CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: LESS IS MORE
Near the end of the second week of term, Harry was adjusting to his altered schedule and actually looking forward to most of his private lessons. He still wouldn't have an Occlumency lesson with Slughorn until tomorrow; and Firenze was likely to point out something odd, like Harry's eyes moving too much beneath his lids. Still, things were definitely interesting.
He and Ron were planning to visit the greenhouses on Saturday. Hermione had scheduled an interview with Professor Sprout for her special project, thus guaranteeing them a good amount of time to begin another search for Hufflepuff's cup.
For now, Harry was headed to a lesson with Jillian. They were going to work on counter-curses today. When he entered the classroom, he found her seated behind her desk.
"Hello, Harry," she said as she looked up.
"Hi, Jillian," he replied, dropping his bag atop one of the desks and pulling out his wand.
"I've got a bit of a treat for you today," she said, standing and coming to lean casually against the front of her desk. "Before we work counter-curses, I thought you might like to see some of Dad's work."
"Are you kidding?"
"No, they're in that large trunk over there," she said, indicating a far corner. "Go ahead, you can open it."
Harry put down his wand and went to pop the lid on the trunk. He recognized a few of items, like a Secrecy Sensor; but he had never seen a number of the detectors.
"Jillian, what's this?" he asked, picking up a dark glowing orb and turning to face her. His heart nearly stopped.
She was holding a small, but very sharp looking dagger. When her eyes met Harry's, she released it and sent it hurdling directly at him.
Harry's wand was across the room and he found he was suddenly unable to move his legs. "Please no, not Kingsley's sister..." he thought.
It felt as though everything was moving in slow motion. Harry could actually see the grooves in the tip of the dagger as it drew closer. When barely inches from him, the dagger veered to an angle and clattered loudly to the floor.
Harry looked at Jillian and lost it.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL …" he yelled, shaking with a mixture of anger and utter disbelief.
"Harry, calm down," she said easily.
"CALM DOWN?" he yelled. "I CAN'T MOVE MY LEGS AND YOU JUST TRIED TO STAB ME!"
She was still leaning against the desk, but now she was grinning at him. It wasn't the maniacal grin of a mad woman; it was just her usual charming, dimpled smile.
"If you stop bellowing at me for a few moments, I will explain," she said, flicking her wand and unbinding Harry's legs. With another silent wave, she sent his own wand back to him.
Harry caught it one handed, still holding the colored orb in his other. He was furious and shaking. She however, was calmly watching him and that unnerved him more than anything.
Jillian stood from the desk and Harry gripped his wand tighter and stepped back. She remained where she stood.
"Harry," she said as he continued to stare incredulously at her, "I wasn't trying to stab you, and I certainly wasn't trying to kill you. I was testing you, again."
"Testing what," he said irritably, "my resistance to heart failure! Jillian, that was not funny. If you hadn't stopped that dagger, I'd be lying in a pool of blood right now."
"I didn't stop it; you did," she said matter-of-factly.
"No, I did not," he said, looking at her as if he thought she'd truly gone daft. "I couldn't get out of the way. I couldn't do anything but watch…"
Her eyes never left his and she was nodding at him very slowly. The solid orb fell from his hand and rolled across the floor, coming to rest against a leg of one of the desks.
His anger was abating, but panic was setting in. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. His blood seemed to be humming just under the surface of his skin. It was the same sensation he'd felt after his encounter with Mundungus at Mrs. Figg's home. There'd even been a dull echo of it when he visited Godric's Hollow. Why was it happening again?
"Harry," came Jillian's voice from what felt like a great distance, "I think you should sit down."
He did so and looked at her. She gave him a few moments and then approached him slowly.
"First of all," she started, "I would never have allowed that dagger to touch you. If you hadn't been able to stop it, I would have. But I needed to be certain that what Dumbledore suspected and shared with me was indeed true."
Harry's eyes narrowed.
"So he knew what was wrong with me?" he asked, panic causing him to dismiss the assurances Lupin had given him over the summer.
Jillian took the adjoining seat and shifted to face him. This time, Harry didn't even attempt to move.
"Harry, there isn't anything wrong with you," she said.
Now she sounded like Lupin. Harry had wanted so much to believe him, just as he wanted to believe Jillian now; but no one had been able to tell him what was happening to him.
"People keep telling me that, but something feels wrong. I am literally ready to crawl out of my skin right now; and it's not the first time I've felt this way. I don't feel normal. And trust me -- lately, normal for me is unusual even on a good day."
"I understand," she said.
"Really? Then would you mind letting me in on it, because I sure as hell don't," he said bitingly.
Jillian closed her eyes and took a slow breath of her own and Harry knew he was probably close to testing her own patience, but he didn't really care at that moment.
When she opened them, she gazed so intently at him that Harry thought she might actually be reading his thoughts. Harry tried to steady himself for whatever was coming next.
"Nearly all of the world's witches and wizards, from the least skilled to the most talented, are dependent upon their wands to perform most every kind of magic," began Jillian.
"Young witches and wizards may exhibit signs of magical ability early on and be able to perform small feats, like moving a cup across a table. Sometimes, under great duress, one may even be able to perform an unusual bit of magic, but it is usually an isolated incident."
Harry thought again about the time his hair had grown back overnight after Aunt Petunia had nearly sheared him bald.
"There exits, however, a very small number of witches and wizards who can readily perform wandless magic," she continued. "I do not believe there have been more than three or four born in each generation that can do so. It is an extraordinarily rare and powerful ability."
She paused and said slowly, "And you, Harry, have that ability."
Harry was shaking his head, almost imperceptibly. That wasn't what he was expecting to hear. No, she was mistaken. It was impossible. He opened his mouth to protect verbally, but she stopped him.
"Let's see if I remember everything I've been told," she said, running down a mental checklist. "You made a plate glass window vanish at the zoo; you inflated your aunt and broke open a bolted cupboard door; and you managed to illuminate your lost wand during a dementor attack."
"How do you know about those things?" he managed to ask, with his head starting to throb.
"They were included in the message from Dumbledore," she said, "and Kingsley was able to confirm some of it. More recently though, you knocked a fully grown wizard to the floor; and if what I believe is true, you came fairly close to starting a thunder storm in the middle of Godric's Hollow."
"But I don't know how I did any of those things; and there's no way I had anything to do with storm clouds. No, this is ridiculous," he said, hearing the strain in his own voice.
"Harry, you were a Parselmouth long before you even knew what it meant. Why is it so hard to believe you have other gifts?"
"I'm a Parselmouth because Voldemort is one," he said irritably.
Jillian watched him closely and then said, "Oh, I see. And is there some reason you believe Voldemort possesses this ability, as well?"
"I know he was able to do some rather unusual things long before he learned he was a wizard and came to Hogwarts," he said.
"Think back, please. In your encounters with him, have you ever seen him do anything without his wand?"
"Definitely not the night he returned in that graveyard. But I don't know about the battle at the Ministry. Everything happened so quickly, and he and Dumbledore were dueling; but I can't say for certain. Sorry, but I don't like thinking about either of those nights."
"I imagine you wouldn't," she said very quietly and with a faraway look in her eyes.
"Jillian?" said Harry, when she remained silent.
She seemed to refocus immediately.
"Harry, I'm pretty sure you'd recall if you'd witnessed it, especially in someone that powerful. But really, it doesn't matter. You may very well be a Parselmouth because of that failed curse; but this particular ability is as unique as the individuals who possess it.
"How so?" he asked.
"It just is; much as you are as uniquely different from Ron as he is from any of his siblings. It manifests differently in each person. Dumbledore began to suspect your true ability after the incident with your aunt, and believed it would reveal itself fully as your seventeenth birthday neared. He was watching very closely. And he was correct."
Harry was still unwilling to accept what he was hearing.
"Take my hand," she said.
"Please, no more games, Jillian," he implored.
"Take my hand," she said again.
Sighing, Harry reached across and placed his hand in hers. Waves of heat pulsated between their palms. He pulled his hand back and met her gaze.
"I know what you are feeling because I feel it, as well," she said. "I share the same gift."
Harry was stunned. Then the questions began running through his head.
"Is that why Dumbledore sought you out two years ago?" he asked.
"Yes. Obviously, he was in need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher; but there was also this," she said, and with an effortless wave of her empty right hand, her desk levitated several feet from the floor and spun around like a top.
"Dumbledore could cast wandless spells," said Harry quietly, as he searched his memories. "He didn't do it often, at least not in front of us."
"Yes, I know. Who do you think helped me?" she said, returning the desk to the floor. "Our holiday visits were multi-purposed."
"You would have been really young during those visits," said Harry, some of his doubts slowly receding and his curiosity taking over.
"Well, my ability was more than obvious by the time I was nine years old. Dumbledore was the only person my father would trust to instruct me during my earlier years. It wasn't long though before it became clear that my ability, in this particular area, was even stronger than his own. Dumbledore didn't just teach me to use this particular ability; he taught me to control it. I attended a school very much like this one; and with the exception of a few teachers and some close friends, my peers never knew I was a little different."
"And you still keep it a secret, now?" he asked.
"Well, I don't go around shouting it from the roof tops," she said. "Probably for the same reasons Dumbledore didn't. It would attract a lot of attention, and not all of it innocent. As I said, it is a powerful ability."
"I get more than enough attention already," he said. "I don't want anymore."
"I'm sure that's an understatement," she said kindly.
Finally allowing himself to believe all that she'd told him, he said, "I hate feeling like I'm on a roller coaster. I don't know when it's going to happen or why."
"I believe, as did Dumbledore, that your flashes of ability have all been tied to your emotions."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. What were you feeling when the glass vanished at the zoo?" she asked.
"I wanted to strangle my cousin. He'd just punched me really hard in the ribs."
"And when you inflated your aunt?" she prompted.
"She'd said some horrible things about my parents and she wouldn't shut up," he recalled, still irritated by that particular memory.
Jillian gave a soft laugh and tried one other, "And what about Mr. Fletcher set you off," she asked?
"He'd stolen things from my godfather's house after he died," he said flatly. "There's no excuse for stealing from your friends."
Jillian looked a bit taken aback, but she didn't say anything else. She watched Harry processing everything.
"But if my emotions triggered these incidents, then why wasn't I able to do anything the night Cedric was killed? They'd taken my wand and tied me to a gravestone. I was completely helpless," he recalled uneasily.
"Your ability hadn't surfaced with any consistency. More to the point, I suspect you were in shock after seeing a fellow student cut down right in front of you. Grief can also cloud one's abilities."
"Can you teach me to control it?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yes, if you let me," she answered earnestly.
Harry decided to follow his instincts. He already liked her, and he did finally believe her. Now, he'd have to trust her.
He extended his right hand and she took it in her own, heat radiating once again from their connected palms. Jillian lowered her lids and within seconds and to Harry's continued amazement, every odd sensation he'd been experiencing completely dissipated.
"Shall we begin?" she asked, her warm brown eyes now seeming to light from within.
There was only one thing left to say.
"Yes," he replied, feeling as though a bit of the massive puzzle might actually be falling into place.
A few hours later, Harry was nearing the end of another session with DeSousa and it wouldn't arrive fast enough. Had he not been so distracted by everything he'd leaned from Jillian earlier, he'd probably be fairing a lot better. As it was, he'd already been clipped on the jaw once and now his left bicep was throbbing from a blow he'd failed to see coming in time to block.
"What's the matter, Harry?" asked DeSousa, stopping to look at him more closely. "Your focus seems off today."
"Sorry, Andre," answered Harry. "It's been a rough day."
"We can end for the day," he said, "but I want you back here next week ready to go. If you keep losing your focus and concentration, then nothing I teach you in here will be of any use."
"Funny, that seems to be an ongoing theme of late," remarked Harry.
"Anything I can do help?" asked the Order member.
"No, but thanks anyway," said Harry. "Don't worry; I'll be ready."
After a hot shower and a quick check of his many bruises, Harry headed to the seventh floor and along the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. He entered and was nearly knocked backward when Ron and Hermione practically pounced on him.
A few heads had turned in their direction.
"Where have you been?" asked Hermione in an annoyed whisper.
"What are you talking about? I've been in class," he said quietly.
"No one's seen you since this morning's Defense class," said Ron, making sure to keep his voice down, "And you didn't show up at lunch today."
"Oh, I worked through lunch with Professor Grayson," he answered honestly.
"Yeah, well, I kind of thought that might be the case, but I got a little worried when I couldn't find her after lunch."
"Then after I finished my last class," said Hermione, "Ron and I went downstairs to meet you after yours, but no one ever came out of the room and the door was locked."
Now, Harry understood why they'd been concerned.
Several students were still eying them.
"Well, I don't know why you couldn't find Professor Grayson. She was still in her classroom when I left just before two o'clock," he said. "And my last class ended early, so that's why you missed us."
"Oh, okay," said Ron. "Sorry, we just thought something might have happened."
"You're not completely wrong," said Harry so quietly they practically had to read his lips.
They were staring at him.
"I'm going to go put my things away. We've got a little time before dinner. Let's go and see if Hagrid is around," he said in ruse.
He did take his things upstairs and once back in the common room, led the way from the portrait hole and down the staircase to the foyer and out the front doors. This time, Kipling was standing sentry.
He nodded at the three of them, but gave no other indication that he knew them to be anything other than students.
At the bottom of the castle steps, Ron and Hermione turned towards Hagrids's cabin; but Harry stopped them.
"No, this way, come with me," he said, heading off in the opposite direction, figuring Kipling would know where he was headed.
"Harry, where are we going? What's wrong?" asked Hermione.
"We're going to the Quidditch pitch," he said.
It was as empty as it had been when he visited it last week with Ginny, and it's exactly what Harry needed. He couldn't have this conversation anywhere in the castle. He walked across the grass and positioned himself so he had a clear view of either entrance from the changing rooms. Satisfied, he sat down and waited for Ron and Hermione to join him.
They sat side by side, across for him, each looking worried.
Hermione leaned forward and reached for the underside of his jaw with the pad of her thumb, and Harry winced as her touch found the tender spot of his bruise.
"Harry, what happened to you?" she asked with growing concern.
"It's nothing. It was my fault. I wasn't paying attention and DeSousa got in a really good shot," he said truthfully. "I was distracted."
"By what?" asked Ron.
"I have something to tell you," he began.
"And it required us coming all the way out here?" asked Ron again.
"Yep," answered Harry and he could see even more alarm in their gazes. He took a deep breath and began.
They sat fully transfixed and listened to him as he shared every moment of his encounter with Jillian that afternoon. Hermione gasped and reached for Ron's arm when Harry got to the part about the thrown dagger; and Ron had clenched his hands into fists.
Harry pressed on, needing to say all of it before they interrupted him. He watched the color drain from both their faces as he got to the heart of the matter and revealed this newest and shocking truth. He held nothing back, sharing everything he'd felt during those moments; and revealing Jillian's secret, along with his own.
By the time he finished, he realized he was staring at a blade of grass. He was nervous about their reactions. What would they think? When too many silent moments had passed, Harry raised his gaze and locked onto theirs. It was hard to say whose eyes had widened more, Hermione's or Ron's.
Finally, "And those things that happened—you know—with your aunt and Mundungus, those weren't isolated incidences?" asked Ron slowly.
Harry shook his head. Great, he'd really thrown his two best friends for a loop. They'd stood by Harry, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, all these years. This however, was probably too much.
"OH MY GOSH! THIS IS THE COOLEST CRAP I'VE EVER HEARD!!" Ron suddenly yelled, looking at Harry with excitement returning color to his face.
Hermione, forever more dignified, took a different approach. She crawled next to Harry and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back, relief washing over him. She pushed back from him and looked at him closely.
"Are you all right?" she asked sincerely.
He looked from her to a grinning Ron and answered truthfully, "I am now."
"It seems so obvious now. How could we not have seen it?" asked Ron.
"Because it's such a rare ability, no one would ever consider it a possibility," answered Hermione. "It's even rarer than Parselmouths, Animagi and Metamorphmagi."
"Wow, Harry, you're going to need a new nickname," chided Ron. "How about the Wandless One?"
Harry laughed and said, "Keep it up. It'll be the Ronless One."
"This really is incredible, Harry," said Hermione.
"I bet old Snakeface won't see this coming," said Ron.
"I don't know how much it will matter. He's still more dangerous than ever. If those remaining Horcruxes aren't found and destroyed, all the magic in the world, wandless or not, won't do a bit of good."
"Are we still set for Saturday?" asked Ron.
"Yes," answered Hermione. "I'm interviewing Professor Sprout in her office at ten o'clock. She's slotted me two hours, so you should be able to get in and out of the greenhouses without being spotted."
"Great," Harry said and looked at his watch. "Come on; let's get back before we completely miss dinner."
The trio walked off the pitch and across the grounds, the last of the sun slowly giving way to darkness.
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Harry was just about to knock on Professor Slughorn's door for his lesson on Friday morning when the door opened inward and out walked Ginny. She was backing out of the room, saying goodbye to Professor Slughorn and hadn't noticed Harry. That is until she bumped against him and Harry had to grab her shoulders to prevent her from moving anymore and sending them both sprawling. She looked over her shoulder at him, and stepped forward to allow herself to turn around and face him.
They hadn't spoken properly since that afternoon last week at the Quidditch pitch. There'd been glances and small smiles during meals and the usual courtesies in the common room, but nothing else. Neither had searched out the other for anything more.
Harry knew that what he wanted and what he had to do were two completely different things. Still, it didn't stop his pulse from quickening as he stood this close to her. She was looking at him intently, her chin obstinate and her brow arched. He couldn't quite read her expression.
"Hi, Harry," she said. "Sorry, I didn't see you there."
"Hi," he replied. "It's fine. How are you?"
"Would you like an honest answer, or just a polite one?" she replied with her expression still indiscernible.
Harry wanted to kick himself. Where was a Time-Turner when you really wanted one?
He was spared beating himself up when Slughorn interrupted them.
"Please come in, Harry," said Slughorn from inside the room. "Ms. Weasley, do let me know if you have any more questions."
"Thanks, Professor Slughorn. Bye, Harry," she said and stepped around him, heading down the corridor.
Harry sighed and walked into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.
He put his bag down, and looked up to find Slughorn grinning at him.
He chuckled and said, "Mr. Potter, you might want to try harder to keep those thoughts to yourself?"
Harry frowned. If Slughorn was already in his head and Harry hadn't even noticed, then this was going to go even worse than the lessons with Snape two years ago.
"Don't worry, I wasn't using Legilimency. I was simply reading the expression on your face," he said.
That didn't make Harry feel any better. Exactly how transparent was he?
"Let's begin, shall we," continued Slughorn, "I want you to close your eyes and focus in on a memory, any memory at all. Let me know when you are ready."
Harry closed his eyes and thought about the night he first met Hagrid, inside the cold and dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere.
"I'm ready, Professor," he said.
"We shall start slowly, so try to relax. Let the memory flow and replay in your mind. You may or may not feel a slight nudge. If you do, please resist the urge to fight it, for now," said Slughorn, pulling out his own wand and flicking it silently.
Harry waited, and then, he did feel something. It was like a tiny fissure had been opened in the space occupying his thoughts. He flinched, but otherwise didn't move.
"Oh my, this is indeed interesting," came Slughorn's voice, but it wasn't from inside the room. Harry could hear his voice in his own head. Snape had never done that.
Harry led the memory flow as clearly as the night it happened.
"I find it hard to believe that woman was in anyway related to Lily Evans," said Slughorn as he heard the diatribe Aunt Petunia launched about Harry's mother.
"Good show, Hagrid," he said when he saw Dudley grow a pig's tail.
And then, the fissure seemed to close and Harry knew Slughorn was no longer in his mind.
"Feel okay, so far, Harry?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," he answered.
"Good. Now, I want you to choose another memory. When you have it, I want you to envision dropping the entire scene onto a stage, like a play. And this time, when you feel me enter, I want you to image closing the curtain on the production."
"Okay," said Harry hesitantly, but he did as instructed.
This time, he chose to recall the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff in his third year. Again, he knew exactly when Slughorn had entered his mind. Harry let the scene play out until he spotted the first dementor, and then just as Slughorn directed, he imagined pulling a black curtain down on the scene. He felt the same fissure closing once more.
"Well done, Harry. My, that must have been a frightening experience. Now then…What's wrong?" he asked as he saw Harry's perplexed expression.
"Professor, don't I need to do more to block Legilimency, like defensive spells or something?" asked Harry.
"Well, if the attempt is really strong or more than one wizard is trying to invade your mind, then certainly, use whatever means you can to break their concentration and hold. However, those most accomplished in Legilimency or Occlumency have exceptional powers of control and focus. It truly is more about a strong mind than a strong wand hand."
This wasn't how Snape tried to teach him Occlumency.
"As we progress and start incorporating distractions and movement into your lessons, you may find it necessary to use other spells or means to throw me off; but the goal is to minimize the need for such options. But you needn't worry about that now. No one in his right mind would start introductory Occlumency that way. It's too invasive and often times painful. It'd be like throwing someone into an ocean to learn to swim."
Well that explained it. Snape had wanted to make Harry as uncomfortable as possible and he had succeeded. He'd had splitting headaches after almost every lesson.
"Professor Slughorn," started Harry again, "I could hear your voice in my head. Is that normal?"
"Well, I was projecting my own thoughts to you. If wizards are accomplished in both skills, then they can be used in tandem to communicate privately," explained Slughorn. "The trick is to learn to block out everyone else, except the one to which you wish to communicate. It's an advanced skill and not everyone can master it. It requires a great deal of diligence and practice."
"Dumbledore said you were one of the most accomplished," offered Harry.
Slughorn flushed slightly and said, "That's quite a compliment. I'll consider it earned when I've fulfilled my duties to him by teaching you. I am sorry if I seemed less than enthusiastic before…"
"It's all right, Professor," said Harry. "To be honest, I wasn't looking forward to it when I realized it was Occlumency."
"Why not?" asked Slughorn.
"Bad experience," answered Harry. "But today was actually okay."
"I'm glad to hear it," replied Slughorn. "Now then, for next week, I want you to practice different ways of shutting things from your mind. The curtain trick worked for you today, but it was merely a suggestion. Try imaging a door slamming or a light going out—things such as that. You'll know when you find what suits you best."
"Yes, Professor," said Harry and the bell rang to end his lesson.
Harry and his classmates had two more productive and enjoyable Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes. There was no doubt; Tonks and Jillian were both extremely competent teachers. If they ever tired of being Aurors, they'd definitely have second career options.
By the time Harry rounded the first floor corridor, he found Firenze waiting for him.
"Hello, Harry Potter," said the centaur.
"Hi, Firenze," replied Harry. "Are we going outdoors again?"
"Yes, follow me, please," said Firenze, leading the way past Kipling, who seemed to have drawn sentry duty for the main entrance this week.
This time, Harry found they were headed to the Black Lake, very near his favorite spot.
Firenze motioned for him to sit and Harry did so. The centaur was eying him intently.
"You seem calmer today. That is good," he said. "Close your eyes, please, and breathe in and out as slowly as possible."
Harry did so for what seemed like a long time and he was beginning to think Firenze had somehow silently slipped away when the centaur spoke.
"Keep your eyes closed and tell me everything you hear."
For the next thirty minutes, Harry described every odd sound he could pick up. With each attempt, he heard something new. On his last attempt, he surprised himself.
"Is the giant squid surfacing?" asked Harry.
"What makes you ask?" inquired Firenze.
"I'm not sure. The ripples in the water sound different, larger somehow," he said.
"Open your eyes," said Firenze.
Harry did and he could see the squid moving back and forth more than half way across the lake.
"Silence speaks volumes, Harry Potter. Remember that," said Firenze, nodding at Harry and turning to trot away.