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 VIII: Slytherin Encounters
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"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.
---
True to his word, Professor Hamilton had a schedule up two days after his introductory Martial Arts and Weaponry class. The students soon learned to use the acronym "MAW" to refer to the class. Sessions were two hours each; there were introductory and advanced classes for the assorted arts offered: sword, tae kwon do, and judo. Two other types of martial arts or weaponry had to be requested and approved with a class size of at least ten interested students. Sword classes took Mondays, tae kwon do took Tuesdays, and judo took Wednesdays. All classes were in the evenings from seven to nine. Special request classes took up the Thursday and Friday slots.
Even with the new classes and thus, a busier schedule, the next few weeks found Professor Hamilton more reticent and detached than usual, if that were at all possible. There seemed to be a haunted look about his eyes, a deep, somber despondency that seemed to physically weigh him down. If he caught couples together after curfew during his rounds after hours, he would quietly deduct points from their respective houses and dismiss them. Those he encountered did not argue with him and told their dorm mates how his eyes held an indescribable pain that somehow made them want to reach out to him.
Defense Against the Dark Arts classes with Professor Hamilton were the same as before—he was still just as strict, but there was, again, that heavy, leaden gloom that he seemingly carried about everywhere with him. Ideas circulated within the student body as to how to cheer him up, but his taciturn manner quickly killed the courage needed to follow through.
Individual members of the faculty had also noticed their colleague's sudden depression but were unable to help, for he politely rebuffed their entreaties to talk. Severus noticed but deigned the matter unworthy of his personal interaction with the man—he chose instead to observe. Minerva wondered if the stress of the added Martial Arts and Weaponry class was the source and fretted over the young man's health—she had taken a motherly liking to the quiet, solitary youth. Albus was at a loss of what to do, considering he did not know the young man very well, and therefore was unable to find something that could lighten his burdened spirit.
Both staff and students walked on eggshells around their DADA professor. His despondent mood seemed to lend him the air of a bomb waiting for a trigger instead of the air of a man with clinical depression.
---
Harry had decided, during one of his bouts of moodiness, not to teach the Patronus Charm to his Seventh Years. The risk of someone recognizing Prongs was too great. He muttered darkly to himself as he traversed the hallways towards the Great Hall.
Having since eased out of his weeks-long stupor, Harry could not help but feel just a tad bit angry and resentful. What deity in Circe's name did I piss off enough in a past life to warrant this sort of punishment? he mentally snarled. Why can't my life be normal and boring like everyone else on this blasted planet?
To work out his frustration, Harry had taken to practicing his martial arts, swordsmanship, and other forms of weaponry in the Room of Requirement, battling animated dummies that the Room created for his personal use. He immensely enjoyed the workouts, as they both helped him keep his skills sharp and gave him a sense of accomplishment.
Stepping into the Great Hall, Harry swept in, his silk robes gliding behind him with soft swishing sounds. Chatter continued, although it momentarily dimmed ever so slightly at his appearance. His tightly leashed anger fairly simmered beneath his skin.
Settling himself at his customary seat at the High Table, Harry opted to serve himself a Muggle-inspired lunch of smoked turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich quarters dressed with Romaine lettuce, tomatoes, red onions, pickles, and slathered with chipotle-flavored mayonnaise. A side of spicy barbeque flavored kettle cooked potato crisps and a single pickle spear complimented his entrée.
"Interesting choice for a meal, Hamilton," Severus remarked as he eyed the plate with a raised brow. He himself had opted for something a little more substantial.
Harry took a bite of one of his sandwich quarters. "It's something I like," he commented tonelessly after swallowing. He tossed a crisp into his mouth, the deep-fried potato slice crunching loudly.
Taking a last swig of his specifically requested iced tea with lemon, Harry polished off his lunch. He lingered for a little while, reluctantly participating in the small talk that Albus and Minerva continually tried to engage him in before excusing himself from the table.
"Faustus," a voiced called, stopping Harry from quitting the Great Hall.
Turning, Harry found the Potions Master stiffly walking up to him. Both students and faculty quieted immediately and looked on with unabashed curiosity.
"Professor Snape," Harry greeted neutrally, "What may I do for you?"
"I am curious about your skill as a user of weaponry. Perhaps we could cross blades in a friendly duel?" Snape proposed. His inquiry fulfilled two purposes:
1.) He wanted to gain information for the Dark Lord so that he would not be punished too severely, if at all; and
2.) He wanted to satiate his own curiosity about the man's abilities.
Harry studied the Slytherin Head of House, suspecting ulterior motives: namely, digging for information due to a request from Voldemort. However, seeing as how the entire school was watching attentively, Harry closed his eyes and nearly sighed, refraining from pinching the bridge of his nose. Snape had asked nicely, which in and of itself was nothing short of a miracle; it would be rude to turn down his offer.
"What time would be best for you?" Harry asked, somewhat resignedly.
Snape blinked. His colleague had been silent for so long he was somewhat worried his offer would be turned down. Regaining his composure almost instantaneously, he replied, "How about this weekend: Saturday evening, here in the Great Hall at eight?"
Harry nodded. "I'll be there."
---
The second weekend of November came without any hitches. Harry's moodiness had finally faded away, leaving the residents of the Hogwarts castle heaving sighs of relief. The amount of anticipation and excitement in the air rivaled that of the Triwizard Tournament. The students tittered and whispered eagerly as Saturday's supper drew to a close.
It was approximately half-past seven. The students left the Great Hall in clusters, chattering excitedly about the events to come within an hour's time.
Harry sat at his place at the High Table, watching the students leave. His sensitive hearing could hear the various conversations, all of which were concerned with the mock duel to take place between Professor Snape and himself. His eyes briefly flicked over to observe his "opponent."
Snape had just finished his glass of pumpkin juice. Standing, he strode over to halt before Harry. "I'll see you in approximately half an hour."
Harry nodded, and the Potions Master left in a swirl of black robes.
Rising, Harry bid the other members of the staff farewells, and headed towards his quarters. His jaw clenched as he sensed Malfoy once again following him. An idea came to him. It was sneaky. It was underhanded. It was absolutely Slytherin.
Harry entered his rooms, all the while keeping tabs on the young Malfoy. Grabbing a book off his bookshelf—he did not care which one—he waved his other hand about, wandlessly setting the trap in near the entrance. Touching the door to infuse it with a spell, he then left his rooms, purposefully, yet seemingly carelessly leaving the door to his quarters almost unnoticeably ajar. He sighed gustily, somewhat loudly muttering about how Albus had asked to meet with him right before a duel with Severus. Grumbling to himself he walked down the hall with a small frown imprinted on his face and turned a corner.
---
Draco watched, hidden behind a corner, as Professor Hamilton entered his rooms, only to emerge a few minutes later with an old tome under his arm. Disgruntled muttering could be heard about Dumbledore as he walked off in the direction towards the Headmaster's Tower.
The Sixth Year Slytherin eyed the door to Professor Hamilton's abode. It seemed that in his haste, the young professor had not closed the door properly. Checking to ensure that the coast was clear, Draco quietly crept around the corner. His curiosity was strong; the Sixth Year knew that a person's room, or in this case, quarters, revealed much about said person.
His desire to know more about the quiet, tight-lipped professor overrode the more Slytherin trait of cautiousness. Glancing about once more, Draco pressed his hand on the door. Before he could react, he was jerked gracelessly through the door. Yelping, he landed in a heap in the carpeted living room of the professor's quarters. Getting off the floor with an injured sense of dignity, Draco came up nose to wand point with Professor Hamilton.
Oh, bloody hell, Draco thought, gulping as he took in the professor's rather dark expression.
"Care to explain to me, Mr. Malfoy, what you are doing in my quarters?" Harry asked softly, an undercurrent of something rather unpleasant lacing his words.
Draco barely kept from gaping like a fish at seeing his professor in his own quarters when he had clearly seen the man on his way towards the Headmaster's Tower. Had the man apparated within Hogwarts, when know-it-all Granger had mentioned apparition was supposed to be impossible? "Wha-what are you doing here?" Draco blurted out before immediately biting the inside of his lower lip while furiously berating himself for his momentary lapse in control of his tongue.
Harry had to keep his lips from twitching at the humor he found in the situation. It was not often that the silver-tongued Malfoy was at a loss for words. "What am I doing here, Mr. Malfoy? I live here," he blandly stated, gesturing casually at the room behind him with his free hand while studying the prostrated student.
To Draco it appeared as if the professor was sizing him up—and apparently found him somewhat lacking. The Slytherin puffed up at the unspoken insult. Lowering his wand, Harry turned, gesturing for the Malfoy heir to follow. Draco's sense of injured pride melted away and he looked nervously about, studying the interior before following his professor.
The décor was dark and understated, but dignified and undeniably masculine. A dark-wooded built-in bookshelf was filled to the brim with countless tomes, save for a single slot in which Draco assumed was where the book Hamilton had toted was housed. Carved black marble figurines of artfully posed winged creatures graced his mantelpiece on the wall opposite the bookshelf. A set of black leather furniture sat opposite the fireplace; a low mahogany coffee table completed the arrangement. The aforementioned missing tome was lying innocently on the coffee table. Several ivory, softly scented candles hung suspended in strategic areas, lending the room a mysterious, yet comfortable feel. A partially opened door near the fireplace revealed a neatly organized bedroom. Overall, the decoration was fairly Spartan in nature, and, in Draco's opinion, extremely tasteful.
Harry settled himself into the armchair, gesturing for Draco to take the opposite seat. Draco rigidly lowered himself onto the sofa.
"You never answered my question, Mr. Malfoy," Harry commented calmly, icy blue eyes boring into Draco's slate gray ones.
Draco mentally cursed. How was he going to dig himself out of this one? "I was looking for a place where I could practice for my practical in Charms tomorrow," Draco lied, mentally patting himself on the back for a good save. "The door was ajar; I thought it was an unused classroom."
Harry just gave Malfoy a long stare complete with a raised brow, one that clearly stated, "You honestly expect me to believe that load of shite?"
Fidgeting under his professor's relentless stare, Malfoy awkwardly admitted the truth. "Actually, sir, I came in hoping I could learn more about you."
Both Harry's eyebrows shot up near his hairline. While he had learned Legilimency and how it worked, Harry made a vow to himself not to invade the minds of his students or colleagues unless information was needed in a dire situation. Therefore, the Malfoy heir's response was highly unanticipated.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
Draco, flushed a pale pink from embarrassment and shame, snapped out, "You heard me," before adding on a more respectful, "sir."
Harry leaned back into his chair. Malfoy wanted to learn more about me? Most likely he is, like Snape, digging for information. However, this is the best scenario I can possibly imagine to try to change his mind. The boy has such a sharp mind; pity it's so clouded by prejudice.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Harry turned his somewhat scheming gaze on the Slytherin. Maybe…
"Mr. Malfoy," Harry began, startling the Sixth Year, "Since you've stated that you've taken some sort of interest in knowing more about me, do you have any questions you want to start off with?" He briefly glanced at the watch he had bought while shopping in Diagon Alley. It read seven fifty-two.
It was Draco's turn to blink. He had expected his professor to rage and rant about how his privacy was invaded and to deduct House points. He had not expected to be sitting in his living room having a civilized conversation. "Er…"
Come on, Drake, can you be any more eloquent? he thought sarcastically to himself.
"Well, I suppose for starters, how old you are and where were you born?" the Slytherin asked.
Harry promptly answered, barely hiding his smirk, "I am twenty-two years of age."
A gobsmacked Draco's jaw dropped.
"And I was born in Austin, Texas, in America to a Wizard father and a Muggleborn Mother; moved to London when I was about thirteen years old," Harry finished. It was what he had written in his résumé, at any rate—part of it was true as well.
"You're twenty-two?" Draco repeated, clearly unable to come to terms with the fact that his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was that young. He acted so bloody old for his age!
Harry shrugged. "I was orphaned at a young age. I proved to the U.S. MORB that despite my age, I could handle doing everything on my own."
"U.S. MORB?" queried Draco.
"United States Magical Ordnance and Regulations Bureau," Harry answered.
"Oh," was the somewhat dumbstruck response.
Glancing at his watch, Harry rose from his seat. "Come, Mr. Malfoy, I have an appointment at eight and do not wish to be tardy. Perhaps we can finish this conversation another time."
Draco obediently followed, immensely grateful that his professor did not pursue any sort of punishment.
"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy? Ten points from Slytherin for lying to me," Harry said as they traveled through the various corridors.
I spoke too soon, Draco glowered as they both headed towards the Great Hall.
---
The Great Hall was abuzz, similar to the first night of Harry's first Martial Arts and Weaponry class. Students clustered around the conjured dueling platform, sitting in the benches arranged around the stage. The High Table remained, where the Hogwarts staff sat to watch.
Harry arrived in the Great Hall, Draco in tow, two minutes until the hour. Separating from the Malfoy heir, Harry stepped up onto the platform. Severus swept into the Great Hall moments later, a sword strapped to his hip. The Potions Master approached the platform and climbed the steps.
The Headmaster then stood up, the students instantly hushing each other. "Good evening. Tonight, we are gathered to witness a duel of blades between Blade Master Severus Snape, and Martial Arts and Weaponry Professor Faustus Hamilton."
The two professors pulled their swords out from their respective scabbards. They each took a few minutes to warm up, all the while discretely observing their opponent.
Severus held an aged, but well kept rapier of a simple, yet elegant design. It was lightly built, but Harry knew that the blade was extremely sturdy, considering the enchantments he sensed were built into it.
Harry himself wielded the Blade of Darkness, as he had dubbed the nameless heirloom since everything about him seemed to inherit the word "Darkness" when taken in context with his Dementor subjects.
Indicating to the Headmaster that they were both ready, Dumbledore stood once again. "Gentlemen, honor your opponent." Holding the hilt at nose level with the point up towards the enchanted ceiling, they swiped their swords downwards to their right.
"En garde," they both murmured in unison, snapping into their preparatory stances with a crispness and preciseness that amazed their audience. Time seemed to freeze, nobody moving, breathing, or blinking as they waited for the action to begin.
Harry stared Snape in the eyes, waiting, anticipating that burst of fire in the eyes, the minute muscle tensing that heralded the beginning of an attack. Lifetimes of experience honed the young man's reaction to almost instantaneous.
A twitch. And they were off. Metal clashed against metal as they attacked, blocked, lunged, and parried. Harry began on a more cautious note, carefully withholding much of his skill, speed, and strength. Although his technique was perfect, he was a touch too slow. Severus scored a hit, the point of his rapier razing his left arm.
The combatants stepped back to the gasps of the crowd. Harry quickly inspected the damage. It was shallow, a topical wound, however much it bled. Looking up at Severus, he nodded. "Three," he said, and the Potions Master knew what he meant.
They were at it again; steel squealing against steel, grunting with the force of their blows. Harry relaxed his control over his physical enhancements slightly and managed to scratch Snape twice, while Severus gained one more hit on Harry, bringing his total up to two. Whoever caused the final scratch would be declared the winner of the match.
Harry wiped the sweat off his forehead. Snape's really giving me a workout! he thought with a slight grin. I haven't had this much fun in a while, Quidditch notwithstanding!
The last clash between the swordsmen was the most spectacular event of the evening. While their previous skirmishes were to try to scrape each other, they were both extremely determined to be the one to have the final honor. There was a vigorousness and intensity that was not there before. The blades glinted in the candlelight, flashing in time to their seemingly choreographed dance of death.
Without warning a sword went flying across the Great Hall, causing many students to duck. It sunk itself into one of the massive doors that lead to the rest of the school, quivering with the force of its momentum.
All eyes turned back to the platform to find Severus Snape on his back, a sword barely grazing his throat. The two professors stared at one another before Harry withdrew and sheathed his sword before holding his hand out. Snape hesitantly took the offered hand and allowed Harry to help him to his feet.
Snape dusted himself off before gazing at the victor. "Congratulations for your victory," he stated stiffly, "It's been an honor."
"Thank you. You are a worthy opponent," Harry complimented.
Severus relaxed a bit after Harry's comment. They nodded at each other to the cheers and applause of staff and students.
---
"Come closer, my precious allies," Voldemort summoned, gesturing to the tall, black-robed figures. Curling black smoke emanated from where their legs would have been; their faces were firmly shadowed by their hoods. They slowly approached the pale skinned man, their breaths rattling eerily.
The frigid air, artificially created by the magical beings, hung stagnant and thick in the great room. The fear that characterized a Dementor's approach wrapped itself around and within Voldemort; the man stubbornly refused to give in to his inner demons, maintaining his façade.
"My prized Dementors, I have called you here tonight so that I may ask you this: in exchange for any and all souls baring my own and perhaps my Inner Circle, would you do me the honor of crowning me your Lord?" Despite his strong, confident exterior, the Dark Lord was actually somewhat anxious—however much he denied it to himself. He had no references on how to accomplish such a deal with the Dementors, considering it had either never been done before, or such a deed was never recorded.
The Dementors as a whole recoiled as soon as the last word left his thin lips, their rattling breaths changing to urgent clicks and screeches. The Dark Lord watched in tense curiosity as they quieted, as if coming to some sort of agreement. The one closest to him silently extended an emaciated hand, showing all five bony fingers.
Without noise they turned and agitatedly quit the room. That late November evening, they left behind a rather stunned and bewildered Dark Lord wondering what was so significant about the number five.
---
The last week of November brought the first light flurries of snow. As the week passed, the gentle wisps changed into the raging howls of a blizzard before dying to gentle flakes once more. The castle was draftier than ever, students walked in tight clusters to ward off the winter chilliness.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom maintained a relatively comfortable temperature, courtesy of a line of magical fire that burned a bluebell color along the edges of the room.
Classes were all gearing towards end-of-term exams, DADA included. Harry was finally nearing the three-quarters point of his multiple syllabi. He heaved a mental sigh as the last class of the day filed out of his classroom door.
Rolling his shoulders, he stretched his back and decided to spend the rest of the time before dinner enjoying the outdoors with the help of a warming charm.
Pulling on a thick winter cloak, Harry made his way outside, passing bundled up students scurrying through the drafty halls. With a wave of his hand, the giant doors to the outdoors opened, blasting frigid air and snow into his face.
Unperturbed, Harry stepped out, the doors automatically closing behind him. The warming charm cast, he proceeded to walk about the snow-littered grounds. The lake had frozen over. Harry absently wondered how both the giant squid and the merpeople survived under the ice. Shrugging, he transfigured his shoes into ice skating boots and stepped onto the lake.
After wobbling and falling a few times, Harry managed to get the hang of ice skating. The smooth gliding of his feet, combined with the snowy landscape allowed Harry to relieve tension that he did not know he had. Grinning slightly to himself, he became more daring in his moves, progressing from the simple straightforward skating to easy flips and spins. This, in turn, progressed into the more complicated jumps and combination spins that he had only seen on the screen in his mind, a memory of a few souls fortunate enough to have been able to practice the sport. Of course, he had his fair share of spills in the process, all of which were softened with cushioning charms.
Hours flew by, and Harry paid no heed of the time. As the daylight faded away into twilight, Harry subconsciously released several spheres of energy, all of which sank into the ice itself, illuminating the surface from below with a strong, ethereal white glow.
As Harry skated about, a rusty laughter bubbled up from his throat. It was fun, and it was different. Quidditch was about the thrill of the chase, the competition between Seekers to catch the Snitch first. With the duel with Severus, it was again a competition, a desire to prove one's prowess and superiority with the blade.
This was different. There was no competition; only himself, the ice, and the sensation of flying—so achingly similar to riding on a broom with the sky as his only companion. Harry jumped, executing a triple toe-triple toe combination with grace and nailing both of the landings. Finishing with a scratch spin, Harry slowly glided around the lake, cheeks flushed and out of breath as he began cooling off.
"Wicked!"
The custom made wand was immediately pulled out and aimed at an unsuspecting Ronald Weasley. Although his reaction was still extremely quick, to Harry, it was noticeably slower due to his state of exhaustion. He blinked as he then noticed that most of the student and staff population was there, watching him even as they shuddered with the cold.
Harry pushed himself towards the banks, transfiguring his shoes back to normal with the help of his wand once he was ashore. Another wave and the glowing lake dimmed into darkness. Harry slid his wand back into his holster and supported himself with his hands on bent knees.
"Faustus!" called a jovial voice.
Already knowing who it was, Harry did not bother to glance up. "What are you lot doing out here?" he panted.
"Wonderful show, my boy! If I had known you were going to do that, I might have set up a little spell that would allow us to see you from the Great Hall," the Headmaster exclaimed, his breath condensing upon contact with the icy atmosphere. "A glowing lake is rather hard to miss," Albus added with a twinkle in his eyes.
"I see," Harry grumbled as he straightened up and began his trek back to the castle, everyone else following. Upon entering, Harry headed straight for the Great Hall, wanting to see if dinner was still going on. To his disappointment, dinner had long since passed; it was already eight forty-two.
"You missed dinner," Albus said, slightly startling the younger man. "I suggest heading towards the kitchens to find a bite to eat. Would you like me to accompany you?"
"No thank you, Albus, that is not necessary," Harry replied politely. "Thanks for the offer, though."
The aged Headmaster nodded. "Very well, I shall take my leave. The ever-growing piles of paperwork call," he said, sighing in a melodramatic manner.
Grinning slightly at the older man's antics, Harry shook his head and began his journey to the kitchens. Harry took little notice of the Malfoy heir's newfound habit of trailing him—he was slightly too tired to care at the moment. He suddenly froze, feeling his subjects approaching.
Shit, he swore as he tore down the hallways, knowing it was only a matter of time before the professors and students would feel the effects of the Dementors. Sensing Draco following him, he mentally swore once again and turned a corner. Once out of sight of the youth he utilized the inhuman speed he possessed. As he neared the front door he could sense the cold had noticeably grown; so much to the point that he knew with certainty that the professors were on their way out the fend off the dark cloaked creatures.
Pushing the doors open with a heave, Harry sprinted across the grounds, locating the darkened mass of ragged cloth. His keen hearing picked up the somewhat anxious rattling of their breaths. Immediately he knew something was wrong.
Shouts behind him signaled the arrival of the professors; he had to act quickly. Shouting as loud as he dared in their tongue, he rattled, "Don't come here! The humans will fight you! I'll send a Patronus after you; appear as though you are retreating! I'll meet up with you later!"
Reverting to English, Harry yelled, "Expecto Patronum!" All the while praying to every deity out there that his Patronus would not be the recognizable stag.
The Dementors turned tail and fled from the multiple white forms that exploded from Harry's wand. Harry himself had stopped running and was staring, his mouth hanging slightly open. His Patronus was no longer Prongs, the Animagus form of his father.
Luminescent spheres the size of cantaloupes drifted about, now that the Dementors had gone. They were blue-tinted and pearly, yet iridescent, with ever-changing colored tails that streamed behind them. Soft, comforting murmurs echoed from them. Souls, Harry belatedly realized, My Patronus consists of souls.
The Dementors gone, the Patronus souls faded away, leaving all the professors present rather gobsmacked. Harry blinked once, then again, and physically shook himself out. Well, that solves the Patronus problem with my Seventh Years, he thought sardonically before the shock overtook him and he keeled over in a dead faint.
---
The first thing he noticed was how dark the place was: he could not see anything at all. The second thing he noticed were the soft incoherent mutters that seemed to surround him, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The third thing he noticed was the distinct taste of Honeyduke's best chocolate on his tongue.
Pale, icy blue eyes groggily fluttered open to focus on the dimly lit, sterile white ceiling of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. A rather cross Madam Pomfrey stood to his side, a boulder-sized hunk of chocolate on the nightstand next to his bed.
"Dreadful creatures," she muttered, "Coming onto the school grounds! The dratted things should be guarding Azkaban, not roaming about here!" She mumbled some more under her breath, stopping once she realized her patient was awake.
"Faustus! How dare you scare us all like that!" she railed, "Do you have any idea what you were getting yourself into? Oh, of course you do, you're the DADA professor for Merlin's sake!" She shoved a fist-sized chunk of chocolate in his hand. "Eat this," she commanded, "Only then are you allowed to leave. Albus would like to see you as soon as you are able." Turning, she headed towards her office, muttering darkly about his hapless subjects the entire time.
Harry blinked as he stared at the Mediwitch's still open doorway. The Dementors honestly did not affect him—he was one, for Circe's sake—but the unexpected comprehension that he would not see Prongs again had hurt more than he could handle.
Biting the piece of chocolate rather like an apple, Harry got out of the bed and strolled out the door, bolting the moment he heard the Mediwitch's shout of dismay.
In due time he made it back to his quarters, partially melted chocolate in hand. Setting it on the coffee table on top of a napkin, Harry washed his hands and face. He had one more meeting with Albus to go to; his subjects would have to wait.
---
Various members of the Hogwarts staff crowded into the Headmaster's office. All of these professors had been called primarily because of their ability to produce a corporeal Patronus. Currently they were sitting in the Headmaster's flowery couch conjurations, all discussing the newest member of the faculty's Patronus—all save Albus, who was ensconced in his chair and sucking a lemon drop, and Severus, who leaned against a darker corner and generally frowned upon the entire situation.
A knock on the door quieted everyone. "Come in, Faustus," Albus called from his seat.
The door opened to allow the youthful professor in. Nodding to those present, he asked, "You asked for me, Albus?"
"Yes, my dear boy, I did. Please, sit." Albus indicated another flowery armchair that he conjured. As Harry settled himself, the Headmaster cleared his throat. "Faustus, what you did tonight was extremely brave of you. Your Patronus was simply spectacular. However, we are curious—what was your Patronus, and why were there so many? As of now, no one has been able to create multiple Patroni with a single incantation."
Harry's mind raced. How to explain such a phenomenon? Taking a deep breath, he plunged in. "I really can't tell you," he said with a shrug, "I don't know. This is the first time I've been able to cast multiple Patroni with a single incantation. I've never done that before."
Albus' heavy white brows furrowed thoughtfully as the other staff members discussed the idea amongst themselves.
"Has your Patronus or Patroni always been those…?" Albus trailed off, clearly in the dark about the iridescent orbs of light.
"Yes," Harry lied with a straight face, "My Patronus has always been those orbs of light. Except there usually was only one." He opted to neglect informing them that the orbs were actually souls. Somehow, he got the feeling the information would not be well received.
"Could you have just pushed more energy into the spell, creating more of them?" asked Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor.
"It doesn't work that way, Pomona," squeaked Filius Flitwick, the Charms professor. "Pushing more magical energy into the spell simply increases the intensity and strength of the spell. It does not cause the spell to split into multiple spells." The diminutive teacher looked to the Headmaster for confirmation.
"Filius is correct. I myself have tried to split a single spell into multiple spells with a single incantation. It is something I am willing to guess the Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries would do much to understand why spell splitting cannot be done."
Harry mentally groaned. Ye gods, why can't I be normal? Looking about the office and seeing his colleagues deep in thought, he asked, "Are there any more questions?" When no one answered, he stated, "Well, you know where to find me." With that, he left the office, leaving his pensive peers behind.
---
Stonehenge was just as he remembered; the giant monoliths stood defiantly against the cold, cloudy night. The timeless structures had held their own against the elements, and would continue to do so for ages to come.
Black smoke swirled about the feet of the single being that stood in the centre of the arrangement. The black cloak and robes the figure wore were of a rich, nameless fabric embroidered with silver thread; a beautifully wrought sword hung on his left hip. A silver medallion hung from his neck, resting on his sternum.
"Come, my subjects, thy Master calls," Harry intoned. The curling black smoke flared out farther from him, allowing the summoned Dementors shadows to emerge from. Within a few minutes' time, all the Dementors had assembled, all gathered around their chosen leader.
"You called, my Liege?" they asked as one as they bowed.
"Indeed I have. Earlier tonight several of you sought to find me. What matter was so urgent that you risked the pain of several Patroni?" Harry asked.
"The Evil One summoned us this evening with a special request. He asked us to crown him Lord Sovereign of Darkness. While we know we cannot do this, we thought it prudent to ask for your orders on how to handle this matter. We understand your desire to be discrete with your title. Five nights from now he will await our answer. What is your will?" one of them asked.
"Where is he located?" Harry asked.
"His paranoia is great. He has enchanted a mansion to be unplottable and undetectable by magical means. We can follow his summons with ease, but another enchantment confounds the senses, disabling them from orienting oneself properly. We can find the location only by his summons," the Dementor explained.
Bullocks! Harry thought, frustrated. "Thank you for your information," he said, "It has been most helpful to me."
"We live to serve, my Liege," they all replied.
"When he summons you next, inform me. I wish to drop by for a little visit," Harry said with a small smirk.
"As you wish, my Liege."
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Thank goodness, another chapter done! I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. I am basing my story off the books, not the movie, so Harry has not seen a soul before. Also, I am a geology major, so I am allowed my liberties—"MORB" stands for mid-ocean ridge basalt. Nice useless tidbit of information for all you non-geo majors (which is almost everybody).
-Tal.
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Completed: 3.19.2007
Edited: 3.22.2007
Re-edited: 1.7.09
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