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Act II - The Warlock of Hogwarts
Chapter 7 - Purpose
"Are you well, Potter?"
Harry looked up at Minerva McGonagall's worried expression and silently nodded. Just as Dumbledore had said, the Transfiguration Mistress had indeed been waiting for him right next to the gargoyle statue. His new quarters had been refashioned from the old unused classrooms on the third floor, the same place that housed the Fluffy and everything beneath the trap door. Only this time, it was transfigured into a private dormitory for himself, a guest room, and a mini hall, doubly serving as a workstation for spellcasting. They had even put up a portrait at the door as a security measure.
"Password?" asked the portrait, a beautiful, exotically dressed woman with ribbons of gold flowing down her black tresses.
"Colchis," McGonagall intoned, and the door swung open. Harry followed through, and found himself staring at a pretty large bedroom, but still smaller in size than the one he had at Black Manor, a couple of couches for visitors, a bath and a study to the right. Candle stands were placed on all four walls, with light coming in from a window on one end. His trunk was already relocated beneath his four-poster bed, and his clothes hung on the wardrobe.
"It's quite rudimentary," The Transfiguration Professor said, "so feel free to modify it. The Headmaster informed me about your⦠special status as a Warlock, and as an Unspeakable Prospect."
Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Was his Unspeakable Internship an open secret now?
"Professor, about those change of subjects I mentionedβ"
"I received your letter, yes. I'm glad you're no longer going to undermine yourself in class. Merlin knows Miss Granger needs some competition."
Although Harry ducked his head out in embarrassment, he accorded the woman with a slight incline of his head. "I'll give it my best shot, Professor."
McGonagall stared at him. "Potter⦠you do not make such statements lightly. I hope you hold to your word, as it has been irritating for me to see potential such as yours wasted the past three years. You said you received some instruction in Arithmancy during the summer, yes?"
"Sirius gave me a few lessons."
And Fleur had covered ward theory for beginners, though mostly from an application point of view. But that was neither here nor there.
"Sirius Black is a gifted Arithmancer. Takes after his father Orion. I hope you took his lessons seriously," she said softly, her smile somehow containing a gentle reproof. "I received intimation from Professors Babbling and Vector that their newest apprentice Miss Delacour has been developing something based on your unique brand of magic. Is that right?"
Harry jolted slightly. The conversations in the evenings with Fleur in his room often ended up visiting his own brand of magic. The nature of his power, the differences between its nature as a fundamental aspect of the universe and its effect, both active and passive, on different forms of magic, and so on. He had enjoyed discussing them with Fleur, often gaining precious insight from her in the process. He had assumed she was just probing for information to figure out why his magic had fucked up with her Tomb ward, which she likely did. But he hadn't seen any other purpose.
But to think she had decided to alter her entire research to employ his Death powers in her warding schemes and make it her project for her mastery was mind boggling.
I swear she'll be the death of me.
"Professors Babbling and Vector have asked that you see them tomorrow. Bathsheda has asked you to join the fifth year students for Runes class. I've also received word that Miss Tonks will be arriving at Hogwarts intermittently to help you with your private studies?"
He nodded. "That's what I heard too."
"Very well. What about Divination? Would you like to keep it or drop it?"
Harry shook his head. "I'll drop it."
McGonagall smiled victoriously. "I'll let Sybil know that."
"Umm, Professor, I'd also like to drop Transfiguration."
McGonagall went very still, staring at him with wide eyes, her face devoid of expression. Then a fire flickered in her eyes, cold and angry.
"May I ask why?"
"Because I can't."
"Potter⦠Harry, it is not unusual to find one's affinities to a magical discipline changed after a magical accident. But that does not mean you should give up. I'm willing to coach you in the basics if that's what you're afraid of."
Harry shook his head. "I'm not afraid of it, Professor. I just can't do it."
"Can't?"
He nodded.
She pursed her lips. "I will see it with my own eyes first, before I make that decision. Does that work for you?"
He shrugged.
"I see," She pursed her lips, before her eyes lit up. "That reminds me, the Headmaster informed me about your purchase of a most unusual wand. Is that true?"
Harry arched an eyebrow.
"I have," McGonagall replied, a tinge of pink on her cheeks, "a deep appreciation for wandlore, Potter. In my youth, I often visited Ollivander's shop to learn secrets of wandlore but that man never entertained me. Said I did not meet the requirements of a wandmaker." Her lips formed a childlike frown. "But that doesn't stop me from reading wands whenever I find an interesting specimen."
Harry chuckled, and flexed his wrist, his wand spinning into his palm. He met her approval at his decision to wear a wand holster, and held it out for the professor, who took it cautiously. She looked at it very carefully, weighed and tested it for a long moment. Her expression relaxed, as if she was so immersed in her fascination for the wand that she just forgot to look intimidating. After a while, she waved it.
Nothing happened.
She waved it again.
"It works for me, Professor," he supplied. "Just me."
It was an interesting facet of his wand. He didn't know if it was his blood and the Peverell magic that was used to craft the wand, or the thestral hair core that was just being stubborn and choosy, but his wand just didn't work for anyone else. At all.
"Hmm," said Mcgonagall, almost to herself. "Interesting."
"Professor?" said Harry, a bit lost.
"It's a very interesting and⦠strange piece of work, Potter, just like you, it'd seem. I'd have said it is a fine substitute for your previous wand, but I'd be lying. There is as much similarity in them as a phoenix does to a basilisk. But that does not undo the fact that both are intensely magical and powerful creatures by their own right." She paused, spinning the wand softly, paying careful attention through her full-moon spectacles.
"Yew," she pronounced, "a rather rare wand wood if I might say so, infamous for its unusual and occasionally notorious matches. Known to produce some of the most esoteric forms of magic, much like a phoenix wand core."
She looked him in the eye. "What is the core?
"Thestral hair."
Her eyes narrowed, she frowned and tilted her head slightly, puzzled. "Thestral hair. Are you certain?"
He nodded.
"I have never heard of a thestral hair core wand. Or at least, one wielded by anything famous. Powerful creatures, those, but their magic does not conform to the known laws of magic." She paused, and then her eyes raked up to his. "A side-effect of your Family magic, perhaps?"
"I⦠think so."
McGonagall promptly gave the wand back to him.
He gingerly took it, and sent it whooshing back into the holster. His wand was powerful, he knew that much. Almost every spell he could cast came out stronger than ever. But, there was always this sensation at the back of his mind, the wand whispering to him to channel something other than magic, something that resonated with the wand more than anything.
Wood from the Tree of Death.
Hair of a creature visible to those that had seen Death.
Blood of the one that was destined to be Death's avatar.
He tried very hard not to dwell on that fact very much.
"Potterβ¦." She trailed off, as if conflicted on what to say. "I know things have been quiteβ¦ grave for you, recently. But allow me to say this, it's not common to see a student who has found his purpose. Most individuals have their will of heart scattered in a million parts and for teenagers, it's worse. You're lost in a world where everything entices you and you crave for everything around you. Greatness, power, romance β the list goes on, but very, very rarely do I see a student that has found a clear clarity in life."
Her eyes met his. "I might be wrong, but it feels you have gained that clarity. That purpose. The wand you wield is tangible proof of that. I do not know it drives you, but I hope you get what you want."
Harry nodded at her. "I'll keep that in mind."
"See that you do."
And then she turned around and left.
Harry watched her go, then closed the door and walked to his new dormitory. In many ways, this reminded him of his own room in Black Manor, only there was no Sirius around. Coming to Hogwarts always made him exhilarated, like breathing fresh air after being cooped inside a room for too long. Quite literally, given the Dursleys. But this year, he felt sad. Nostalgic. Missing the room he had begun to call his own over the summer. Was this what being homesick felt like? Did Ron and Hermione, and everyone else at Hogwarts, feel what he was feeling back in their first year?
Grabbing the golden chain on his neck, Harry pulled it off him and tapped it with his wand, muttering the release phrase under his breath. The shrinking charm was undone, as his trunk adjusted itself to its normal size. With practised flicks, he got the clothes out of his trunk and put them upon the shelves, followed by the books, cauldrons and other equipment he needed for his classes. Finally he took out Snape's copy of Extreme Incantations and floated it to the desk. Confronting the Faceless, Secrets of the Darkest Art and Compendium to Medieval Sorcery quickly joined the stack.
Hecate was probably sleeping in the last compartment, but he needed to quickly figure out an alternative arrangement for her. He doubted letting the giant snake slither about his dorm room would be a good idea, and the eccentric serpent would require some breathing room, somewhere it could move about at will without having to fear for anyone's safety.
Conveniently enough, he had one such room available. Just for himself. One where he could do what he pretty much pleased, work on his Death magic, without anyone being privy to his secrets. With a laugh, Harry sat down, cupping his face as he realised what he was about to do.
"Balls! I'll be adding a new monster to the Chamber of Secrets!"
β¦
β¦
Over the next several hours, he prepared the room for himself, even adding a couple of wards he had learned from Fleur, just to keep annoying pests out. He showered, cleaned up, and generally, never stopped moving. If he did, the homesickness might start creeping in, and he wasn't sure how to deal with that.
He didn't even consider trying to sleep. It just wasn't going to happen.
So he stayed in motion. He did his regular exercises. He set up a spellcasting corner in the tiny hall, and cycled through all the spells Sirius had him cast on a daily basis and finished with a powerful stunner. His godfather did not believe in fancy spellcasting, and believed that it was the skill and casting speed that made a fearsome warwizard. Snape likely preferred having an arsenal of esoteric and unheard of spells up his sleeve. Harry couldn't choose between the two, so he had gone with a mix of both. He was debating whether to get started with his preliminary exploration of the Chamber, when there was a polite knock at the door.
With a flick of his wrist, his wand came spinning into his palm. A quick tempus charm told him it was almost ten. Just who could have come to his room this late?
"I'm coming!" He called out, summoning a shirt from the hanger to make himself look decent. He walked towards the door, and pulled it open.
There stood Fleur.
His heart started beating faster. He took a moment to observe how the satin purple robe she was wearing was hugging her curves, only managing to highlight them instead of protecting her modesty.
"Hi," she whispered, a small smirk floating on her face.
"Hi, uh," He said, opening the door wide. "What are you, uh, doing this late?"
"Manners, Monsieur Potter," she mocked, "I'm a professor now, no?"
Before he could reply, Fleur stepped into the room, looking at him expectantly. It took him a moment to realise he was guarding the entrance, and stepped to the side, allowing her in. She sauntered into the room, casually inspecting the work he had done on it. She cast a quick glance at the trunk, and the package that was still tied to it, then looked at him and smirked. It was his birthday gift from her, a portable wardstone incorporating the fundamental essence of her Tomb ward.
"Ehh," He said, "sorry, Professor Delacour, what are you doing here, in my room, this late?"
Her bright hazel eyes regarded him obliquely for a moment before her lips thinned slightly. "I zot that was obvious, Monsieur Potter. You were shifted to a new room. It is my job to see that my students are well-accommodated."
She quirked a smile at him that promised things. "Are things to your liking, Monsieur Potter?"
"Uh, yes," He almost smiled back at her. "But a closer inspection wouldn't hurt."
"Is that so?" She walked towards him and leaned, enough that a glance down would have afforded an interesting angle to the V of her robes. "Well then, let's get started, shall we?"
The next moment, he was moving forward, his lips approaching hers. She closed her eyes and pursed her lips. His lips met hers softly.
Harry felt sparks.
Neither of them wanted the pleasure to end. The next thing he knew, he was being pulled towards the bed, until he fell into her arms. Any hurt or emotion he felt only increased his passion. The homesickness, the frustration with the Ministry and everything else that had been brimming within him wanted an escape. He gave them one.
Fleur.
With a flick of his wand, the door snapped to a close. A locking and silencing charm from Fleur's rosewood wand took care of the rest. The door would not open until the next morning.
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