Dark Lord during his first reign?" Harry nodded his head. "Then I can see how second chances are a bad thing," Torres's eyes grew so cold that Harry thought he felt the temperature of the room plummet around him. The Questioner was back, the immoral predator who thought nothing of torturing a bound captive. "Dark wizards should never be given a second chance! They should be forced to face the same ending as those that they murdered! Cut down like the savage beasts that they are and forced to beg for their very lives as their blood bleeds the life from them! They deserve no mercy! NONE!"

A chair clattered loudly as it fell to the floor. In his anger Torres and stood and flung the chair he had been seated on violently across the room. Harry watched the seething man with eyes round in fear. This was the man that had tortured him and held a knife to his throat, not the man that had sat at the table casually eating dinner with him for the past twenty minutes. Harry went for his wand, Torres had leaned over to lift a knife from the table, Harry feared he was again going to attempt to slit his throat, but, with a flash of silver, Torres launched the knife across the room with the force of a rampaging bull. The chair now lay in scattered pieces on the floor and the silver knife was embedded firmly into the wooden wall, the light glittered off it giving it a malignant aura. Torres stood towering over the pieces of the broken chair, eyeing them with nothing short sheer loathing. Then, quite as suddenly as he had descended into his fit of anger, rage even, Torres seemed to wither away into an old man in the blink of an eye.

"I am sorry," Torres murmured, voice shaking. With a flick of his wand the chair fixed itself firmly into one piece once more. Torres then walked across the room, not even casting an eye toward the knife that was still embedded in the wall at an angle, and removed a glass bottle from a dark-varnished wooden liquor cabinet. With the bottle still in hand he moved slowly to the opposite side of the room where he took into his free hand a silver box from a high shelf. He handled the box with a loving tenderness that Harry thought the man was incapable of. "It's getting late," He said as he seated himself at the table once more, he didn't make eye contact as he said it. "You should rest. We will start your training tomorrow morning, I'm much too tired right now."

Harry, still shocked from the suddenness of the outburst, didn't know what to say in return. Fortunately Marques continued. "Your room is the first door on the left at the top of the stairs. Goodnight."

His voice left no room for argument and Harry didn't question the man. He was willing to admit to himself that this man set his nerves on edge. He left his half-eaten meal (that he had long since lost his appetite for) and made his way out of the kitchen. Once at the door looked over his shoulder for a last time to see a withered and old-looking man, a glass of brandy shaking in an unsteady white-knuckled grip. As he watched Torres opened the silver box gingerly, with hands still shaking, and stared almost longingly at the contents hidden within. Harry lingered there for a short while, trying to catch the slightest glimpse of what Torres was looking at. but he didn't see anything and so, not wishing to witness Torres's formidable temper for a third time that day, he left the man to himself.

Once in the room Torres had designated for Harry, he eyed the plain glass of the window, wondering whether it would be safe to pick up his broomstick and fly back the very way he had come. He also wondered whether, if he was to try, Torres would murder him in a fit of rage.

Not for the first time that night Harry questioned Dumbledore's sanity. Not for the first time Harry asked himself just what the hell had he gotten himself into. Not for the first time that night he wished for the warm embrace of his familiar bed at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Come on, you little bicha," Torres taunted. "I've seen paraplegics move faster on their feet than you!"

Harry growled and cast a spell back at the older man. They'd been at this for over two hours and Harry had yet to hit Torres with even one spell. All the while Torres would taunt him and shoutwhat Harry rightly guessed to be Portuguese expletives at him. Torres was currently enjoying calling Harry countless names that he couldn't understand, and while that in itself didn't really bother him, the way that the man was acting did.

Torres turned his back on Harry and wiggled his arse at him, all the while sneering over his shoulder. "Viado!" Harry's only reply was to aim a spell at the bastard's head, missing as Torres deftly jumped to one side. "Ha! You couldn't fight you way out a wet paper bag! You're a worse fighter than a decrepit old House Elf!"

Again Harry aimed a spell at Torres. Harry was witnessing why Dumbledore had always complemented the man on his duelling style: no sooner had the spell left his wand than Torres had disappeared, only to reappear somewhere in the trees to Harry's left. Torres had been doing that since the beginning of the duel.

"So, Harry," Torres shouted from his new position. "Have you ever even had boceta? I bet you haven't."

"I don't know what your saying, you brainless idiot!" Harry screamed in his frustration. He felt extremely sorry that he hadn't picked up his broomstick and flown through that window the night before. This man was a complete and utter lunatic! One second he's throwing chairs and knives across rooms and the next he's dancing around like a brain-dead dolt! Harrydidn't know what to think.

Torres had been in a jovial mood all morning, as far from the apoplectic man of the night before as it was possible to get. Harry had opened his eyes that morning to Torres pulling the curtains of his room open and the bright pool of light that had engulfed the room. When Harry's eyes had finally adjusted to the sudden brightness he saw Torres standing by the window with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a sardonic smile on his face. The day had gone downhill shortly after breakfast.

"Aww, is little Harry throwing a tantrum?" Would this man ever let up? "Crying like a little baby because he can't understand mean Torres's foreign words."

"Bastard!" Harry mentally screamed. "You God darn lunatic bastard!"

Harry threw every ounce of his energy into his spells but he could never get passed Torres's defence, the man was just too good! Even when it looked like Harry's spell was going to hit Torres would disapparate away and appear elsewhere. His latest stunner collided harmlessly with one of the surrounding trees causing a plume of birds to creakingly take to the sky. Oh how Harry wished he could do the same.

A spell was sent his way and Harry hastily erected a shield. It was no good: the powerful spell forced its way through the high-school-level shield and rendered his wand arm useless.

Pop!

Torres disappeared again. Harry looked hastily around for him, all the while holding his useless arm with his other, but couldn't find him anywhere. Harry let out a growl of frustration and anger.

"Boo!" Harry jumped at the volume of the noise and the hot breath he felt on his ear. How could he have not noticed that Torres had apparated right behind him? He didn't get his answer… but he did get stunned.

The clearing slowly came into focus. Harry groaned out loud when the first thing that he saw was the predatory grey-haired figure of Torres pointing his wand and generally towering over him.

"You're too slow, much too slow. I wasn't joking when I said I've seen paraplegics move faster on their feet than you," were Torres's first words to him. "You stood in the same spot all the way through the duel. You didn't take cover once. Any moderately talented wizard… which I'm sure you don't meet many of in your country," he added as an aside, "could have handed your arse to you in no time."

Harry groaned again, he knew that Torres was right but was unwilling to admit it. Despite being somewhat scared of the Portuguese man's fiery temper, Harry was now willing to admit that the man knew his stuff.

"You rely too much on shield charms, and rudimentary shield charms at that. What were you thinking using Protego to defend against the Abutosterilis curse?"

"I don't know what Abutosterilis is and Protego is the only shield charm I know," Harry mumbled under his breath.

"All the more reason you move out of the way! You, kid, are a veritable idiot," Torres said frustrated. "If you don't know what a spell's effect is going to be, you darn well better get out of the way of it: remember that in future."

"What is Abutosterilis anyway?" Harry asked.

"Good to see you're asking questions," Torres replied. "If you don't carry on flopping about like a fish out of water you might just turn out to be a duellist yet. Abutosterilis is a spell that affects the muscle it hits. It renders that body part temporarily useless for a period of time that depends on the proficiency and power of the wizard that casts it. The wand movement is a jabbing motion with a slight flick of the wrist. Can you remember that or do you want me to spell the big words out for you?"

Harry glared at the man.Like Snape, Torres seemed to delight in insulting Harry. "No, I think I can manage," He said through his glare. "What's the counter anyway?"

Torres turned his back to Harry and started to walk towards the other side of the clearing. Once there he growled. "You don't need to know the counter when you're casting it, and Dark Wizards don't deserve any spell to be countered anyway, whether that be Abutosterilis or a throat cutting curse."

Torres cast a spell that Harry didn't recognise and, remembering the advice he'd just been given, he deftly moved out of its path. Once it had passed harmlessly by Harry countered with a stunner.

"Jesus Christ almighty!" Torres screamed to the heavens. "You don't have to shout your spells loud enough that a semi-deaf muggle in Yemen could hear you. You idiotic wan…"

And it started once more. Harry was kept in that clearing, practicing the noble art of duelling from sunrise until sundown. By the time he got to bed he was too tired to undress. His last final thought was that Torres was not such a bad teacher; yes he hurled insults at him at the same rate as Snape on what Harry termed a menstrual day, but those insults where backed up with a wealth of useful knowledge. Harry just wished he could sure that Torres's temper wasn't a danger to him.

He looked upon the scene as though through frosted glass or a sheet of water. He could not make out faces, only the outline of a figure robed in black. The figure knelt at his feet, whimpering and moaning as though in pain. The vision would become clearer at sporadic intervals but the people in the room were masked and unidentifiable. The room around him smelt of dampness, a musty smell that clung to nostrils and made the air heavy to breath. Light glowed from brackets on the walls casting elongated and sinister shadows across a cold, hard, stone floor. Red stains marred the original greyness of the stone floor and walls, the blood of the terrified victims that had been mutilated and murdered a constant reminder of the vileness of the master that ruled building.

The loud 'thump thump thump!' of something large banging, moving, walking around at an higher level of the compound made the room shake and plaster fall in small pieces from the ceiling. Screams, terrified pleads, prayers to a deity, blood-curdling screeches of unimaginable pain, were as constant as that darn never ending 'thump thump thump!' of whatever the hell it was moving upstairs.

"It is time." A voice, cold and serpentine, echoed around the room. "Soon, very soon, you will be leaving on a mission of the utmost importance; consider it a gift from your generous master. Be aware, however, that it is a mission for which I will accept nothing short of full and complete fulfilment."

The figure on the floor shuddered as though ice water had been poured directly onto his spine. It seemed clear that, whoever it was, they knew full well what that meant. Either the mission they had been 'gifted' with was completed or their life would be forfeit in the most gruesome and inhumane manner.

"Y - Yes, Master." The sound of fear in the whimpering voice was delicious to his ears. That he could cause such fear brought a cold smile to his face, as the figure before him shivered worse than ever. Oh yes, it was a feast cooked by a world-class chef.

"Ah…" With a wave of a wand gripped in a, impossibly pale hand a sheaf of parchment appeared before him. "It seems, my faithful follower, that we have company today." The masked searched the room with its eyes looking for whom it was their master spoke of. "It seems that Potter hasn't learned to occlude his mind."

The figure looked up sharply, fear in their posture.

"Fear not, my faithful, for the connection is weak. It seems that Potter has made progress." He reached with a scaly hand and plucked the parchment from the air. "Take this, destroy it once you've memorised your orders. Start with Europe, those who are most likely to follow reside there. Remember, nothing short of complete fulfilment, otherwise…" The threat ended not with words but with a look at the direction of the ceiling.

"I - I understand fully, Master," the follower stuttered. "Your orders are my life, and my life is yours." Then with a bow they left the room.

"And so, Potter, we meet again." The cold serpentine voice echoed again, only this time it wasn't off the stone walls of the chamber, but in his very head. "The connection is weakened, and yet it is still strong enough for me to teach you a lesson you would do well to remember."

He tried with all his might to fight against the connection that held him prisoner in the Dark Lord's mind, but no matter how much willpower he forced into the connection it was never enough.

The Dark Lord chuckled, a laugh so cold and sinister it could chill the marrow of bones. "You cannot kill the connection yet, Potter, your lesson hasn't even started yet. Where are your manners?"

The Dark Lord strode across the huge chamber moving deftly, still the vision was marred as though he was looking through a thin layer of liquid, but it soon became apparent to Harry that bodies still littered the floor. "You rudely interrupted a very inconvenient time, Potter. Our… party… has only just finished." They reached a door and the Dark Lord held a hand out in front of him. "This one, this one was most entertaining." The vision cleared as the Dark Lord lifted the chin of a men until Harry was looking directly into the startling blue eyes of a women. "Pretty wasn't she, Potter, it is a pity really about the accident that befallen her." The hand moved from her chin down to a long spike of metal that had been forced through her stomach and into the wooden door behind her, a stomach, Harry noted, that was rounded in the stages of late pregnancy. "Such a waste, mother and child killed in a freak accident, why she didn't move when the spike was travelling so slowly we shall never know."

Voldemort sounded amused, and that made Harry want to strangle the monster with his bear hands. Voldemort slammed open the door with a wave of his wand with such force that the spike travelled another few inches through the door, Harry could only imagine the pain that the poor women had gone through.

Swiftly down a long corridor they travelled. Then up a spiralling staircase to another level all together. Thump thump thump! The noise was louder than it had been in the chamber, deafening nearly. The floor shook with the force of whatever it was. At last they came to another wooden door, behind which was obviously the origin of the noise.

"Now, Potter, now the lesson begins," Voldemort hissed and opened the door. A giant, larger and more bulky than Grawp, was shackled and chained to a wall. It's muscles strained as it ran back and forward trying to break its bonds. A scream of terror rang loud and clear, and with a sudden horror Harry's vision cleared and he saw a young girl, no older than twenty, huddled in the corner looking at him in absolute horror. The Dark Lord smiled at her, which caused her eyes to widen and her to beg for her life. The Dark Lord did not take note.

With a wave of his wand the bonds that held the giant disappeared - and then it began. Thegiant rained blows down upon the women. Bone cracked and splintered, blood ran in rivers, and all the while the Dark Lord's laugher rang loud a clear around the room.

"This, Potter, it was happens to the people that stand against me. This, Potter, is what awaits you.."

And only then did it end.

Harry's room glowed that night. He hurled spells around into the early hours of the morning as he practiced what he'd learnt from Torres earlier that day. He practiced them and envisioned ways in which to use them at the final battle, all the while the picture of a young women being beaten to death replayed in his mind, for short whiles replaced by the picture of a pregnant woman impaled through the stomach. The visions brought bile to the back of his throat, made his stomach heave, but there was nothing left to throw up. But more important than the bile and the sickness it brought him an even more intense wish to fight; but to fight he would have to learn. His worries were no longer focused on the raging temper of Marques Torres. No, Torres's temper was simply something he would have to put up with. Harry's will to learn had been renewed and doubled, and it no longer mattered how dangerous the teacher was.
A/N: For information concerning the website I share with Le Rob (where chapters tend to appear first) please visit my bio page.