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 X: Preparing for War
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Poor Ron and Hermione… and Draco, I suppose. I hope the former two will forgive me when I reveal myself.
Murmuring a good night to his barn owl, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor snuggled under his comforter and fell into sleep's waiting arms.
---
"Bloody spell!" Ginny hissed, her curiosity effectively driving her up the wall during breakfast.
Hermione glared disapprovingly and chided the younger girl on her language.
"Well aren't you fed up with it?" Ginny retorted. "You can't tell anyone what you know, in any way, shape, or form! Isn't it driving you batty?"
"It is for me," Ron inserted sullenly through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Ginny rolled her eyes at the rather unattractive display of partially masticated food.
Hermione sighed in exasperation.
"What about indirect questions?" asked Neville, "We have already asked you two directly, but what about questions that can sort of, well, you know, lead us to an answer."
"Oh, brilliant, Neville!" exclaimed the youngest Weasley. "Why did I not think of that?"
They quickly finished their meal, dragging a reluctant Ron away from the table with two slices of buttered toast to appease his enormous appetite. None of them noticed the amused, barely noticeable smirk given their way from the Head Table.
The four Gryffindors settled themselves in the Room of Requirement. They agreed to a sort of question and answer session with Ginny and Neville asking the questions and Ron and Hermione trying their best to answer.
"So… did you meet someone or something?" asked Neville, beginning with a very general question.
"Yes," replied Hermione with ease.
"Did you meet a person?" queried Ginny.
"Not sure," answered Ron. "His porcupines were doing the Mexican Hat Dance."
All four sighed, frustrated with the dead end.
"Let's try one more time before we leave for class," said Ginny stubbornly. "Was it a male or female?"
"Male," answered Hermione.
"What kind of clothing was he wearing?" asked Ginny.
"He danced with butterflies and ate wooden spoons," Ron blurted out.
"Bloody nuisance," Neville grumbled.
---
The Winter Break came and went, and with it, the Christmas decorations and Professor Dumbledore's crazy animated red and green Christmas-themed robes.
True to his word, Voldemort kept his word, and Harry was informed of the battle plans via his faithful Dementors. He would be summoned by proximity to one of them, and information would be exchanged in the Fortress of Dark. Harry enjoyed spending time in the Lands of Eternal Night, conversing, fighting, and generally tussling with the stallion, wolf, panther, and dragon. Harry's proficiency at more exotic weaponry grew, and he was immensely pleased with his progress. The Dementors basked in his presence, and voiced their contentment so that he knew.
After a harsh practice session perfecting his technique with melon hammers, butterfly knives, seven-section chain whip, and three-section staff, Harry decided to call it a day. Slipping back into the other realm, he took a deliciously hot soak in his bath at Hogwarts.
The midday sun streamed in from his window, exaggerating the paleness of his skin. Sighing, Harry got out of the tub. He had a class to teach, but before that, he had a "Boggart" to find.
---
Defense Against the Dark Arts for the Sixth Years was a difficult but fun class. The lectures Professor Hamilton gave were informative and interactive. The bell rung and the Sixth Year Gryffindors waited eagerly for the first class after Winter Break.
"So," Professor Hamilton began as he strolled into the classroom, "Now that you are halfway through your second to last year, I believe it is time to teach you as though you were preparing for the N.E.W.T.S. at the end of this year."
The announcement was met with stifled groans. Only Hermione looked eager to begin.
"To start with," Harry stated, "I am going to deviate from the syllabus and jump a little." The class perked up a bit. "For the next two weeks you will be learning how to conjure a Patronus."
The class whispered excitedly. Harry already knew that a lot of them had a basis for the spell due to his time teaching the now-extinct Defense Association, but only a few were able to produce corporeal Patroni. His goal would be to have every student in his Sixth and Seventh Year classes, even the Slytherins, produce corporeal Patroni as a preemptive measure for the coming battle. His Seventh Year N.E.W.T.s class had already learned the theory, and was practicing against his "Boggart" Dementor. He was extremely proud of them.
"If I believe you are all ready, we will test your skills," here Harry grinned a small but devious grin, "against a Boggart Dementor."
The class broke out into hushed murmurs of anticipation. The Patronus Charm was a powerful spell not covered until their last year at Hogwarts, and even then it was only theory, not practical application. That was reserved for Auror training.
"Your fellow Seventh Years are currently practicing against my Boggart Dementor. For now, you will practice in a Dementor-free environment. And please," he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "don't tell them or it'll make them jealous."
Turning, he flicked his wand at the chalkboard as the class chuckled a little at their odd professor. The white stick of chalk floated upwards and began to scratch out in elegant script:
The theory behind the Patronus Charm is based off the idea…
The classroom was quiet but for the industrious scratching of quills on parchment and Faustus Hamilton's soothing tenor.
---
The delicate chords of Ludwig van Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filled the air under the skillful fingers of one Faustus Hamilton. The coming of the night had not brought him the rest that he desired, so he went off in search of something to keep his mind occupied. Therefore, he "happened" to come across the Room of Requirement on the Seventh Floor.
The young man swayed in time to the music, eyes closed as nimble fingers gracefully teased notes out of the large instrument. The sound resonated throughout the identical replica of Carnegie Hall's Stern Auditorium that the Room of Requirement had transformed into.
As the last strains of the glossy black grand piano gave way to a peaceful quiet, a soft clapping reached his ears. Muffled through the walls as if from a distance, the clock tower chimed once. Silently acknowledging the Headmaster's presence in the first tier, Harry continued playing. They continued to sit in companionable silence, allowing Frédéric Chopin's Nocturne to wash over them completely.
"So what brings you here at this hour, Headmaster?" Harry murmured, fingers still moving gracefully across the black and ivory keys.
"The power of music…" Dumbledore answered, "Captivating in its freedom, striking in its fragility, and complex in its simplicity."
Harry smiled and shook his head, chuckling softly. "That's probably as good an answer as I'll get coming from you, Albus."
The aged Headmaster grinned in response. "And what are you doing up, Faustus?"
"Enjoying the peacefulness of the night with music as my companion," was the answer.
"How long have you been playing the piano?"
Literally? For about an hour now. Fingers still breezing along the keys, Harry replied, "Not for very long. Why?"
Dumbledore smiled. "You play exquisitely. It has been a while since I've heard music played with so much passion."
"Thank you, Albus."
The music once again enveloped them, and Harry swayed reverently in time to it, following the lead of the nuances of the music. Nocturne came to a close, and soon Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Fantasia in D Minor filled the air.
As his fingers drifted across the keys, Harry sensed the Headmaster move from the first tier to the parquet level, then to the side of the stage. The youthful professor did not physically respond when he felt small tendrils of magic brush against his Occlumency shields. He did, however, give those small tendrils a "shove" in the direction away from his shields.
"It's quite rude to enter without permission," Harry chided the aged Headmaster without either glancing up or pausing in the music.
Albus sighed. "I'm sorry, dear boy, a defensive habit picked up over the years. It's a practice I'm not proud of, however necessary it was during times of duress."
Harry ended the song with the last few chords and the Room made the instrument disappear as the spacious hall shrank to a more conventional size. The piano bench Harry sat on morphed into a comfortable leather armchair. The Room created an identical chair for the Headmaster, as well as a low coffee table covered in plates with assorted pastries and a silver tea set.
Pouring and preparing the tea to the Headmaster's satisfaction, Harry began, "You didn't come here just to listen to me play, did you Albus?" Harry settled back into his chair with his own cup of tea.
"Perceptive as ever, Faustus," Dumbledore said with a quirk of the lips. "Yes, I have a matter that I would like to discuss with you." Albus sipped his tea, organizing his thoughts. "Lord Voldemort has been quiet for some time. I fear that a large-scale attack is imminent, somewhere the general Wizarding populace visit often. I am guessing Hogwarts would be a probably be a likely target—Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic as well. My informant reported that Lord Voldemort has been rather tight-lipped and wound up. His temper as of late has been exceptionally short, and he has always been a harsh taskmaster. I pity his followers."
"Just tell me what it is you wish for me to do, Albus," Harry said. He had watched how the old man interacted with his colleagues enough to know that when he rambled on in such a manner he was usually guiding the conversation to the topic he wanted to discuss.
Dumbledore's lips pressed together in indecision, his brows furrowing. At length he spoke, "I want you to teach the children things that will help them survive this war. Tactics, evasion, countering, attacking, healing—anything that will help them survive this coming war. Prepare them, mentally, physically, and emotionally, for what will eventually come."
---
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was not by any means a stupid man. He was, in all actuality, a far cry from dumb. Possessing a brilliant intellect and a powerful magical core, it was little wonder that the Wizarding world looked up to the man. When the Hogwarts Headmaster selected the young man before him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, his instinct told him that this youth before him was more than he seemed—much more.
The years in both the educational and political arena had given the Headmaster a perceptive eye. Looking at young Faustus Hamilton, he saw a youth with one of the iciest façades he had ever encountered. His surname indicated that he was not one of the Pureblood families, but he dressed well enough to pass as one. However, he was not, and for that Albus was thankful he would not have a Dark-inclined, narrow-minded instructor.
Faustus Hamilton was a complete enigma to the aged Headmaster. An intellectually gifted and strong youth, he was reclusive and icy. Albus wondered what experiences shaped the young man into the adult whom had already bid him good evening and had left the comfortable Room.
Faustus Hamilton, who are you? he wondered, unknowingly echoing his Potions Master's thoughts.
---
"So, Weasel, leeching off of the Mudblood to pass your exams?" Two sets of grunting laughter could be heard following the question—Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.
Harry heard the words of Draco Malfoy and paused before he turned the corner, intent on listening to the rest of the conversation.
"I could probably do more than you," Ron snapped back. Hermione could be heard futilely trying to persuade Ron to leave it be.
"Oh, really?" came the drawled response. "Well, then show me what managed to get through that thick skull of yours!"
Harry decided that the conversation was at an end. Turning the corner, he was met with the scene of Ron and Malfoy with their wands out, already in the process of casting hexes on each other.
"Diffindo!"
"Reducto!"
All five Sixth Years blinked in bewilderment when their curses encountered an invisible shield that rippled as it absorbed the magic. "Rules state that magic is not allowed in the hallways," Harry admonished as swept towards them, tucking his wand away. Both Ron and Draco made to protest but were silenced by a swift hand motion. "I'll not have you two arguing over who started it like little three year olds! Act your age and settle your disputes in a more civilized manner. Twenty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor for dueling in the hallways, plus detention with me tonight at eight o'clock. Now run along. I don't wan to catch you two arguing again. Mr. Malfoy, a word if you please?"
The two Slytherins and two Gryffindors went their separate ways; Crabbe and Goyle needed a pointed stare from Harry to get the idea. "Follow me, please."
The two of them made their way into Harry's office. "Please, be seated. So, Mr. Malfoy, have you obtained what you were looking for? Tea?" asked Harry as he conjured a tea set with his wand.
The Malfoy heir blinked, the only external sign of his confusion at the two dynamically different questions. "I wasn't looking for anything," he scoffed. "And yes, tea would be nice."
Harry held back an amused snort. Fixing the two cups of tea the way they each liked it, Harry continued his quest. "Obviously you were; you trailed me for a while, even sneaked into my quarters. As of late your tagging along has lessened. What is the purpose of this, Mr. Malfoy? This conversation is, as you know, long overdue."
The Slytherin Prince suppressed a shudder as his professor's tone of voice suddenly dropped into a low, and to his mind, menacing rumble.
Malfoy mumbled something unintelligible, a light flush coloring his pale cheeks.
"I'm sorry, would you mind repeating?" Harry pressed.
"I was curious," the Slytherin muttered.
To Harry, it appeared as if the Malfoy heir was… sulking. Imagine that, Harry thought with amusement, I didn't think it was in the "Malfoy Code of Conduct" to sulk. Leaning back into his chair, Harry regarded his student thoughtfully. Perhaps this would be his chance to make the Slytherin rethink his values.
"Ask what you will, Mr. Malfoy, if it will satisfy your curiosity," Harry stated blandly. He suppressed a grin at causing his student to blink in surprise.
"Anything, sir?" he asked craftily, expecting some catch to the whole thing.
"Anything," came the crisp reply. "For your comfort I swear on my magic not to breathe a word of this conversation to a single soul unless it is to aid you in any way, and only then with your permission." A ripple of magic encased the both of them, sealing the spoken promise.
Apparently this was the right thing to do, for the teen seemed to relax marginally, his face becoming less guarded.
"Loyalties?"
I guess he isn't going for subtle if I swore to silence, Harry thought, bemused. "Against the Dark Lord. He has taken loved ones away from me," Harry said softly, thinking of his deceased father, mother, fellow Triwizard Champion, and godfather. "Do you support him?"
Malfoy held himself stiffly, almost as if refusing to answer, but a look at his attentive but relaxed professor changed his mind. "I don't. I act like I do, but I don't." The breath seemed to leave his body, and Harry was suddenly shown a world-weary youth with a heavy burden on his shoulders. Sort of like myself, he reflected.
Malfoy gave his DADA professor an accessing stare, as if weighing his worth. His instincts told him that the man in front of him had a Slytherin-Ravenclaw mind, but was a Hufflepuff-Gryffindor at heart. He was powerful—if his clothes and bearing were anything to go by, they screamed his high status—and although still young, he was probably influential enough to help him wiggle out of the proverbial "tight spot" he was currently ensconced in.
Harry somehow felt that this was the turning point; if Malfoy could trust him, then he could be turned. He schooled his features to be neutral, allowing his former classmate the option that if confided in, his secrets would be safe.
The Slytherin studied his instructor for a long length of time before deciding that his secrets would be safe with this man—after all, he had promised silence. However, he would still tread extremely cautiously.
"My father, as you probably know, was sentenced to Azkaban at the end of last year because of Harry Potter, and later on escaped." A sneer. "He is a marked Death Eater. I was marked this past summer. I believed in the ideals He held, that He would make the Wizarding world a better place for Purebloods.
"I was brought along for my first Muggle torture session. I torched the houses, but could not bear to kill them—or worse, rape the women— as so many of the other Death Eaters did. I was sick to my stomach. I watched my father defile young adult females, torture the males, and thoughtlessly behead and maim the children.
"I made a mistake. I chose that side for, at the time, what seemed like all the right reasons. What I've seen has repulsed me. I don't want to serve Him any longer. No Malfoy should kneel before someone else; we are the ones others kneel before."
Harry gazed at the prideful young Malfoy. There was a determined glint in his eyes—determination for what, Harry could not fathom—but it was there, nonetheless.
"You still have not told me why you were spying on me," the young professor reminded his pupil.
"Curiosity on His part. I had to report to my father every once in a while; He was interested in recruiting you. I was to find out your loyalties, as well as how capable you were at wielding a wand. You captured His interest even further with your skill with swords and Muggle martial arts," Malfoy explained. Personally, I hope you cut Him into bloody little bits and pieces.
Harry considered the young man before him. "Mr. Malfoy, would you be averse to informing the Headmaster? He has much more experience and influence than I do, and would probably be in a better position to help you."
Draco looked faintly disgusted with the idea of informing Dumbledore. "I'd prefer not; I don't trust the old coot."
"So why trust me?" Harry asked.
Malfoy glared at Harry before replying. "I see a mix of things in you. Instinct tells me you are inherently trustworthy. You possess Ravenclaw intellect, Slytherin cunning, Hufflepuff loyalty, and foolhardy Gryffindor courage. Intellect and cunning are usually enough to keep you from making rash decisions."
Harry blinked. He had not known that Draco could be so perceptive. Just another trait, he supposed, that was trained into him as the Malfoy heir and future political power.
"An interesting analysis of my person, Mr. Malfoy. Just keep in mind that everyone that works here lives to help students like yourself, regardless of the situation. Personally, I would suggest your Head of House, if you refuse to talk to the Headmaster. A little food for thought, no? You are free to go, Mr. Malfoy. Good day."
Malfoy stiffly nodded and swept out of the office. Harry leaned back into his seat and pondered what to do in light of this new information.
---
At precisely one minute past eight, both Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy stood rigidly in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom eyeing each other warily. Harry himself sat at his desk.
"You are both here to serve your detention for dueling out in the hallways. Now, as I see it, you two have a lot of energy that needs to be burned up, as well as a lot of animosity built up between each other. I am going to fix that tonight. You are both going to duel me as a team. You will watch out for each other. If you do not, you will have failed in your objective and will come back here every Sunday evening at eight until you can work together as a flawless unit."
Both students gaped at their teacher.
"But that's not fair!" protested Ron and Draco simultaneously.
Harry silenced them. "Consider this subsidiary training to what you are learning in DADA," Harry said. He could not exactly tell them that they would possibly be working on the same side now. He also had a feeling that this training would prove useful in the future.
"Prepare yourselves," Harry instructed. The two students stepped into ready stances, still watching each other with wariness.
One hour thirty minutes and multiple bruises and scratches later, the two rivals stood hunched over, puffing and out of breath. Harry tended to their injuries, healing the cuts. He gave each of them a small jar of cream to rub over the bruises, which would heal overnight. They had not worked as a team, as he had expected. Rather, they would shoot spells at each other when the other's attention was on their professor.
Harry dismissed them and shook his head. They would learn with time.
---
The nightly Martial Arts and Weaponry classes so far were extremely successful. Students came faithfully to the class, putting in the work to become better. There was much blood, sweat, and even tears from the students; yet all were doing what they could to excel.
A meeting for all of his students was called one Saturday evening. They all crowded into the Great Hall, wondering why they were being summoned. While a few of them grumbled about being called on a Saturday, most of them were nonplussed, for they truly enjoyed what the class had to offer.
The platform appeared before them, identical to the first night, and there were muted murmurs of dismay. None of them wanted to be used as a demonstration once more.
"Good evening," Harry greeted as he strode up to the platform, his forest green robes flowing behind him. The class chorused a salutation.
"I have called you here tonight because there are a few things that I'm going to change up some of the usual training that you have been receiving. I intend on adding more to your classes." Harry waited until the whispers subsided. "I am going to add to your training tactical analysis and evasion techniques, as well as dueling with both your chosen activity and magic. Although not many people acknowledge it, we are at war.
"You lot might be young, yes, but it never hurts to be prepared. My job here as a professor is to help you in any way I can to prepare you for the world outside of academia. My job therefore includes passing down knowledge that can help you survive to see the end of this war.
"That being said, I will be cutting into the time we normally use for your individual skill of choice and spending more time focusing on how to plan battles and evade fire. At the end of this year we will have a tournament to see just how much you all have learned. Teams will consist of all Years of all Houses; it will be up to your individual teams to devise strategies to survive."
Here, Harry smirked a little. "A prize will go to the team that emerges victorious."
Harry waited to allow his message to sink in. "Have a good evening and a good rest of the weekend."
---
The week after Professor Hamilton's announcement to his Sixth Years revealed the students tittering anxiously as they awaited the arrival of their instructor. All eyes followed the professor as he entered the classroom.
"Welcome back, Sixth Year Gryffindors! Now, you all have been learning the theory behind the Patronus Charm for the past week. This week we will be working on the practical aspect. We will be learning how to cast the charm in the classroom. If by Wednesday, your wand work is satisfactory, we will see exactly how successful your efforts paid off." Harry neglected to mention that since his worst fear was no longer Dementors, a Boggart was not a viable option. He would actually be bringing one of his subjects in the guise of a Boggart.
Harry knew Hermione would doubtless make the connection between Harry Potter's greatest fear and his "Boggart". However, it could be said that many people would have the black robed creature as their worst fear if they had ever encountered a real Dementor. It was something he could play off. He supposed he should plant more evidence that there was a different between Faustus Hamilton and Harry Potter. Hermione was just too persistent to let things lie, especially if it was about the Boy-Who-Lived.
Clearing away the desks so that there was open space in the center of the classroom, Harry bade the students spread out and turned around so they could follow his wand's motion. "Now, to produce a Patronus, you flick your wand like so—and say 'Expecto Patronum'. Remember the theory behind the spell and think happy thoughts. Now, copy my movements and repeat after me: Expecto Patronum!"
The cantaloupe-sized spheres erupted from Harry's wand, their ghostly appearance and muted whispers causing the class to gasp and slightly recoil. A silver otter joined the spheres, as well as a Jack Russell terrier, and a fox. Harry recognized the animals as Hermione, Ron, and Seamus', respectively.
Humph, he thought sardonically, At least Hermione isn't going to link me to Harry Potter in the least with my changed Patronus.
The Patroni lingered for a little bit before dispersing into delicate wisps of silver smoke.
"What were those, Professor?" came the voice of Hermione Granger.
"Orbs of light," Harry fibbed, "Although why I have so many, I can only guess. Anyhow, practice on your own. I will come around to help those that need it. To those that can already produce a Patronus," here, he smirked to himself, "Congratulations on performing such difficult magic. Please use this time to help your classmates should they need it."
For the rest of the class period Harry weaved between students, correcting their wand movements or pronunciation. Sometimes he would have to push his students to find thoughts that were sufficiently happy enough to fuel a Patronus—or at least some silver mist.
Class ended and the students retired from the room, exhausted but pleased. Harry let loose a small grin that was quickly wiped off his face as his next class entered.
---
A snowball fight raged outside the walls of Hogwarts that late January afternoon. Shouts and laughter could be heard as people chucked and dodged the icy projectiles.
Currently Gryffindor was waging war with Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. The House of Slytherin had declined in joining in, silently declaring such an activity as undignified.
A certain Defense Against the Dark Arts professor observed the frivolity from a window on the fourth floor. The eagles and badgers had joined forces so that their numbers combined rivaled the numbers of the lions. Considering how the Gryffindors had won the snowball fights in previous years, it was, therefore, surprising to note that Gryffindor was currently losing the "war."
Deciding to make use of this form of play as a constructive lesson, Harry descended to the ground floor level, stopping by his office to pick up his heavy black winter cloak and matching scarf and gloves. A warming charm finished off the job as he swept out into the chilly snow-cloaked landscape.
He arrived at the edge of the "battlefield," taking a moment to watch the white balls soar through the air, some missing their victims by several feet, and others slamming into their intended target.
Instinct kicked in and Harry flipped his wand out, destroying a snowball headed his way with a muttered, "Reducto." The orb exploded into millions of harmless particles, dusting Harry over.
"Professor Hamilton!" a startled voice called out. Turning towards the speaker, he identified the young girl as a Third Year Ravenclaw. She currently held her fists pressed against her lips, her eyes plainly expressing her agitation and mortification at lobbing the snowball at her DADA instructor.
"I'm so sorry!" she began, a long string of apologies ready on her tongue.
Harry gently shushed her with a soft gesture as he approached the girl. "It's all right, Ms. Collins, it's all right. I'm not hurt, and I know that you were simply throwing them at the Gryffindor fortress without really aiming. I understand." He favored the distraught girl with a slight smile.
Turning to face his audience at large, he spoke. "I actually came down here with the intention of adding a lesson of some sort into this. Just listen for a moment," he said, interrupting a series of groans, "It's actually going to be fun. You will be throwing snowballs at your classmates. You'll also have a chance to throw snowballs at me. I promise. I do, however, want you all to try this out. You lot have separate forts already made. What I want you to do is to find some way to infiltrate your opponent's fortress with the least losses to your side; Gryffindors versus Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Think of this as a practice run for the MAW tournament."
Harry grinned as his students, who originally were grumbling about it all, began their plotting. "A majority wins vote then. Who wants to continue the snowball fight as it had been before I came out?" About a quarter of the students raised their hands. "And those that want to try this new battle of tactics?" The remaining three-quarters raised their hands.
"The majority rules. You have five minutes to devise a strategy. I myself will be participating, doing my best to take out people on both sides. It will keep you on your toes. Build up your fortresses, stock up your ammunition. I will announce when time's up. Your five minutes begin now."
A flick of his wand and a ghostly blue timer was ticking away, the numbers a dark but glowing cerulean. The students huddled closely together, forging their plans. Meanwhile, Harry took this time to study the layout of the area and the way the fortresses were built. He could easily pick out areas that could, with little difficulty, be infiltrated in both fortresses. Scattered trees and snowdrifts provided excellent cover. He would utilize them to his advantage.
Harry was curious as to how well his students would be able to think up strategies in only a few minutes. This would be a good indicator of who was a quick thinker and who was not.
The five minutes passed, and Harry called out, "Time's up! Man your forts!"
The students scrambled to do just that, hiding behind the walls of packed snow.
"On my count! Ready! Set! Begin!" The professor dove to the ground as snowballs whizzed through the air where merely milliseconds ago his head was.
Casting a shield that ballooned around him, Harry picked himself up and sprinted towards one of the trees off to the side. He ducked behind it just as a white sphere flew past his left shoulder. Packing the snow with gloved hands, Harry peeked from behind the tree and shucked the snowball at the Gryffindor fort. A startled scream emanated from Fifth Year Ginny Weasley, who had taken the hit in the right shoulder on her back.
Harry hid once again, letting loose a small chuckle. It was liberating to not have to act like an adult for once. Packing another snowball, he took aim at the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff base. Sixth Year Terry Boot managed a strangled, "Urk!" as he was nailed in the chest.
The war raged on, with many students getting pegged by Harry at one point or another. Both sides made several attempts at rushing at their opponent's fort, but none made it in. After twenty minutes of flinging balls of snow, Harry called for time.
The combatants gathered in the middle ground, damp from melted snow and sprinkled liberally with flakes of snow. Their cheeks were flushed from excitement and cold; their eyes glittered happily and there were smiles on every face.
"So, was it easy to get into the other's base?" There were a lot of shaking heads. Harry grinned slightly. "It's not easy. It's never easy to do something like that, particularly when you have to watch your back for rogue attackers." Here Harry grinned mischievously.
"You may have heard the Aurors' stories of how they stormed a camp of Voldemort's, but in reality, it takes a whole lot of information and careful planning. I didn't expect any of you to actually reach your goal of infiltrating the other camp. Your attempts, while rather simple and transparent in nature, were admirable. Well done."
The group as a whole beamed with the praise.
"Now you have an idea of what the tournament will be like. I hope that this experience will aid you and your future teammates to victory. Now, as it is getting dark, why don't we all head inside for dinner and a hot cup of cocoa?"
---
"All of the logistics have been worked out and gone over with a fine-toothed comb, my Lord. We have calculated and recalculated our plans, checked them over multiple times for errors or flaws of any sort. We foresee no problems with it. The Dementors have assured us that our plans are agreeable to their Lord."
The two Dementors gave a nod of their own.
"All we need now, my Lord, is a date."
The Death Eater backed away with a reverent bow, stepping neatly into the half circle of followers assembled.
Voldemort studied each of his Inner Circle members carefully, absent-mindedly stroking a snoozing Nagini.
"You have done well, my loyal Death Eaters," he praised sibilantly as his Inner Circle bowed as one.
"You are too kind, my Lord," they replied.
"I have need of your skills, each and every one of you. There are certain… items… that need retrieving; you must be exceptionally careful in handling these items. These items are: a cup, a locket, and a diadem. These belong to Hufflepuff, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw, respectively. I also would like you to retrieve a ring that belongs to the House of Gaunt. Fail this task, and I will be most displeased. Anyone who fails to retrieve these items safely will suffer a torturous, slow death."
There was nervous silence after Voldemort's announcement, which had been complemented with a severe glare directed at each individual.
"Do not fail."
There was a harsh finality, a stark promise of pain, in the command that made his most trusted shiver with trepidation.
The red eyes focused on one particular Death Eater. "Lucius has already had a taste of what happens. Should you feel so inclined, ask him about his… experience."
The singled out Death Eater drew himself up haughtily while bowing at his Lord's acknowledgement.
"I will give you the locations of these items at a later date, as well as hints to what protects these items. Remember, Lord Voldemort can be very generous when pleased."
"We will not fail you, my Lord!" a Death Eater exclaimed, the feminine voice revealing her identity to be Bellatrix Lestrange.
The red eyes gleamed malevolently. "See that you don't."
---
The Dementor stood, waiting for him in the main hall of the Fortress of Dark.
"What news do you bring?" asked Harry.
"The Evil One has finalized his plans, my Liege," the Dementor replied. "We also heard something rather disturbing, my Liege."
"And what would that be?" Harry asked.
"It seems that the Evil One has begun searching for powerful artifacts of importance to him. He mentioned a cup, a locket, a ring, and a diadem. These were mentioned with names: Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Gaunt, and Ravenclaw, respectively. He instructed his minions to take utmost care not to harm the items on pain of death. What do you make of this, my Liege?"
Harry's mind whirled. Hufflepuff's Cup. Slytherin's Locket. Ravenclaw's Diadem. Gaunt's Ring?
Horcruxes… The word, remembered from a past life, echoed in his psyche. Horcruxes… Horcruxes… Items that each hold a shard of a splintered soul…
Like the diary in Second Year, Harry thought, realization crashing down upon him. I've got to destroy the horcruxes in order to destroy him.
"I think it's time Dumbledore knew where Harry Potter disappeared to."
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I hope you enjoyed it and please, review. Many thanks to those of you that reviewed; my gratitude knows no bounds for your input and support! I am still looking for a beta, just so you know. I have decided to incorporate information from HBP into my story, and will probably do the same for DH. As to Ron and Hermione's actions in the previous chapter, all I can say is: foolish Gryffindor bravery.
-Tal.
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Completed: 9.8.2007
Edited: 9.8.2007
Re-edited: 1.8.09
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