Harry Potter characters do not belong to me but to J.K. Rowling.
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In Terms of a Name
By Taliya
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Chapter VII: Classes and Kisses
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"The students do not know whether to detest you or admire you," Albus continued.
"It is not my duty to make them like me, Albus," Harry replied, "I simply teach the way I believe the subject should be taught."
---
The first week of classes passed quickly for both students and faculty. Harry's classes in particular were a success. While he was not biased towards any house, almost all his students strived to earn House points and remain in his good graces. A few students had been unfortunate enough to wake the professor's temper. It was not something any of them were keen on experiencing again.
After the lunch break, Harry meandered into his office to wait out the hour or so he had free of class. He brought a book he had taken from the Black Library on dark magic and their respective counter-curses.
Sinking into the provided soft black leather armchair, he flipped to the bookmarked page and continued where he left off. Fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, lending a warm glow to the already sunlit office.
Harry glanced up as he heard a clicking on his window. Looking up, he found Hedwig perched on the ledge, waiting for him to allow her entrance. Harry quickly stood and opened the window. Hedwig drifted in, landing softly on his desk.
"Hey, girl," he greeted, fetching some owl treats to give to her. "Need me for something?"
The bird hooted a negative, and hopped onto his arm.
Harry gazed at his companion thoughtfully. "Hedwig, I think we need to disguise you. A snowy owl is horribly easy to spot, and everyone knows that you are the familiar of Harry Potter. If anyone sees you, my cover will be blown. Would you, dear girl, mind if I changed you to a different type of bird and called you a different name?"
The raptor seemed to consider his proposal before she dipped her head in an undeniable nod.
Harry smiled slightly. "Thanks girl. I promise this won't hurt." With some concentration and a wave of his hand, the bird's size increased. Her back changed from a snow white to a golden brown, while her underside and face melted into a soft cream color. Her eyes changed from a rich gold to ebony black. The sprinkling of gray and black spots remained on her back. Her down feathers were mostly lost, reducing her size slightly. Instead of a snowy owl, a barn owl stood before him. "May I call you Aldara, Hedwig? It's Greek for means 'a winged gift.' That's what you are to me."
The transformed owl cooed, pleased with her alias name. She gently nibbled Harry's ear as he softly stroked her breast feathers. "Thank you, girl," he murmured.
A knock on the door startled Harry from his reverie.
"Come in," Harry called, still petting his bird.
A small Second Year peered around the door. "Hullo, Professor Hamilton," she greeted.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Kensington, what may I do for you?" asked Harry.
"Er, would you mind going over the material we went over in class yesterday? I'm having trouble doing the homework assignment," she murmured.
Noticing how uncomfortable the girl was, Harry allowed his features to soften a little. Gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk, he asked her to sit down.
"Now, before we start—hey! Aldara, cut it out!" Harry bit out, taking a playful swipe at his owl. The newly dubbed Aldara hooted arrogantly as she settled herself into Harry's now incredibly messy hair.
The Second Year giggled as her professor sighed in defeat. "As long as you don't leave 'presents' in my hair," he warned the nesting bird. Said bird hooted happily from her newfound perch.
Ignoring his pet, Harry turned to his student. "Now, as I was saying…"
---
Ginny, Hermione, Neville, and Ron were housed in the comforts of the squashy red chairs before the fire in the Gryffindor common room. Their dorm mates milled about, some doing their homework on the various tables, others playing games, such as Exploding Snap and Gobstones.
Their current topic of discussion was the enigmatic Professor Hamilton. Hermione had described to Ginny how he had seemed to suddenly appear in the back right corner of the room. Her narration had then continued on to the incredible duel he and Professor Dumbledore had engaged themselves in.
Ginny, in turn, told them how Professor Hamilton had swept into the room in a manner almost identical to that of Professor Snape. He had then asked them about what they had learned so far, and then passed out a syllabus and assignment schedule. They spent the remainder of the class time refreshing their memories on how to do the various spells, curses, and jinxes they had learned.
Their conversation then steered towards said professor's lack of facial expression.
"I wonder why. He doesn't smile or frown; he barely smiles when someone cracks a joke, and he never laughs," Hermione commented after observing the man both in class and at meal times.
"I know what you mean," said Ginny. "He seems to bottle it all up. And have you noticed how young he is?"
"I don't get it," Ron inserted, "Why are you two getting so worked up about him?"
Neville, so far, had refrained from commenting, choosing instead to listen to the discussion.
"Of course you don't get it, Ron," Ginny sighed, exasperated, "You were always quite thick."
"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Ron.
"Calm down, Ron," Hermione advised.
"I think the girls have a valid point," Neville stated, adding his two Knuts' worth. "He does act somewhat odd. He seems quite… stuffy, I suppose."
Ron stared blankly at the three of them.
"Oh, come on, Ron, haven't you noticed how he doesn't show any sort of emotion except perhaps boredom? It's not normal for someone to act that way. We all know how Malfoy's been brought up to hide his emotions, yet he is still prone to expressing them anyway." Hermione paused. "I wonder what happened to make him repress his feelings like that?" she almost murmured to herself.
"Maybe a traumatic past?" suggested Ginny, remembering her own experiences with Tom Riddle's diary and how she subsequently coped with the aftermath.
Each of them sat in contemplative silence, wondering about their enigmatic DADA professor's shadowy past.
---
Quidditch trials were long over. The teams were formed, practice sessions were hammered out. Harry watched as the Ravenclaw Quidditch team went through their practice from his reclined position against a shady tree by the lake. The giant squid, as far as Harry could tell, was sunbathing in the deeper end, its tentacles waving lazily about in the air. Movement caught his eye and he turned to witness the head of a mermaid glancing about before diving back beneath the surface. Relaxing, Harry savored the atmosphere. There was a cool crispness in the air that foretold the coming of a harsh winter.
A neat pile of parchment lay beside the young man, held down by an inkstand. The pleasant outdoor weather was too tempting for Harry to resist—ergo, here he was, grading Fourth Year homework assignments. A pleasing frost-touched breeze whispered through the leaves of trees—pleasant background music to the screams and laughter of the students.
Although Harry paid no heed, he idly wondered why Draco Malfoy, of all people, had been tailing him, however discretely. He decided to speak to his student at a later point in time. Meanwhile, he contemplated the merits of buying himself a new broom. The Ministry had confiscated the Firebolt that Sirius had given to him for Christmas his Third Year, along with all his other possessions, such as his father's invisibility cloak and Hagrid's gift of a photo album of his parents. The thought saddened him greatly.
"It has taken me quite a while to find you," a voice called.
Torpidly swiveling his head towards the speaker, Harry laid eyes on the approaching elderly Headmaster.
"I'm not hiding. You're just not good at seeking," was his bland rejoinder.
Albus chortled.
"What brings you out of your office, Albus?" asked Harry as the older man settled nearby in the grass. Harry's eyes narrowed a bit. "You're here to ask a favor, aren't you?"
The bearded man pouted. "Am I not allowed out of the prison of my office for rest and relaxation?" he moaned. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "You heard that from the staff, didn't you?"
"I haven't the foggiest what you are talking about," Harry replied, his face a study of one in the clutches of ennui.
The Headmaster grumbled to himself before grinning as he stared out towards the lake. "I was pondering about your ability with martial arts and weaponry," he started.
Oh, Merlin help me, Albus has been "pondering," Harry thought with a touch of mental mock-desperation and sarcasm. Hopefully it's not going to be some hair-brained scheme of his that is likely to get me killed.
"What do you think about a class that taught weaponry and Muggle martial arts?"
Harry blinked. Whatever he was expecting, it was not that. "Er…" he answered intelligently.
"It would be a nice treat for the students," continued Albus blithely, unaware of his employee's bewildered state. "Many of the older Wizarding families train their children in the ways of the sword. And from what I've gathered, a good percentage of Muggle children learn some form of martial arts for enjoyment. A class combining both would be both educational and fun!" Dumbledore rubbed his hands together in obvious glee as he turned to observe the reaction of his DADA professor. He opened his mouth to continue.
"Albus," Harry said softly, interrupting the Headmaster's excited musings, "What about those that are treading down the path to being a Death Eater? I do not want my teachings to be used against innocents."
Albus' jaw shut with a click and his expression fell; he bowed his head sorrowfully. "It cannot be helped. To maintain equality and nondiscrimination, you would have to teach them all and somehow convince them that they are walking along a path that will lead to their destruction."
Harry sighed, a rare occurrence ever since his transformation. He realized that Albus was enamored of the idea and would stop at nothing to have his idea become a reality. "I'll do my best, Albus," Harry stated dourly.
"Excellent! I will see to the weapons you wish to teach, as well as any sort of protective gear they might need." Getting off the leaf-dotted grass, Albus Dumbledore left a brooding Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a sprightly spring to his step.
"Barmy old coot," Harry muttered, slightly smirking. His grin disappeared when off in the distance, a whinny sounded somewhere in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. His brows furrowed as several Thestrals shot up above the treetops before wheeling around and diving back into the foliage with what could only be described as a "war cry."
Getting up off the cool grass, Harry shrunk both the stack of papers and the now covered inkstand and quill, tucked them into his robes, and strode determinedly towards the Forest while scanning the periphery for both curious students and any hints of danger. He immediately noted Malfoy was once again trailing him.
Cursing under his breath, he doubled back and strode about the grounds in no discernable pattern before giving the Malfoy heir the slip. Once he was safely hidden from the eyes of the castle, Harry stopped. "Heed thy Master's call and come to my aid, Black Stallion," he intoned.
Before him in the grass and brush, a circle of black light glowed, inscribed with intricate symmetrical shapes, runes, and phrases in an ancient language that Harry did not immediately recognize, yet could easily read. From the centre a small but veritable tornado of black smoke swirled, growing in size until it dissipated, revealing the stallion. The magic circle faded away completely.
The equine bowed gracefully, wings spread majestically. "You called, my Liege?" it asked.
"Yes. It seems I am in need of your abilities," replied Harry. "The Forest's Thestrals feel threatened. I wish to investigate," Harry said as he approached the horse and mounted, bareback. Curling his fingers into the thick, silky mane, Harry urged the stallion up into the sky, barely remembering to cast a disillusionment charm on the both of them.
Flying over the Forbidden Forest, Harry and his winged steed quickly found the Thestrals dive-bombing a young Acromantula that was attempting to capture one of the Thestrals' young, none of which were old enough to fly. Probably one of Aragog's offspring, Harry thought. "Black Stallion, try to persuade the Thestrals to focus on protecting their young; we will herd the Acromantula towards its family."
"Of course, my Liege," the steed replied before neighing loudly. The sound garnered the pair the attention of both the Thestrals and the Acromantula. The stallion nickered and snorted; the Thestrals whinnied their reply.
"They will follow your orders," the horse reported dutifully.
"Good," Harry said as he pulled his sword from its sheath and nudged the stallion in the ribs. Together they plunged harrowingly towards the ground, weaving through the tree branches. Harry made a deliberate swipe at the overly large spider. The arachnid reared onto its two hind pairs of legs, its anterior two pairs of legs spread in a defensive, yet threatening manner.
Without words man and mount understood that directing the spider needed to be done on the ground. Arcing back, the winged beast landed on the packed earth, its black hoofs clopping before it reared, feathered appendages spread to their fullest.
Brandishing his sword, Harry utilized the powers of the stallion and directed a jet of air to the ground towards the arachnid. A line of dirt exploded, knocking the spider off balance and showering everything in the vicinity with soil. The Acromantula backed up, its actions declaring to all its indecisiveness on its next course of action. Another well-placed explosion of earth sealed its choice, and the spider scuttled off deeper into the Forest.
Sheathing his sword, Harry dismounted and walked up to the horse's head. "Thank you for your help," he said.
"It was my pleasure, my Liege," the stallion replied before vanishing in another twister of black smoke.
Harry looked around, noticing how the Forest around him gave no indication of where the castle would be.
"Aw, bloody hell," he groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead and dragging it down his face. A whinny and a gentle nudge caused Harry to glance at the Thestral before him. It whinnied again and indicated that he ride on its skeletal back.
Harry smiled slightly as he pulled himself up.
---
The owls fluttered into the Great Hall, burdened with letters and packages, despite the chilly November drizzle. Harry relieved a bird of The Daily Prophet and placed seven bronze Knuts in the small leather pouch tied to the owl's leg. Said bird took off before Harry could offer a piece of bacon off his plate.
"HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED STRIKES AGAIN!
"By Agatha Bering
"London, England—This morning, a massacre occurred in the Muggle suburbs of London early this morning. Fifty-three Muggles were killed in the raid…"
Harry read through the article, brow furrowed in thought. Doubtless Voldemort was happy about the raid. But if so, why did I not feel it?
Dismissing the thought for later musings, Harry turned as the Headmaster tapped his goblet with a spoon and stood. The young professor internally grimaced as he realized what Albus was going to announce.
"I have but one announcement to make. Beginning this evening, a Martial Arts and Weaponry class will meet here for instruction. This class is not required for graduation, and all Years are permitted to attend. This class will be instructed by none other than Professor Hamilton, who has graciously volunteered to set aside time to teach his arts to you."
The announcement was met with excited whisperings throughout the Great Hall.
"The class will meet at seven; a schedule will be arranged then." Dumbledore sat down, looking immensely pleased with himself.
"Volunteered, my arse," Harry grumbled loud enough for the aged Headmaster to hear, "You foisted your pet project on me."
Dumbledore merely smiled serenely, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Albus, is such a class necessary?" Minerva asked from Dumbledore's other side. "The students could easily injure themselves."
"I have taken the liberty of informing Poppy," replied a nonplussed Dumbledore. "She will be ready for any incoming students."
Not wanting to hear any more of "his" newest class, Harry politely excused himself from the High Table. As he retreated to his classroom, he pondered the Patronus problem, as he liked to call it in the privacy of his mind. He had been debating on whether or not to deviate from the Seventh Year syllabus and teach them the Patronus charm—however, anyone who saw his stag would know instantly who he was. Prongs was a rather unforgettable character.
He stopped walking, eyes narrowed as they stared ahead into the empty hallway and fingered his wand tucked away up his sleeve. "Would you mind my asking why you are following me, Mr. Malfoy?"
Turning around, he watched as the Slytherin youth stepped out from behind a suit of armor. Malfoy stood tall and proud despite the fact that he had been caught sneaking about red-handed.
Harry took the time to really study his former peer. Before his transformation, Malfoy had maintained an advantage of a few inches in height. Besides that, he appeared to not have changed much over the summer.
Now, after his transformation, Malfoy stood just below his horizontal line of sight. Vaguely Harry wondered if his father was ever this tall—height was determined by genes, after all. Malfoy's eyes were still the same slate gray; he still possessed the platinum blond hair and chiseled facial features so reminiscent of the Wizarding aristocracy.
"I was not following you, Professor. I had merely ducked out of the middle of the hallway to tie one of my shoelaces," the Slytherin smoothly lied.
"Forgive me," Harry said, controlling his annoyance, "I must admit I am a bit paranoid. Carry on, Mr. Malfoy." With that, Harry abruptly turned and swept down the hallway towards his quarters.
---
The Great Hall reverberated with the excited chatter of the entire student body as they eagerly awaited the beginning of the Martial Arts and Weaponry class. Students that were not originally interested were cajoled into going by their more eager classmates. Various members of the staff lingered, interested in what their fellow faculty member had to offer. Among the teachers were a giddy Albus Dumbledore, a fretting Minerva McGonagall, and glowering but curious Severus Snape.
The students quieted as Professor Hamilton entered, black silk robes and cloak fluttering in his wake. A gleaming silver sword, lightly embellished with black stone, adorned his left hip.
Stepping onto the platform that had been conjured earlier for this express purpose, Harry faced the expectant faces of Hogwarts. Clearing his throat loudly, he waited for the murmurs to die down.
"Good evening. Welcome to Martial Arts and Weaponry. I am, as you all know, Professor Hamilton. This class will teach you how to fight and defend yourself from harm both empty-handed and with weapons. I warn you now that this class will not be easy; it will require work and dedication, blood and sweat to master what I have to offer to you. Injuries will occur in this class; therefore I will not tolerate horseplay of any form. None of the techniques learned in this class are to be used anywhere else; if I hear of any brawling in the hallways, I shall assign detentions that I guarantee will not be pleasant."
Harry paused to let the severity of his warning sink in, throwing in a harsh glare to emphasize his point. Some of the students cowered under his stare while others straightened up, keen on proving themselves to the austere professor.
"Split up into four groups: those that know nothing about combat, form a group in the far left corner; those that know martial arts, form a group in the far right corner; those that know how to use weaponry, form a group in the front left corner; and those that know both martial arts and weaponry, form a group in the front right corner."
The group at the back left corner was the largest; the group in the front right corner was nonexistent. Harry noticed that all the students that knew hand-to-hand combat were Muggleborns and those of mixed heritage, while the students that were familiar with weaponry were exclusively Wizarding male children, Draco Malfoy among them.
"Those that know combat, further divide into groups based on what skills. For example, tae kwon do consists of one group, judo consists of another. Rapier is a group, dagger is another, etcetera, etcetera."
The martial arts students shuffled about into two groups, while the weaponry students remained clustered together. All rapiers, I suppose, Harry thought. Conjuring enough self-sizing practice rapiers and protective pads for the weaponry group, he called them up to the platform, instructing them to put on the gear, pick up a weapon, and form a circle around him.
"I want all of your to attack me," he instructed twirling two conjured Chinese straight swords. The sword gifted to him by the Dementors remained sheathed at his side. "This is a gauge for me to see how well you perform. Don't worry about your fellow students; just focus on me as your target. My swords are charmed to immobilize and move you away from the scuffle if I deal a critical hit, so don't panic if you suddenly cannot move. You have a few minutes to warm up. Martial arts groups, I suggest you begin warming up as well."
The non-combative audience watched in fascination as the fighters warmed up, stretched, and loosened their muscles. Harry conjured more protective wear, enough for the martial arts kids.
"Why aren't you using the other sword you have there?"
Harry turned to gaze at the speaker: Draco Malfoy. The Sixth Year's eyes flicked from Harry's face to the sword and back again, slate grey eyes veiling his curiosity.
Harry reflexively grasped both the locket of his scabbard and the cross-guard of the hilt of his sword. He simply answered, "I will not use a live weapon against you."
Malfoy scoffed but turned away, continuing his warm-ups.
"Ready."
The rapier students stepped into their ready stances.
"Start."
The onlookers gazed in astonishment as the single professor disappeared under the onslaught of the twenty-four students. Immediately twelve of the students drifted back out of the fight, settling gently on the sides of the platform. The clash of metal against metal continued. After three minutes eight more students had been sidelined. Four remained, doing their best to take down their professor.
Harry moved fluidly, his clothing flowing around him as he blocked and parried their attacks, all the while dealing attacks of his own. Slashing downwards on one of his students, his sword breezed harmlessly through the lad as he froze and drifted away from the fray. With one less to worry about, Harry easily dispatched two more, leaving him alone with Draco Malfoy.
Sweat beaded the Slytherin's forehead as he attempted to deal his professor that critical hit. Blows met counterblows as they fought. Malfoy fell a minute after the last two.
Harry straightened from his follow through to the sound of thunderous applause from their audience. Only a slight heaving of his chest indicated his rather strenuous past eight minutes of exercise. Dispelling all of his conjured swords, Harry undid the immobilization spell that he used and watched as the students pick themselves off the floor and stand about uncertainly.
"Line up," Harry ordered. The students wasted no time forming a line across the platform. Harry marched parallel to the line in similar fashion to a sergeant before his troops. "I can tell some of you are new to the art, while others are more familiar with it." He saw some students' heads dip in shame. "That is no reason to be discouraged," he continued, "I am here to help you, but it is ultimately your choice whether or not to truly learn the art. You all did well. You can relax for the rest of the class."
The swords students took their cue and filed off the stage. Harry turned to his captivated audience. "The martial arts kids, please?"
The second group of students silently lined up while still maintaining their subgroups.
"Please tell me what you have been trained in," Harry stated.
"Tae kwon do."
"Judo."
Huh. Guessed it on the dot, he thought with a mental grin. "Tae kwon do first. Circle around me; it's the same procedure as the rapier group. However, this protective gear will change from its original black color to a glowing red if I deal you a critical hit. Sit out after taking a critical hit. There are powerful cushioning charms on the gear, so none of you should be injured by this exercise."
Rolling his shoulders, Harry sunk into a ready position.
"Ready."
The students eased into their stances.
"Start."
Once again the single professor disappeared under the onslaught of fists and feet of fifteen students. Two students were knocked out on the first rush; several more fell after a few more minutes. After five minutes, all were down for the count.
The students lined up without having to be told. "You all did well, although there is still much for you all to learn. You are free to go."
The students neatly filed off the platform. Only two students remained.
"So you two practice judo?" Harry asked as he conjured a large mat on the platform.
They nodded stiffly.
"One-on-one. You first," Harry commanded, pointing to a rather rigid-looking Fifth Year. "Ready. Start."
The boy lasted a good two minutes before Harry had him pinned down. The other boy, a heavy-set Fourth Year, lasted about the same. They stood next to each other, flushed with a mixture of exertion, shame, and embarrassment.
"You two shouldn't be ashamed of yourselves," Harry told them quietly. You both did well." He slightly smiled. "Good job, both of you." Clapping their shoulders once, they exited.
Harry turned back to the audience and dispelled the protective gear that some of the students still wore. Others had already thrown them in a pile before the platform. "What you have seen here tonight is but a taste of what is to come," he addressed the audience. "If you are willing to put in the effort and time, I will do my best to train you to your fullest potential. A schedule of what is to be taught on what days will be posted within the next few days. I thank you all for coming; have a good evening all."
---
Severus Snape reclined in a leather armchair in his quarters, eyes vacantly staring into the fire. Tonight's demonstration revealed that Faustus Hamilton knew at least something in the way of physical combat. The Potions Master wondered how he would fare against the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with a sword.
Snape scoffed. It was assumed that Hamilton would be bested. Growing up in a pureblood family steeped in tradition, he had been taught the art of the sword since the young age of seven. A veritable master of the weapon, he believed that it would be all too easy to defeat the young professor.
The class would be a topic that the Dark Lord would want information on. Severus knew that the Dark Lord would be pleased to hear that some of his future followers were being taught; on the other hand, his future opposition was also being taught. He absently wondered when his next report would take place.
His thoughts eventually made a loop back to the youthful instructor. There was something about him that was… odd, for lack of better terminology. He was young—twenty-two, to be exact. While he was indeed older, why did he not possess the exuberance that was so often displayed in others his age?
Perhaps he could stage a private conversation with the young man in the teacher's lounge. Perhaps he would glean a few bits of information concerning the man's past. He had been rather tight lipped about the subject if it were ever brought up.
The Potions Master furrowed his brows. Who are you, Faustus Hamilton?
---
Ron, Ginny, Hermione, and Neville were ensconced in the Room of Requirement, discussing their latest class with Professor Hamilton.
"That was bloody brilliant, the way he can do all those tricks, don't you agree?" Ron asked, obviously in awe of their DADA professor.
Neville tilted his head in thought. "His swordplay is nothing new," he stated.
The other three stared at him.
"What?" he asked defensively, "Most pureblood children are taught how to handle a sword." Ducking his head, he mumbled something indecipherable.
"What did you say, Neville?" asked Hermione.
Blushing, Neville gazed at his Gryffindor year mate and said quietly, "Even I was taught how, though I still can't do much."
Ginny gave Neville a reassuring smile. "Don't be embarrassed about it. At least you had the chance to learn." She sighed, her smile fading away. "I wish I had the chance to learn."
"But now you can," Hermione said softly with a smile at Ginny, "We have Professor Hamilton to teach us."
"I wish Harry were here," Ron murmured, "He would have loved to have done something like this."
The quartet fell into a melancholy silence.
---
A quarter to midnight found Harry in the Three Broomsticks, nursing a warm mug of Butterbeer in solitude. His thoughts were centered on the class that Albus had "volunteered" him into teaching and the students that would be eager to participate. Around him, a party of wizards and witches were gaily chattering, obviously inebriated. Harry snorted at the scene and took a swig of his drink.
A witch from the rather tipsy crew stumbled over towards him. She giggled as she plopped herself onto the barstool next to his and stroked his arm suggestively. "Hey there, sexy," she breathed, her breath smelling heavily of alcohol. "You look like you need a little cheering up. I'll make it worth your while," she finished with what she thought in her drunken state to be a sassy wink.
Harry finished his single mug of Butterbeer and stood. "I'm sorry, madam, but I'm afraid I have other business to take care of," he stated coldly, yet politely as he fished about for his money pouch in his cloak.
"Oh, come on, sugar," she purred, pulling him back down onto his seat, her arms wrapping around his neck. Before he could move she had leaned forwards and planted her lips on his in a heated kiss.
Harry stiffened, then relaxed as the heat from her lips transferred to his, as something light and absolutely delicious wisped between them from her to him. Suddenly noticing how she had begun to grow cold from the skin-to-skin contact on his neck, Harry violently shoved her away, upturning both barstools and stumbling over his own, eyes wide with horror. He observed in his frozen terror how pale her flushed skin had become, how ragged her breathing became, how fine tremors wracked her body.
No one noticed the woman fall to the floor; the thud of her body was drowned out by uproarious laughter and animated talk.
Oh, sweet mother of Merlin, he thought in a panicky state, I nearly completed a Kiss on her! Even though she initiated it, I took approximately half of her soul before I realized what was going on! Harry nearly groaned in remembrance of what her soul tasted like. It was so good… no words can describe it! No wonder it tempts my subjects so. Harry gazed at the prone woman on the floor. Hesitantly, as if scared that his touch might inadvertently steal the rest of her soul, he picked her up and settled her on a regular chair in the most comfortable position he could manage.
Returning to his empty mug, he righted both his and the woman's barstools, placed the correct amount of money on the bar, and quickly left the pub, Streaming the instant he was out of sight of Hogsmeade.
He had no idea where he was going; the fact that he had nearly completed a Kiss on an innocent repeated itself around and around in his mind, leaving his mental faculties in complete turmoil. He collapsed onto a large, rough-hewn chunk of stone. Stonehenge, he thought as he distractedly recognized his settings.
"My Liege?" asked a group of Dementors on the ground that had Slipped from relatively near locales. "What ails you?" they asked in worry.
"I nearly completed a Kiss on an innocent! It was an accident!" Harry choked out. "How do I not Kiss someone when they kiss me or if I kiss them?" He pounded a fist onto the stone in frustration. The three-stone structure vibrated and wobbled slightly on its two pillars, the rock gnashing together angrily. Harry swore under his breath as he lurched about on top of the teetering arrangement. Planting his feet, he leapt off the quivering arrangement, landing softly on the top of another.
The Dementors flitted about in consternation, worried for their Lord. When Harry jumped to a stable formation, they congregated, consorting with each other for a little while before turning back to their Lord Sovereign.
"My Liege," they said softly, almost apologetically, "There is no way you can not Kiss someone when their lips touch yours. Neither of the previous Lord Sovereigns could find a way around this particular ability."
Harry felt something within him wither. He could never kiss someone on the lips—ever again. To do so would mean an instant death of sorts for them. I can never express how much I like or love someone with a kiss on the lips anymore, he thought numbly. Granted, he really did not really have much experience in the area, it was painful for him to realize he could never gain that sort of experience. Unless I had a nice snogging session with Voldemort for his soul, he thought sardonically. Oh, what a conversation that would be! I can imagine it right now:
"Hey, Voldie, would you mind if I had a snogging session with you?"
"WHAT?"
"Oh, you know, I've always wanted to experience a kiss from my arch nemesis, the one known as the strongest Dark Lord in recent history… Come on, what do you say?"
Urgh, Harry thought with a shudder of revulsion. No freaking way.
Curling up on top of his monolithic perch, Harry wrapped his cloak about himself to ward off the chilly night air and gazed up at the waning sliver of moon with a troubled, mournful expression. The Dementors arranged themselves around the structure their Lord was situated on, playing the role of silent bodyguards.
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"My Lord," the Death Eater greeted as he bowed in respect to his Master.
"Rise, Severus. What news do you bring me?" asked Lord Voldemort.
The Death Eater straightened, keeping his eyes respectfully diverted from his Master's face. "My Lord, last night Dumbledore installed a new class taught by the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Faustus Hamilton. This new class teaches both weaponry and Muggle martial arts. Hamilton appears to be reasonably well versed in both forms of battle. As of now, he has demonstrated relative competence with the sword and in Muggle tae kwon do and judo."
Lord Voldemort leaned back into his seat to quickly ponder this new information. "Where do the man's loyalties lie, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked.
"I do not know, Master. He has acted in such a manner that does not indicate any sort of bias," Snape answered.
"Very well. Find out his loyalties, and report back to me within the week," Voldemort commanded.
"Of course, my Lord," Snape said with a bow.
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Finally! Another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. This semester is going to be tough for me; Chinese really eats up my time. My apologies for the tardiness.
-Tal.
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Completed: 1.29.2007
Edited: 2.2.2007
Re-edited: 1.7.09
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