Chapter Eleven
Thursday, the 22nd
After the pathetic dressing down during lunchtime, all that Harry wanted was a quiet afternoon. It had been embarrassing to be caught at such a childish behavior by Piotr and as far as he was concerned, Harry would never live that down.
It had been years since Harry lost his temper like that, years since he had allowed anyone to goad him like that, and a long time since he had deliberately reached for his wand and fully intended to hex someone else into oblivion. It was all Snape's fault of course, but clearly he wasn't the only one to blame.
Ever since Harry had talked himself into calling Snape to take his position at Durmstrang, Harry knew that there wouldn't be a peaceful co-existence between them. He didn't hate Snape anymore, not really, but he sure as hell didn't like him. At all.
Still, Harry had promised himself that he'd deal with the other man's impossible personality like an adult. It wouldn't do to let old grudges get in the way of what Snape was supposed to do for Ernest and really, Harry had his own job to occupy his time and mind. It had always been enough before; he had never let anything jeopardize his professionalism.
It had been hard enough to deal with the press and the wizarding world's expectations when everything had been said and done after the war. Harry didn't mind that they had been whining and moaning on the Daily Prophet for months after he got out of St. Mungos, he hadn't cared one bit when they continued to try and invade his life, publishing any kind of rubbish just to have an excuse to put him on the front page. He had even ignored Rita Skeeter's whole series of columns where she questioned not only his sanity but also his morals for defending a former Death Eater, who happened to be Albus Dumbledore's killer, before the Wizengamot.
What really grated at him had been the divulging of stupidities such as the petition to ban Defense Against the Dark Arts from the scholar curriculum of every wizarding boarding school in the world and the insinuation that he hadn't chosen a "good enough" profession when he had decided to become a teacher. As if helping to build up the next generation's minds and prepare them to become better wizards and witches than his very generation had ever been wasn't worthy enough of the "Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived".
He had spoken his mind to anyone who would listen, and only raised his voice higher at those who wouldn't, trying to make them all understand that it wasn't by erasing a part of the history, a part of magic, that they would be able to erase every cruelty and death. Harry, more so than most, had the right to wish none of it had ever happened – and during those months of rehabilitation back at St. Mungos he had caught himself doing just that more times than not – but he, better than most, knew that it was foolish wish.
No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much pain and sorrow it had brought them all, in the end Harry believed it was best to accept and learn so they wouldn't make anything else that could bring such catastrophe to their lives again. That had been one of the primordial reasons why he had opted to become a member of Durmstrang staff.
Sure, many thought he had only done it to irritate a few govern heads (and he had a little, yes) but his foremost motivation was to prevent that another Voldemort should rise. In the end, it wasn't that hard. Harry knew what it was to be ignored, underestimated, so much so that you had to convince yourself that you are special, that you are extraordinary in some way – any way – and that people just didn't get that.
He had lived most of his life back at the Dursleys doing that, taking pleasure on the fact that regardless of the fact that no one cared – and sometimes even berated him for it – he was a better student than Dudley had ever been. He was better at making a porridge than Aunt Petunia and that he could take care of the garden with such efficiency that always left Uncle Vernon muttering obscenities under his breath because there was nothing to be scowled at.
Of course, weird things happened with Harry back then already but he didn't really pay attention at that, at least not until he found out who he was and how very different he really was. Different, yes, but special, too. If Harry had been anyone other than who he was, perhaps he would have dealt with things differently, perhaps he would have acted on his anger and resentment when he had been able to but that just simply wasn't whom he was and there was no more dwelling on it.
But that didn't change the fact that Harry could understand. Many of his students at Durmstrang came from Death Eater families, families that valued the pureness of blood; families that taught their spawn dark spells before they could even have a wand—families that had been ripped apart by the war and ostracized when Voldemort finally fell.
Harry didn't agree with them, he didn't like their beliefs but he also couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that their suffering should be belittled just because they were on the wrong side of the war. Harry had long outgrown his childhood single-mindedness and prejudices, it was impossible not to. He had seen brothers fighting side by side and protecting each other, he had seen parents giving their lives for their children, sons and daughters sacrificing themselves for their families, friends and even unprotected strangers and he had seen those things from both sides.
He was an optimistic, Blaise had mocked him for it many times before but Harry couldn't really feel offended by it. Not when Zabini himself was living proof that what mattered wasn't your surname, the house you had been sorted into or the rubbish you had been conditioned to spout from an early age. What really counted was you did, in those milliseconds when you had to choose between hesitation and action, when you could turn your back on someone or save them.
If Harry had learned anything in his young life, it had been that everyone holds equal portions of good and evil in themselves and that no one was beyond redemption. Most of the time the difference between the rise of a hero or that of a murder was someone willing to give them a hand when they needed the most. Obviously, with some a firm hand worked better than anything else and others unfortunately were too blind to even acknowledge that they were losing themselves but even those Harry was set on helping.
It was definitely his "saving people thing" that made him think that way but he didn't mind. If he could guide one of his students and inspire this one young mind to aspire to be the best wizard or witch, the best man or woman they could be – well, then Harry counted himself a winner.
It was because of this, because of his need to be a good model to his students that Harry was so very pissed off at himself that afternoon. He made everything he could to disabuse the children and adolescents he taught of the notion that he was bloody perfect because Harry didn't want the "Savior Syndrome" to be perpetuated inside Durmstrang's walls and after the first couple of years he had succeeded.
Harry Potter was gaped at by the first-years but the older students now were quick to tell them to knock it off because he was just like any other professor. Do something right and he'll acknowledge, mess up and he'll call you on it, show that you're working hard and he'll award you with house points, challenge him in any way and he'll take them and if you really step out of line then that'd be detention for you.
At first Harry had thought it'd be impossible, he almost quitted during the first two years, but then he learned to make the students see him as a person and not as a symbol and with that he had got their respect. Piotr had been of great help in that regard and Blaise had taught him that just because he had been in Gryffindor that didn't mean he had to ignore his Slytherin side completely.
So after so much trouble and work, to put it all on the line because he couldn't hold his wits together around Severus Bloody Snape was daunting – to say the very least. As Harry surveyed the group of fifth-years as they dulled about the class, he couldn't help but groan inwardly. He had lost it; there was no other word for it.
The worst of all was that he had done it for absolutely nothing. At the time, order Snape to lay down on his outrageous academic demands had sounded unquestionably right and if Snape had indeed stuck to his intransigent self than Harry would have had nothing to be ashamed of. The deal was though, that as usual Snape couldn't just do what was expected of him.
Harry just couldn't understand the man. At one moment Snape was his usual unpleasant git self, abusing his authority and forcing an impracticable agenda onto a 15 years old with more than his share of responsibilities. Moments later the older Slytherin was the considerate professor who actually had to take a peg or two of an overindulgent pupil who was more concerned on not disappointing his professor than taking care of himself.
It wasn't just that even, but the irrefutable fact that Harry had found out that Snape actually did see all of Ernest's potential. When Hamilton had told Harry that Snape had offered the young man an apprenticeship, Harry had been worried that Snape had only been doing it so he could inconspicuously work on Ernest's potion, which was good at on hand but just very horrible on another. If Ernest ever found out that he hadn't been chosen for his talents, it'd have destroyed him.
But hell! Snape had even willingly complimented Ernest and Harry was sure he had never heard the man praise anyone at all. Not even Malfoy was bestowed such a dubious honor very often and when he was Harry had a feeling that Snape did it more to annoy him and his friends than anything else. It wasn't like Harry didn't think Snape had thought Malfoy worth of praise, Snape being who he was probably thought it so – though Harry couldn't figure out why – still, Severus Snape wasn't the type who acknowledged people's effort. He was one to keep on criticizing everything and pushing everyone to their limits—it made one hate his guts but it was helpful at times.
Not that Harry was ever likely to admit that to his former professor.
But in the end that was what that situation was about, wasn't it? The fact that Harry had been a utter jerk and had plunge headlong into a fight instead of trying to rationalize his point of view with Snape. Sure, the man had done everything to piss Harry off completely but that was no excuse.
And most certainly not the best way to prove Snape that Harry was a grown-up now. Shaking his head slightly and trying to push back all those useless feelings of inadequacies that the other wizard was so very good at bringing out of him, Harry tried to focus on his class again.
Young Miss Durova had just sent Hugo Halo to the floor with a rather swift but well aimed Stupefy. Harry corrected the girl's stance slightly, telling her to keep her guard even as she went to strike her opponent, when a prickle of magical awareness made the airs in the back of his neck stand on end.
After releasing Halo from the hex that had been thrown at him, Harry checked his students, trying to pinpoint the source of sudden hostile magic that made his instincts kick in. It didn't take him much longer than a glance and Harry felt like kicking himself.
Normally in practical classes, the ones based on dueling, Harry would deliberately pair students who had any kind of tension between them. It again had been one of Blaise's cleverest but most questionable ideas. If the whole mirror practicing wasn't enough, Zabini had fought tooth and nail to be able to get his students the chance of really putting their spells into action.
At first Piotr had refused adamantly, saying that even if the students had indeed learned about the damage their magic could cause that didn't mean it would stop their hands when it came to casting jinks and hexes on other people. Blaise's argument had been one that Harry had never expected. According to the black Slytherin, every adolescent was bound to relish some of their aggression and pent-up energy on attacks at fellow house and schoolmates.
It was a rather obvious thing to be said but until then no one had proposed a good-enough counteraction to such a thing. Blaise then had claimed that if they got them into duels, always under supervision clearly, then the children would be able to waste some of that hostility in a healthy way. If they dueled with other people with whom they had any kind of disagreement or strained relation with, then they'd be able to put their backs into it and try anything out of class would be a moot point.
Harry had thought it mental at first, thinking that such activity would only spur the students on and give them ideas. Blaise then countered that if Harry and Malfoy had been allowed to work on their rivalry back at school, at close range of an adult who could keep them from killing each other, and then they would have dealt better with all that ever-growing amount testosterone. Harry didn't quite believe it, he was almost sure he'd never have been pals with Malfoy no matter how many times a week he was allowed to hex the little white ferret's arse.
"You might be right," Blaise had offered one of his most winning smiles, "…but you can't say you wouldn't stop antagonizing him every single seconds. After all, you'd know that all you had to do was wait for the next duel lesson." Which was, as Zabini's cunning insights generally were, quite right.
That was why, ever since their first year, Ernest Hamilton and Octavian Masson were always paired for their dueling classes. Harry had never truly understood why those two had so much enmity going on between then, Ernest had never gone into details on the subject and Masson wasn't likely to ever broach the topic with Harry.
The redhead didn't quite renounced Harry as a teacher but he surely had never looked up at him in any way. The Gryffindor had never really bothered much about the occasional snipping and bickering, though he never allowed things to go far.
As it happened, he knew that Ernest and Octavian were even more at odds the past few days thanks to that coward attempt of sabotage the first week of class. Dueling classes were probably the only ones where Harry saw some kind of fire in Ernest. It wasn't the same passionate concentration that the boy devoted to every single potion he brewed, it was something else, something more alive and much less intellectual.
Sometimes, Harry could swear he saw Hamilton smirking freely and he was sure that he could even catch a glimpse of yellow lurking in over the young man's hazel eyes. Those were moments when Ernest reminded Harry irrevocably of Remus Lupin. He had seen his former professor in battle before, he had seen a few cracks on that placid and polite demeanor of Lupin's many times in the past – Harry had seen the wolf and the man, so he had learned to pick on the nuances.
Ernest put up with Masson's taunts and bulling, ignored the other young man with a slightly forced determination but whenever they dueled – well, Harry had to give it to Blaise Zabini. It had been a very good idea. Harry was sure that if Ernest didn't have those classes to look up to – and Ernest always won those duels – then Hamilton would have been baited by Octavian almost daily.
Even though, Harry always made a point of keeping his eyes on those two. Octavian was known for his ruthlessness and harshness, even if he barely ever hexed any of his schoolmates. Taunts were more Masson's style, a trait that inevitably always made Harry think back on Draco Malfoy when he caught the redhead in the act. Of course, Octavian Masson wasn't as good at hitting the mark as Malfoy had been and usually Masson was caught – something that Malfoy had known rather expertly how to avoid most of the times – but still, there was something on that spoiled-brat airs that Octavian put on that wasn't all that unfamiliar for Harry.
If Harry had began to teach any earlier than he had, or perhaps if he hadn't been through all the things he had been through, then perhaps he would have let this faint resemblance of attitude affect him but it really didn't. If anything, Harry always made sure to chaperone Masson's detentions himself, especially now that Blaise wasn't there anymore. Octavian had been closer to Zabini than he had ever been to any other Durmstrang teacher, not that that meant much but it had been something, and now that Blaise was gone Masson was perhaps even more guideless than before.
Harry knew it'd be trail to get past at least some of the boy's barriers, he never ambitioned to get past them all – he even doubted it was really possible and that was another thing the boy had in common with Malfoy, he gathered – but if he could get the redhead to listen to him at least, it'd be enough. Harry had never liked Draco Malfoy but he knew now that the blonde hadn't had the easiest adolescence, despite all the money his parents had. Actually, Harry had long ago realized that when push come to shove, Malfoy's school years hadn't been much better than Harry's.
What he wanted to avoid now, was that Octavian Masson made crucial and irreparable mistakes just like Malfoy had at that same age, just because he didn't have anyone to talk to. Or because everyone made sure not listen to Octavian before ever giving him the chance to say anything. The truth was that Harry Potter had never got out of his head the fact that in the end; the only one to ever really listen to Draco Malfoy had been a simpering neurotic ghost.
But not even these thoughts were enough to quench the sudden dread that coursed through Harry's whole body. By the time he reached the spot where Ernest and Octavian were dueling, most of the other fifth years around them had already backed away. The tense shoulders, the straight strained muscles and the perfect stances told Harry everything he had to know but if those weren't enough, the hard and determined expressions on the boys' faces said it all.
Too busy wasting his time berating himself for acting like a fool before Snape, Harry had done the crass error of letting his attention wander from the potential danger of putting those two young men face to face with their wands drawn. It was definitely a fault Harry Potter would never make again and also one he would never forget.
There were several small injures over the boys' hands and cheeks, they both had their hairs mated to the back of their heads and panted audibly as they circled each other like panthers waiting for one opening – any lowering of guard so they could strike. Ernest and Octavian were glistening with sweat, their shirts had been pulled, or had ridden themselves up, from the confines of their trousers and the 15 years olds had rid themselves from their ties. Octavian had pushed up both his shirt and sweater's sleeves to his elbows, and although Ernest hadn't bothered to do the same his forearms were as dirty as his housemate's. Not only those but also the two boys backs and knees were clearly filthy and Harry knew it was so because they had been dodging each other's attacks repeatedly ever since Harry had told his students to take off their robes before beginning their dueling.
From what Harry could tell, Ernest and Octavian hadn't hit each other with anything so far. Remarkable if you think that the class was almost over and they had been dancing around each other for over an hour but that was the way those two did things. Hamilton had been the undisputed winner of each duel but that didn't mean Masson went down without a fight. In fact, from what Harry had seen, the only reason why the redhead ever got hit first was because Ernest's reflexes were much faster and because Octavian's attention would stray at some point. It made sense that it was so, it was part of Ernest's curse, given proper motivation he could be as single-minded as a bloody hound and Masson, like any other adolescent, couldn't concentrate hard for long periods of time.
But Octavian never gave up and each time they dueled, the redhead's focus span grew. In that moment, they only had eyes for each other, hazel locked to blue and nothing else. It was rather impressive actually, to see such young wizards holding themselves in an ancient stance, studying each other with efficiency that most didn't have. Harry could feel their magic pulsing, clashing with each other every other second and he knew the other students could feel it too, even if they didn't quite know what it was.
Despite it all, Harry prepared himself to step in. There was something off with that scene. What bothered him the most was that he had seen those two dueling before, Blaise had invited him to watch it, on the pretense to have Harry assisting him, many times before. He couldn't pinpoint what it was but he didn't like it in the least. There was something that wasn't quite right. Harry looked from one boy to the other, trying to gauge their expressions and trying to understand what was making him so anxious.
It was instinct, an indefinable feeling that urged him to watch, to wait and be prepared. Harry had had his life saved by his instinct many times to learn that he was always better off when he listened to it so he kept himself at the ready – he didn't know what for but he did it anyway.
Before he ever really formed the thought, Harry knew what was going to happen. It wasn't something he had ever been able to verbalize; it was a feeling that only someone engaged in a battle of wits like that would understand. A change in the air, an almost inaudible warning sound, a movement in the corner of his eyes – Harry didn't know but seconds before Ernest moved, he knew that the waiting had ended once again and that Octavian must had showed a weakness, no matter how small, because Hamilton was ready to plunge right into it.
'Furnunculus!' the blonde hissed levelly, Ernest never had raised his voice much – not even in stressful circumstances such as that one. It hardly mattered; magic was intention and nothing else. One wasn't likely to cast a stronger spell just because he shouted the incantation.
Hamilton's movements were swift, almost too swift for Harry to keep track of the wand movement, but Octavian knew his opponent very well and his will was almost as quick as Ernest's reflexes.
Masson came from a pureblood old family, he had been thought dueling techniques. His movements were aerials and misleading, he knew how to trick his opponent. It was an innate talent, Octavian was quite the proficient wizard, and the thing was that he put all that proficiency into the wrong outlets.
Skiving quickly out of Ernest's range Masson missed the hex thrown his way by inches and soon had regained his balance without dropping his guard.
'Petrificus Totalus!' he growled as response without missing a bit.
Ernest was ready and didn't move as he deflected the hex with a shielding charm, his eyes narrowing and his body swaying almost imperceptively with the force of Octavian's magic. Hamilton's technique was less refined and elegant, his movement more forceful but fast and sure. He had something that Masson lacked severely: patience, and just like the wolf he turned into every full moon, Ernest could be quite dangerous even if subtlety wasn't one of his characteristics in a duel.
That was trait that Harry had seen before. Ron was the same.
'Tarentellegra!'
That one almost got Octavian square on the chest but the boy was able to cast a good enough Protego and kept himself on his feet, even if he had been forced to take a step back. Keeping his wand trained on Ernest, the redhead ground his teeth and sneered, clearly put out.
Again, Harry's instincts kicked in and he realized without doubt that he had to put an end to things. It wasn't that he thought Masson couldn't hold his own against Ernest but quite the contrary. Harry had the sudden epiphany that if he didn't do something soon; things would get out of hand.
Stepping forward, disturbing the aura the boys' clashing magic had formed around them, he raised his voice and used his most authoritative tone. It was usually necessary because once those two engaged themselves; they were lost to the world.
'That's enough!' he called, trying to push himself further closer to the boys and against their magic.
That was when Harry realized that something was really wrong. Unlike any other time, he wasn't able to break through the bubble of magic surrounding Octavian and Ernest. In fact, the more he tried, the more it resisted. If that had been all, Harry wouldn't have felt that spike of worry course through his body, for he knew that if he wanted he could disrupt it easily.
No, it wasn't that. The thing was that the magic holding that aura together wasn't a battle for dominance between Hamilton and Masson's magic. It was warped, cruder, harsher and darker, something that could actually put up some kind of resistance against Harry at all. Alarmed, Harry only had Scarlet Durova's gasp as warning before he stepped back and away, escaping the range of Octavian's spell at the last second.
'Lumos Solarem!' Masson had roared as he regained his former footage and even shrank the distance between himself and Ernest.
When Harry quickly shielded his face from the blaze of light that had sprung from his student's wand he caught the slight widening of Ernest's eyes. Clearly the blonde hadn't been expecting his rival to cast a charm against him instead of the jinxes and hexes that Octavian so favored.
'Reciproca!' Ernest spat but his reaction had come after a slight delay.
As Masson hurried to dodge his own spell, Harry saw that Ernest was blinking repeatedly, his eyes closing tightly and then being pried open wide. The blonde had managed to keep himself in his fighting position but he had been affected all the same.
If there was one weakness that Ernest had and that could be easily used against him in combat was his photophobia. It wasn't something many people knew about him, Remus had found out by accident when he and Tonks had taken Ernest and Michael to the beach once. They had been enjoying themselves there for no more than half an hour when the youngest boy started to complain about headaches.
At first, they had all believed that it had something to do with dehydration or even hunger but even after eating the sandwiches Tonks had prepared and drinking as much water as he could, Ernest's migraine only worsened. It was so serious that the boy had actually cried of pain, which broke Remus' heart to no end. Only after taking Ernest straight to St. Mungos, and after a mediwitch had made the necessary scans, had they learned how very sensitive Hamilton's eyes were to light.
Remus had told Harry about it so he could relay the same to Madam Inas. Ernest sometimes suffered with his photophobia during winter mornings when he and the other students over 13 were taken to visit the nearby village during term. The reflection of the pale sun on the endless amount of snow often was enough to trigger rather fierce headaches. It was one of the reasons Ernest was so very good at Headache Draughts ever since he was 11 – he always kept a vial close to hand.
Harry doubted that Octavian knew any of this but he really couldn't care about it at the moment. Not when he suddenly understood whose was that hostile magic that had kept him away from the boys and why it was doing it in the first place.
'I said that's enough!' he demanded, awakening his own magic core as he again walked straight into the aura before him. Harry's breath caught when even then he couldn't trespass it. Frantic he looked over at Octavian who was casting another hex at Ernest, oblivious to the way his housemate's eyes changed visibly, 'OCTAVIAN! ERNEST! STOP NOW!'
It was no use for they couldn't hear him. They were too focused on each other, deaf and blind to the world around them. For some reason Harry remembered the way he had acted earlier that day at Snape's classroom. If Piotr hadn't jolted them both from their anger before any spell had actually been cast, Harry was sure that no one would have been able to stop them.
There would be no interruption, no hesitation; they would only stop when one was clearly the winner and the other the undeniable loser.
It was the same here, he could tell. The same but for one detail, Octavian Masson wouldn't stand a chance. Not because Ernest was too far-gone to hold back his hand but because Octavian wasn't dueling Ernest Hamilton anymore.
Those gentle, thoughtful hazel eyes that had been studying the redhead's every move were no more. Harry felt his breath hitch when he saw calculating, cold yellow eyes watching Masson with an intensity that couldn't be mistaken with anything else but hunger. Harry had to end that duel, he had to do something before it was too late.
With one imperceptible move that had been perfected by necessity, Harry had him wand in his hand, waving it as he would a sword as he silently cast spell after spell against the barrier between him and his students. Intent as he was on breaking that foul aura, Harry never for once lost track from the duel before him. His other students had cowered themselves as far away from Octavian and Ernest as possible but Harry knew that he had to be ready to cast any protection charm in case one of Masson or Hamilton's spells strayed once Harry had dealt with that aura.
In no time Harry felt it giving him way, unable to hold its own against his direct attack but even though Harry couldn't seem to be able to do it fast enough. As soon as the barrier began to be disrupted he caught sight of a brusque movement coming from Ernest.
Before the boy had indeed uttered the spell, Harry already knew what it was and that Octavian had no chance of protecting himself.
'Diffindo!'
All the other students gasped when an invisible blade slashed viciously Masson's face, chest and thighs. With his heart thudding with concern and horror, Harry watched as Octavian looked down at his mutilated body, his blood flooding wickedly from the deep gashes so fast that in milliseconds most of his skin and clothes were drenched with the crimson fluid.
Working faster than he had in many years, Harry put all his power into crushing down the remains of the aura. He had dispelled it almost completely when he caught movement in the corner of his left eye, looking in that direction Harry was horrified at what he saw.
His nostrils flaring unnaturally, his lips stretched back in a positively feral smirk, his eyes shinning with what could only be defined as animalistic cruelty, Ernest Hamilton was finding his way to his opponent. There was such a perverse deliberateness in his movement, so much maliciousness in his smirk that Ernest looked like someone else entirely. He looked like a hunter who knew he had injured his prey almost mortally and that knew he had the upper hand.
Ernest looked every bit as deranged and inhuman as Fenhir Greyback.
Scared witless but dominated by his legendary Gryffindor courage, Harry rushed to Ernest's side, without a plan but determined to keep his student from doing something that the boy would forever regret.
Harry didn't have the time to talk to Ernest, to try and bring him back from wherever he had hid himself in his mind. Harry merely had the time to really reach the blonde before Hamilton was thrown several steps back onto the wall. Stunned, Harry spun around and found Octavian leaning heavily against the opposite wall, panting and pale as a paper but with his wand steadily pointing at Ernest.
But that wasn't what had caught Harry's sight or what surprised him. What had him dashing towards Octavian was the pool of blood at the boy's feet. He had to stop the bleeding before Masson got into an anaphylactic shock.
Harry was so worried by the weakened state of his student that it was with an utter feeling of stumped helplessness that he heard the unforgivable word that left the redhead's mouth.
'Crucio!'
The stunned silence lasted only nanoseconds but for Harry they were simultaneously interminable and managed to pass much faster than they should. Almost at the same time he heard a guttural, terrible noise so loud that it almost deafened him. Turning with all the swiftness that his Seeker reflexes gave him Harry saw the twisting, writhing and screaming mass of flailing limbs that was Ernest.
'Expeliarmus!' he shouted finally, hitting Octavian as he pointed his wand at his student. That seemed to be all there was left of fight in his student because almost instantly the boy was unconscious but Harry didn't see that, as soon as he had Masson's wand flying out of the redhead's hand, Harry focused his magic and waved an arc so grand that encompassed the two boys.
'Finite Incantentum!' he demanded and at once Octavian's cuts stopped widening over his body and Ernest ceased to scream.
Rushing at Masson and waving his wand frantically over the boy's body he tried to close the ugly slashes over the young man's chest, trying not to look at the waxy pallor of the boy's skin.
'Don't stand there!' he yelled at the shocked fifth year students who stared open-mouthed at the debacle before then, 'One of you go find Madam Inas!'
'I do believe I have already told you to leave, Mr. Halo and Miss Durova', Madam Inas scowled without much feeling as she rushed from one bed to the other, 'The same should be said about you, Professor.'
Harry didn't say anything at that, dropping one more bottle of Blood Replenishing potion down Octavian Masson's throat as the mediwitch made Ernest Hamilton's unconscious body swallow a nerve-releasing potion. He hadn't even noticed Hugo and Scarlet standing at the infirmary's entrance before that.
'But we can't—' Hugo began to sputter, obviously not having a clue of what he was even going to say.
'How is –', Scarlet interrupted herself as her eyes drifted towards Madam Inas and Ernest's bed and then continued as she wriggled her hands together, '…are they, ma'am?'
'Hugo...Scarlet', Harry looked up from his task long enough to catch the others' eyes, 'Go.'
That order had the anticipated effect.
'But, sir!' Halo interjected uselessly.
'I will give you report on their condition and I am sure Madam Inas will allow you to see your friends when they are fit', Harry continued as if he hadn't been interrupted and went back to helping Octavian take the much needed potion. 'Now go.'
Instead of leaving, Hugo spun around and towered Scarlet. The young woman was at least a foot shorter than Halo but she didn't even flinch when the boy snarled at her.
'What are you doing here, anyway?'
Harry caught a hint of color stain the brunette's ivory cheeks but she only crossed her arms over her chest and announced sternly, 'It's none of your business, Hugo.'
'Watch it, blood-traitor.' Halo unwittingly barked.
The words had barely left his lips before Madam Inas' wrath made her forget what she was doing enough to fully face the stupid boy.
'I will not tolerate this behavior in my infirmary!'
Harry had had enough. He didn't even see the way both Hugo and Scarlet shrank away from him, Madam Inas flinched little as he shouted.
'Don't make me give you two detentions and deduct house points!' he roared, 'I have already told you to leave!'
The students stared at him for a few seconds and then snapped themselves from their stunned state. As fast as their legs would let them, the two scrambled out of the infirmary without even looking back. Harry was still breathing heavily when he heard the mediwitch's soft clearing of throat.
'That was very...effective...Professor', she started cautiously before frowning lightly, '...but I'd appreciate if you refrained from yelling here.'
'Yes, of course… I am sorry,' Harry couldn't help but flush slightly as he looked down and continued to feed Masson his medicine. When he was done Harry finally allowed himself to ask the question that was burning in his throat ever since he had helped Ingrid bring the boys to the infirmary, 'How are they, Ingrid?'
A while later, Ingrid Inas pulled herself from over Ernest's limbering figure and sighed deeply. She shook her head as she usually did when a student got hurt doing something particularly reckless. Harry knew she'd make sure Octavian and Ernest got an earful as soon as they were good enough to hear it.
'Mr. Masson is coming along,' she gestured to the redhead's general direction. Harry wondered if she realized that her fingers made the exact Z motion that Hamilton's spell had, 'You were quick to end the spell, and I gave him a restoring draught and you the blood-replenishing potion…he'll be fine in the morning.'
Harry let go a relieved breath he didn't know he had been holding. Even as he looked, he noticed the way Octavian's skin ceased to have that sick colorless and lifeless appearance. The boy's chest seemed to move up and down in a more steady way.
'What about Ernest?' he questioned as he turned his gaze to the other boy's bed. Hamilton wasn't with that mask of maddening pain marring his features anymore but his breathing was still too deep and shallow. His arms and legs were stretched on the bed but they looked strung out and stiff.
'Mr. Hamilton', Ingrid sighed deeply again and this time there was more than a hint of compassion in her voice as she kept on, '... unfortunately his already debilitated condition left him susceptible to any kind of injury. I gave him a Strengthening Potion but-'
'…It won't work sufficiently, will it?'
Stupid question, he already knew the answer after all. Surprisingly, Ingrid didn't even think of berating him for pointing out the obvious. With far more care than anyone had ever believed of her, the mediwitch pushed Ernest's curls out of his face.
'No', she sounded weary and resigned, '…not this close to the full moon, no.'
Harry groaned, covering his face with both hands as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He should have done something but like a complete idiot he hadn't acted fast enough.
For Merlin's sake! In less than one month two of his strongest students were bedridden because of an accident he should have been able to prevent! If that wasn't enough, one had consciously warped a domestic spell and the other had cast a bloody Unforgivable!
Harry gagged then when he smelled the heavy metallic scent of Octavian's blood so very close to his nose. When he looked down at his hands Harry felt his stomach churning at the crimson stains on them and he was suddenly aware that he was covered in that substance. He had knelled at the pool of blood that had been growing around the boy and had been the one to take Masson in his arms and carry him to Ingrid's infirmary.
'They are both strong young men', a calm if subdued voice pulled Harry from the way he morbidly stared at his filthy hands, '…two of our finest, I am sure they will recover in no time.'
'Piotr.'
Again, a stupid statement for the young Headmaster was standing right at the same spot young Mr. Halo and Miss Durova had been only minutes before. If nothing else, Antokolsky's seemingly unreadable set expression, as he questioned Madam Inas about Octavian and Ernest's health so he could report their condition to their parent and guardians, only made Harry feel worse.
It was with no surprise that he took his friend's next words, when clear blue eyes bored into his seriously.
'Harry' Piotr stated more than anything, his voice taking a slight hard inflection that he had rarely ever used with the green-eyed wizard, 'I would like to have a minute with you.'
'That's exactly the kind of behavior I've been trying to prevent.'
Harry winced slightly even though Piotr's tone was as weary and resigned as Ingrid's had been. He knew what his friend was talking about. It was only because of Harry and Blaise's insistence that Antokolsky had allowed the dueling classes to be instituted at Durmstrang and both teachers had taken fully responsibility for any accidents that could occur.
When Blaise left, Harry had given his word that he would be able to handle those classes on his own. But he hadn't, instead he had done a second imbecilic mistake that day and hadn't paid enough attention, hadn't acted quickly enough and had failed completely.
'I know', was all he could say to that. Harry felt like a naughty first year, sitting before the Headmaster. The worse of it all was that this time around he couldn't even blame Snape. Not really, anyway.
'Do you understand the kind of position this incident puts me in?'
'Yes.'
'Harry', Piotr took a deep breath the belied all his confusion and frustration, 'I need you to talk to me.'
'I am sorry, Piotr', he breathed out and then forced himself to look up at his friend. Harry had been staring down at his still dirty hands and even now his eyes couldn't seem to do anything else but go back to them again, 'It got out of control – out of MY control. I-I can't understand.'
Harry heard the helplessness in his own voice but there was nothing he could do about it.
'Octavian gave me problems before, with Ernest even ...but he never even dared to do something like this before. The boy is ruthless and reckless but he's not', Harry groaned softly as he rubbed his hangs together, '...he's not the type that would resolve his scholar rivalries with an Unforgivable. I can't understand.'
Piotr nodded as he leaned back from his chair, propping his elbows on his desk and covering his mouth with his entwined fingers. He stared at Harry for a while but the professor wasn't able to hold his gaze for long.
'I know Octavian Masson very well, Harry', he started, pulling his hands away from his lips, 'I know him; I knew his brother and cousin. I know his whole family. He's exactly as you described him; ruthless AND reckless and has quite the ego and temper to him', Antokolsky shook his head slightly bewildered, 'He managed to cast a very effective Cruciatus even as he apparently bled to death.'
Hearing the unmistakable hint of dreamy admiration in the Headmaster's tone, Harry's head snapped up so he could see his friend's expression. Piotr though wasn't looking at him, his words were highly speculative as he continued, 'Highly impressive...his strength of will.'
Chuckling only because he was more shocked by that turn of events than actually amusement, Harry couldn't help but also frown at his friend in disbelief.
'Bloody Slytherin' he grunted under his breath and earned a fleeting twitch of lips, the closest of a smile Antokolsky could bring himself to before he grew serious again.
'I'm not saying he did right, or that he won't be punished.'
'I know', Harry smiled a rather small smile that had no feeling in it and that looked more like a grimace but he tried to sound teasing, 'It just felt like the most accurate thing to say.'
Piotr nodded in acknowledgement, 'But like I was saying...we had, have and probably will still have problems with Mr. Masson's explosive personality but we never dared to believe otherwise', the Headmaster paused significantly before continuing, 'Who I am truly concerned about, though, is Ernest.'
Harry's frown deepened and he felt a wave of dread numb him for a while.
'Madam Inas said he'll be fine, only because the full moon it'll—'
Piotr nodded and held up a hand, making Harry quiet instantly. He respected Antokolsky deeply; Harry knew what his friend went through as Durmstrang's Headmaster. Many had doubted him for many reasons, his age, his lack of lengthy experience as a teacher, the fact that he had been a Durmstrang student himself once or the fact that, even if only for one year, he had been a Slytherin.
But there was no doubt in Harry's mind that there was no one better to do that job and that was why he hadn't only offered Piotr his services as a professor but also his friendship and admiration.
'I'm not talking about his health, Harry', Antokolsky replied knowing Harry enough to see that he was afraid that maybe Ingrid hadn't told him the whole truth about Ernest's situation, 'We both knew that Mr. Hamilton is more than strong enough to simply deal with his current condition. We both know that he's been through worse…what I am worried about is his emotional state.'
'What do you mean?'
'Ernest Hamilton is our most interested and dedicated student, always has been. He's obedient, calm and centered, at least he has been until a few months ago'. At that point the Headmaster locked his blue eyes with Harry's, 'I am sure you have noticed that Mr. Hamilton seems quitter, more secretive and in ways... more sullen than he had ever been before.'
'We're in a school known for teaching and accepting wizards who have inclinations or a natural talent for Dark Arts', Harry shrugged half-heartily, knowing that there was a point to Piotr's musings, 'I can surely say that said wizards aren't know for their ebullient character.'
'I can't argue you with that and I am not', Antokolsky nodded in agreement, '…but Ernest has always been severely introspective, but we have never expected or suspected him to be any different. Still, he is now a 15 years old lad.'
'What do you mean?' Harry couldn't help but ask again. Piotr had a way to make him feel like a rather stubborn second year, the same way Hermione always made him feel when she thought he was being particularly thick.
'It means' Piotr ignored Harry's snap with his usual grace, '...that he's no longer controllable, gullible or easily approached.'
'You make him sound like—' A pet, a thing, a tool, a pawn. Harry knew what that feeling was like and everyone who knew him, was aware of how much he loathed something like that. Piotr being his friend was disappointed enough at Harry's response to interrupt him crudely, hardening his voice as he went on.
'And you know that's not what I mean', Antokolsky only continued after Harry looked sufficiently sheepish about his outburst, 'Harry, he's an adolescent. He's highly skeptical and realistic, he grew up with Remus Lupin, not only aware but a witness of the unfairness in the situations his guardian went through.'
'But he's got Snape now', Harry countered, frowning because even as he said it he didn't really like the thought, '…Ernest knows he's got an option.'
'Severus offered him an opportunity he wouldn't be able to have otherwise and we – you, me, Mr. Hamilton and Severus -- know this very well,' Piotr paused as if bracing himself and Harry didn't understand what it as until his friend spoke again, 'But you say he knows he's got an option. No, Harry, Ernest doesn't.'
The green-eyed professor bristle at that, 'But of-'
'He knows he's got only one option', again Antokolsky interrupted him firmly but calmly, '…and unfortunately he's not wrong – please, let me finish. We both know that despite everything we have already accomplished there's much to be achieved. There are certain kinds of intolerance that have been etched in generations' subconscious, like a non-stop requiem of hatred.'
'I understand what you're saying.'
'You do?'
'Yes', Harry groaned slightly because he really did, '...Ernest is desperate. He sees Snape as his last hope of having a job—a future.'
'Dignity', Piotr nodded, '…yes, but still, Harry, he is a teenager. There's a difference between looking into the future, knowing that things will be difficult, and knowing that no matter how hard you work, the prospect won't really change – things won't really get much better.' Antokolsky took a deep breath, as if he was trying to organize his thoughts. 'Look at Lupin himself; intelligent, talented, competent and brilliant but he never had a steady job since he became of age. After years, he probably learned not to take offense. Or he just has in himself not to take it personally, or at least to forgive and forget – and in ways, submitting to it.'
'You're saying that... Ernest thinks Remus a coward?'
'No, quite the opposite really…I'm almost sure Mr. Hamilton admires Mr. Lupin deeply for he's able to get on with his life, despite of the obstacles.' The young Headmaster looked over at Harry, his tone thoughtful, 'From what you and Mr. Hamilton tell me, Remus Lupin is able to do it all with his head raised and no grudge and hard feelings in his heart.'
Even as he said it, Harry could hear the note of incomprehension and confusing in his friend's voice. Not many people could understand Remus' ability to forgive and Harry himself had caught himself wishing to be like the other Gryffindor with ever fiber of his of his being and not being really able to be so. Remus Lupin was one of a kind and anyone who was half-decent wished to be more like him.
'There's no thirst for revenge, no useless anger and no complete surrender', Piotr shook his head lightly, the only obvious sign of bewilderment that he allowed himself, 'Mr. Lupin doesn't charge head on, consequences be damned, but he also doesn't give up.'
'He doesn't.' Harry felt a small smile play with his lips and pride swell his heart.
'And I'm sure Ernest Hamilton aspires to be like him.'
Harry nodded in agreement and sighed heavily. He shouldn't have overlooked things this way, he shouldn't have let things get so out of hand.
'But he's not.' Harry concluded what he should have noticed a long time ago.
'No, he is not. I believe everything he's been through has molded his personality already', Piotr said as if he was talking more to himself than to Harry, 'Mr. Hamilton had been a kind, polite and sullen as a child and probably will be the same as a grown man but he isn't willing to forget or forgive lightly.' Antokolsky grinned half-heartily as he locked eyes with the Dark Arts professor, '…you remember his age, Harry. We were anything but reasonable; we were fierce and tempestuous. Ernest Hamilton is just the same; the problem is that he takes his urge to scream, hurt, his pain, and adrenaline – the emotional roller coaster that makes his an adolescent – and stoppers them all forcefully, tightly in the depths of his mind.'
'You think that he's...snapping?'
Piotr took his time before he began to address his answer. The calculating look in his blue eyes made Harry pay even more attention into what the Headmaster had to say.
'I was talking to Severus and he's been concerned about Mr. Hamilton for some while now. He claims that the boy is lonely more times than not, and that Ernest also has developed the habit of hyperventilating under pressure and--cause himself pain when overcome with emotion.' Before Harry could interrupt, Piotr was quick in reassuring him, '…according to Severus Mr. Hamilton merely digs his fingernails in the palms of his hand, or clenches his jaw visibly.'
'Do you think he's harming himself?'
Even that prospect wasn't enough to dampen the surge of concern that Harry felt. As if those images were just waiting a push to form themselves in his mind, he saw Ernest's fits tightening so much that his knuckles were white while he ignored Octavian's taunts during a theory Potions class, or the tension of Hamilton's jaw when he didn't get a particular wand movement right in Dark Arts' lessons.
Why hadn't he seen those things before? Why hadn't he given them enough attention? And why the hell Snape had?
'No', Piotr's voice brought Harry's attention back at the matter at hand, 'Ernest is clever than that, much more clever than that. Severus believes, and I agree with him, is that Mr. Hamilton's problem is that he doesn't trust himself. He prohibits himself from feeling any sudden, strong emotion for fear of how he'll react.'
Harry felt the almost uncontrollable urge to slap himself on the forehead. Again he felt the fool, for the third bloody time in one day. What Piotr was telling him wasn't any news; he had heard it all before, hadn't he? But being the same old stubborn thickhead Gryffindor that he was as an adolescent, he hadn't really listened before.
And why was that, Harry James Potter?, said an annoying little voice in his head that sounded remarkably like Hermione. Because it had been the greasy git who said it, of course, replied a smug voice that he could bet belonged to Ron.
It had been little over a few days when he and Snape had had a conversation about it. It had been one of the many things they had discussed during that fated night Harry had spent brewing the Wolfsbane Potion down at Snape's private laboratory.
The only reason why he had not thought it over before was because Snape had gone so out of his way to irritate him that night, that Harry purposefully whipped away from his mind any recollection from that night. Well, not all of it, right? He could still remember ever single thing Snape had said to poke him, didn't he?
This time Harry did groan out loud. How could he be so stupid? So immature? He better than anyone knew how much of an arse Severus Snape could be but he also knew that the man was bloody brilliant whenever the git wanted to.
"Ernest Hamilton's a 15 years old werewolf, Potter." The Slytherin had sneered between barked instructions and belittling comments about Harry's brewing ability, "…he can kill, savage and destroy many lives if he's only in the wrong place at the wrong time. Mr. Hamilton doesn't only deal with his animalistic urges during the full moon; they're there dormant inside him all the time. Have you ever seen him in an argument? Or complaining about any of his schoolmates? Other than the obvious reasons, has Mr. Hamilton ever gone to the infirmary because of a reckless exchange of hexes in the halls?"
At the time Harry hadn't paid attention at what the older man had said but now it came in a rush back to him. In a way or another, he hadn't been able to take those words from his mind. Not really the words but what Snape had meant with them. The former spy had berated Harry's opinion by saying that whatever was causing Ernest's violent changes, and strengthened the blonde boy's immunity to the potion, had something to do with Hamilton's magic, not his body as Harry had previously thought.
Snape even hinted that if it had anything to do with Ernest's magic then it was connected to his emotions, after all, at 15 a wizard and witch hardly had any real control over their raw power. Even thought many people overlooked werewolves' magical capability, it was still something to be taken in consideration, especially during adolescence when the hormones were high, yes, but so was the emotional instability.
'Snape told me something to that effect', Harry frowned in thought before he looked up over at Piotr, '...he said that Ernest keeps a tight leash on his aggression, and this might be triggering all the changes. Not affecting his body, as I had thought, but his magic.'
'Yes, we talked about it, too', Piotr nodded before raising his left eyebrow slightly. His tone was rather curious as he asked, '…and do you agree with him?'
Did he? Harry's frown deepened. At the time he couldn't really wrap his mind around the concept. After all, Snape was going into unknown territory there wasn't he? What he was proposing was pure conjectures, right? There was no study on the subject, no one bothered to research the subject and found it simpler to just marginalize werewolves. Still, the more Harry thought about…
'In ways...I—', Potter pushed his hair from his eyes with an impatient gesture he didn't indulge in since he was 17, 'Yes. I believe I do. I used to blow things up...as a kid. I even managed to put my cousin in a glass cage at the zoo, and once I even blew up an aunt.'
'I put the Christmas' Tree on fire when I was 10', Piotr smirked lightly as he leaned back on his opulent chair, '…because I wanted a wand and my parents gave me a broom.'
'Spoiled brat, you were.'
Antokolsky chuckle in agreement and winked at his grinning friend.
'True but I also made my eyebrows re-grow with pure force of will when my older brother shaved them off with a shaving spell he heard my father use when he was 12.'
'I made the same thing', Harry replied, knowing what it was his friend was trying to tell him with that personal anecdote,' ...with my hair...my uncle chopped it and I hated. It grew back overnight.'
It just figured, didn't it? Even after so many years, even with everything that happened and everything that had been said and done, Harry still refused to listen. Just like he had when he was 15, and just like he had when he was 16. It was his single-mindedness when it came to anything that Severus Snape said that had kept him from ever learning how to master Occlumency, it had been his dislike of the man that had almost kept him from knowing how very much he enjoyed to brew and it was because of Harry's stubbornness that he had almost died before being able to cast any spell silently.
And in the end, each one of the things that Snape had tried to teach him, make him understand and dominate, each one of them had saved Harry's life or would have saved his hide if he had got over himself for one instant and had actually allowed himself to listen. But Harry sometimes could be as bloody thick as Snape could be unpleasant – and if those two traits coincided…well, it was bound to bring the worst from both men.
It had been after all why Harry had looked into a Pensieve he had no business looking into in the first place, wasn't it?
Severus Snape could be a damn right bastard when he wanted but Harry Potter had always known that. What Harry shouldn't have forgotten was that despite it all, Snape again was the only one who could help him help someone he cared about. And in the end, that was all Harry should focus on.
'I'll talk with Snape', Harry stood with his eyes emerald and shinning with determination and resolution, 'We have a potion to brew.'
Author's Note:
Long time, no see, eh? RL has been pretty hard on me lately but I can assure you all that I have not forsaken this story--and I won't do it so anytime soon.
I'd like to thank everyone who's added me and this fic to their allert list, that really inspires me to write more and more. I hope the next chapter will be uploaded very soon, so please be patient with me. :)