HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN
A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction
BY
Jayiin Mistaya
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
...never tickle a sleeping dragon
COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.
More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.
Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Fundamentals
They walked into the gym before the sun had peaked over the horizon.
Harry was carrying Dudley's gym bag. His back ached and stung and his stomach growled quietly. New bruises throbbed, and muscles he had thought in relatively good shape protested the harsh treatment of the previous day. His head was starting to ache from the strain of seeing without his glasses, and he knew it was only going to get worse.
Duncan was waiting for Dudley. He was an imposing figure, nearly seven feet tall and seemingly sculpted from solid muscle and sinew; he had his arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes blazing, his face an expressionless glower. The redhead extended an arm the size of a tree trunk, muscle corded like high-tension wire rippling as one thick finger indicated a far corner of the gym.
"Put fatty's bag in the corner and go in the back with Gracie."
He didn't say a word to Dudley; instead, he favored Harry's cousin with an impatient grunt.
Harry turned away as fast as he could, barely remembering in time Dudley had ordered him not to watch – but not before he caught a glimpse of the struggle between determination and spoiled laziness battle it out on his cousin's doughy face as he started to run his laps around the indoor track.
Dropping Dudley's bag in the corner, Harry slipped inside the back room as quickly as he could – he had no intention of drawing ire from Dudley or Duncan. He closed the door and found himself in total darkness.
From the light into the dark. Harry thought sardonically. The story of my life.
Fire flared into existence as if by the magic Harry knew so well; the brief flash of light almost blinded him. His eyes cleared to see Gracie light the candle sitting in front of her with a flick of her wrist, flame trailing over the wick just long enough for it to catch before the motion extinguished the match.
Contrasting the hissing violence of the match, the candle was a caress of light, pushing the dark away, leaving a globe of flickering bright orange and dappled shadow. Harry hesitantly moved toward her, but she stopped him with a raised hand.
What is going on here? His stomach tightened, and he started to wonder if it had been wise to accept her offer. I knew it was too good to be true.
And just because she had used a match to light the candle didn't mean she wasn't a witch – and it didn't mean she wasn't working for Voldemort. Or Dumbledore. Or Fudge.
"Uh-huh, kid." She spoke softly, but with authority. "Shoes, socks and shirt off first. Bow to me, then sit."
Her tone wasn't admonishing, but there was a hint of a rebuke. Harry complied, shivering a bit as the mechanically chilled air raked over his skin and scabs.
He sat cross legged on the floor across from her. She gave him a brief nod.
"From now on, when you come in, you take off your shirt, shoes and socks. Bow at the door and then bow to me."
Harry nodded. That makes no sense, but I've had teachers ask me to do stranger things than that.
"I tested you yesterday."
Harry's face darkened, but he didn't say anything. He let her continue.
"You passed." Her voice was flintier, harsher than he was used to it being. "But you're desperate to learn, and that can be dangerous."
Her silence told Harry it was his turn to talk, but instead of an answer, he only found another question. "What do you want me to say?"
Gracie barked a harsh laugh. "That's a better answer than I gave my own teacher when he put me in the same spot I just put you." She sighed, and fixed her eyes on his. "Harry, I want you to do the impossible."
He couldn't resist flashing a quick half-smile. "I'm good at that."
"I hope so." Gracie answered. "Because I want you to reconcile two mutually exclusive things. I want you to question everything I teach you, ask every question that comes to mind, and I want you do to whatever I tell you to do without hesitation. Can you do that?"
Harry paused. I think I'm in over my head. This is all too weird. Weird or not...who else could he turn to if he was going to learn to clear his mind? Snape wouldn't teach him, and Harry didn't want to wait until he went back to Hogwarts to train with Dumbledore. And what else was he going to do all summer?
"I don't know. But I want to try."
Gracie huffed. "Again, with a better answer than I gave. All right, then, kid. You said you wanted to learn to clear your mind, and this morning, you're going to start learning how."
- 0 -
Harry bit back a groan as he picked himself up off the floor. Again.
For the last two hours, he had spent more time laying on the thin blue mats Gracie had laid out on the floor than he had spent standing. And every time he got up, Gracie would throw him back to the mats, then tell him what he done wrong.
"Knowing how to fall is the fundamental skill of learning martial arts, kid. If you don't know how to fall, you're never gonna master any other skill I teach you."
Of course, Gracie had told him the same thing about how to stand. And how to breath. And how to walk.
It seems that everything is 'the' fundamental skill.
But he had no idea how having the older woman throw him to the ground was teaching him anything except how to fall down. He was certain he had already mastered that particular skill, at least from how easily she managed to throw him each and every time.
So he stood back up and braced himself like she had shown him, and once again, she threw him down. And once again, he tried to breathe out and slap the ground as he fell.
Once she was satisfied he was getting the hang of falling, she had him get a drink of water and take a few minutes to catch his breath.
Then they started again, this time shifting back to learning the slow, graceful movements of tai'chi. Though it did give his back a break, tai'chi was just as hard in its own way as break-falls were. It required concentration and control of a degree that Harry was very unused to.
Training with Gracie was like nothing he'd ever done before; Hogwarts, regardless of what it taught, was still a school and operated inside the paradigm of school. Gracie's teaching was staggeringly different.
She would show him something once, maybe twice, then it was up to him to master it. He would keep trying, while she watched and corrected him. He would try again and again until he got it right several times in a row, then she would move on to something else.
She asked him questions that seemed to be random or even absurd. "So tell me, kid – what is breath?"
He had answered her with what he thought were the facts. "Breath is breathing; air going in and out of the body to bring oxygen to the blood."
She had shaken her head. "Breath is life, kid. Energy. You can't survive without breath for long at all. Food, water, shelter – these things you can survive without for long periods. Not so with breath. It's energy in, and it's energy out. How you breathe determines what is done with your energy, how 'good' it works or how 'bad' it works. Breathe wrong, the energy is wrong. Breathe right, and the energy will flow through you. Chi – life force, life energy, whatever you want to call it – it's the fundamental energy that lets you live and move and act. Respect it, be in harmony with it, and you'll have all of it you'll ever need. Breathing right is the first step to tapping into that energy."
Harry had then concentrated on his breathing, and not the movements of the form. Gracie had stopped him, and made him start over.
"Mind. Body. Spirit. Chi runs through 'em all, kid. Breathing focuses, movement directs. Make the two the same; breathe in, and pull back towards you. Inside motion. Breathe out, move away from you. Outside motion. Each motion made with a breath taken or released. Slow and easy does it. Speed and power are your enemies in training."
It had taken him half the day, but when he had finally realized if he concentrated on the motions, his breathing fell into sync without conscious thought.
But no matter how hard the training was, Harry was surprised to realize he was actually enjoying himself. Gracie set him clear goals and was equally generous with praise and criticism as he struggled to master the techniques and movements she was teaching him. He was earning his aches and pains through honest work instead of Uncle Vernon's 'discipline' or battles against Voldemort and Death Eaters, and the physical exertion gave him the same satisfaction Quidditch practice always had.
Best of all was that Gracie had kept her word; much of what she was teaching him would help him discipline his mind as well as his body, and with every technique he mastered, he was that much closer to mastering Occlumency and keeping Voldemort from seeing what was in his mind.
As he practiced, he tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his mind that crowed with triumph.
He had found a way to learn Occlumency without letting Snape torture him every night. He had found a way to learn to protect himself, at least physically, from the likes of Death Eaters and bullies like Draco Malfoy and his hench-thugs, Crabbe and Goyle. He had found a way to protect his mind from Voldemort.
And maybe, just maybe if he could learn enough and become strong enough, he could convince Dumbledore to let him be a part of the real fight against the Dark Lord.
Each time the thought threatened to sneak to the forefront of his thoughts, Harry ruthlessly suppressed it, the way he had suppressed fantasies of having a real family who loved and wanted him while he was growing up.
Dumbledore doesn't trust me because of what Voldemort can see in my mind. Snape doesn't trust me because I'm my father's son. Ron and Hermione and even Ginny shouldn't trust me because being my friend means becoming a target.
He could live with that. He didn't trust Dumbledore, not after what the old man had kept from him. He had never trusted Severus Snape, and he doubted that would change anytime soon. And he had lived without friends for the first eleven years of his life; he could do it again.
But then why couldn't he stop hoping Ginny – or Ron or Hermione - would send him a letter? Or that Snape would realize James Potter was a dead man Harry had never met? That Albus Dumbledore would help him discover 'the power the Dark Lord know not.'
- 0 -
Nymphadora Tonks should have been bored.
After all, she was sitting outside McAllister's Gym on a bus stop bench, staring in the front windows, watching Dudley Dursley being worked like a Malfoy house-elf under the strict and demanding eyes of Duncan McAllister.
But she was too worried about the person she was supposed to be watching to be bored. Although she was beginning to understand why all the cops on her father's TV shows always smoked, drank coffee, and ate doughnuts on stakeouts. It gave someone something to think about, to keep their hands busy, and to keep them awake.
Unfortunately, there was only so much you could hide with an invisibility cloak. The aroma of coffee or the telltale wisps of smoke apparently wafting from nowhere would be dead giveaways. And not only did Tonks not want Harry to spot her, she didn't want anyone else to spot her. She was mortally certain, given his orders regarding the boy, that Cornelius Fudge had his own people watching Harry.
I bet they can't get into 4 Privet Drive or the back room of that gym any better than we can.
Or so she fervently hoped. Thus far, all the Order's watchers had been able to determine was that Harry would be spending most of his summer in that back room, with a woman named Gracie McAllister. Dumbledore seemed unconcerned – even somewhat optimistic – about the situation. But, as usual, he was the only one. Everyone else was worried.
We don't know what's happening to him inside either place! The most we can do is follow him around all sneaky-like and hope he's not starving to death or being transported from one locked room to another, like some kind of prisoner.
The problem with following him around all sneaky-like was that magic made it remarkably easy and effective, if sometimes boring for the person being sneaky. Meaning she could be sitting next to one of Fudge and Umbridge's agents who was thinking the same thoughts she was and not even know it. Or – for all the Order knew – such an agent was even now in the back room with Harry and Gracie, keeping a far closer eye on the Boy Who Lived than his friends and protectors could.
What made it worse for Tonks was that she was staying at the Burrow, and whenever she returned there – no matter what time of day or night, Molly Weasley was waiting for her. And Molly's mother's eyes asked questions the Weasley matriarch didn't give voice to.
What am I supposed to tell her? That Dumbledore says I'm supposed to sit on my ass out here because if I get too close to Harry, he might spot me?
Her only comfort was if Dumbledore were right about Harry being able to spot the Order, then any of Fudge's agents who got too close would be caught by Harry. Except they wouldn't be as amused about being discovered as a member of the Order would be.
So Tonks just had to sit, and wait, and worry.
- 0 -
Harry leaned back against the wall, and let out a slow breath. He couldn't remember when he had last been this tired. Or hurt like this.
It's like some kind of slow-motion Cruciatus...
When Gracie had finally finished with him, he had sunk down to the floor and leaned against the wall. She had just chuckled.
"Seriously, kid, you've done better than I thought you would. Don't be so hard on yourself."
Harry closed his eyes, and let the slight breeze from the air conditioner dry the sweat running down his face and chest.
Something hard slapped against his stomach. He looked down, and saw a large, five subject spiral notebook, with 'college-ruled' paper. A pack of green pens was taped to the back of it.
He looked up, and saw Gracie grinning at him. "What, you thought you wouldn't have homework?"
He groaned. "A guy can hope, can't he?"
Gracie's chuckled. "Hope away, kid. That there is your Journey Book. I expect you to write in it when I tell you to – I'll give you specific things to think about and to write about. And I expect you to write in it when I don't tell you to. I want you to keep track of what you learn – connections you make, things you understand or observe. Questions you have. Start tonight; write about breath. Tell me why breath is energy."
Harry just nodded, and leaned back against the comfortable wall.
Which is exactly where Dudley found him ten minutes later when it was time to go.
End Chapter
Revised 12-25-07
