I'll publicly answer questions on the forum I created for this story.
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"The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." - John Milton
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Harry didn't go to dinner, instead seeking out his room. He hadn't gone to see Professor Vector either, he had simply left Lisa in the corridor to come straight here. His attempts to focus seemed futile with something tugging at him constantly, and he found it difficult to center himself in his magic, to clear his mind. He fingered his wand in his hands, trying desperately to enjoy the warmth it usually brought, and looked out over the lake. The dark waters continually froze, only to break up and re-freeze from the Dementors and their drifting presence.
What did they do to me?
It was late, and it was likely that his absence from Ravenclaw tower would be waved off as another trip back to the Hospital Wing. His encounter with Malfoy may well have been common knowledge by now.
He turned to the polished table Daphne had arranged in the middle of the room. She wanted to turn it to quartz, but she struggled to make it permanent.
He looked at the table and spotted his journal, lying open to the last page he had been perusing.
The man that became known as Kubera was born with a close kinship to all the precious metals in the earth. As he grew in power and strength, so did this connection, until he was able to turn aside even the sharpest of blades with a thought, and summon sheer spires of silver to lay waste to his jealous enemies.
He saw that the metal he summoned was a part of him, drawing it in and drinking deep of it, until he himself was steel. He learned to manifest this internalized part of himself and bare it into this world as a force.
He turned the page away from his notes on the Indian God-King, instead leafing numbly to the pages he had devoted to the amortal creatures which currently haunted him. Next to it was everything Harry could find in the restricted section on the monsters.
No solution to his current dilemma immediately presented itself. There were some theoretical notes that referenced the parasitic empathy of the creatures, and discussed whether it was more related to Legilimens' or a powerful Empath's abilities.
Further down, there was a theoretical arithmantic expression for the Dementor's soul consumption. Next to that, were some of the other known uses of Soul magic; Homenum Revelio and the killing curse most notably. The presence revealing charm touched upon the soul in a way that was similar to the way a cheering charm touched the mind, but it was the killing curse that truly interacted with the soul.
It was also his best bet for understanding the nature of the monsters. Harry looked up as a sliver of warm light touched the far wall, and turned to watch the sun rise. It melted the frost which had formed over both the lake and the surrounding country. For a second, he just breathed.
He reached out with a hand and tried to pull his quill to him.
It didn't even twitch.
He was sick. Something was so very, very wrong with him.
He held out his wand and muttered a quick, "Carpe Retractum." It worked, and the quill was caught in his hand, but it moved slowly and, for a moment, his hand had struggled to gain purchase on the feather. His shaking had abated to a barely noticeable tremor and, at the very least, he could perform third year charms, if barely. He winced.
The door opened behind him and Neville walked in, coming up short at the sight of his friend's back. Harry turned towards him.
"Harry?"
"Hey Neville. Forget your Magical Creatures book?" Harry pointed to a chair where the book sat, turning back to look at the Dementors.
"Er-yeah I did." Neville paused. "I didn't expect anyone to be here this early." It was eight, breakfast was coming up.
Neville strolled over and grabbed his book.
"Uh… Harry?" The teen turned back. "Lisa, well… she told us what happened with the mirror and we're-"
"Neville," Harry interrupted. "Please. Not now."
"Er-yeah. Okay. Sure. But I don't know if Daphne-"
"Daphne will have to cope."
"She told us you heard screaming!" Neville had clenched his fists. "This isn't good, Harry you need to-!"
"I hear things no one else can all the time, Neville."
"This isn't the same as parseltongue!"
Who said I was talking about parseltongue?
"You couldn't even beat Malfoy! Malfoy, Harry! You need help. Let us help you for once."
"So, what? You're going to help me?" Harry returned. There was more heat in his tone that he would have liked. Merlin, he was even losing grip on his emotions.
"Of course!" Neville looked angry.
"How?" That brought Neville up short. "Madam Pomfrey couldn't, how are you going to?"
"We'll-l-l…"
"Your concern is appreciated." Harry dismissed, before facing back to the monsters outside. "But you can't help me." Harry breathed to try and calm himself. There was nothing to latch onto, just that cold, alien emptiness inside. He couldn't even grasp Neville's emotions to give himself that shred of stability.
Harry sighed as Neville walked out.
He turned suddenly in the empty room and flexed his fingers towards his journal with a snarl! The cover slowly lifted, swaying slightly before finally falling closed with a small snap.
Harry breathed hard from the exertion and looked down at his hand before clenching it into a fist.
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Where Harry's parseltongue abilities had brought the school to a halt last year, this time, his susceptibility to Dementors was largely ignored. However, this incident had a much larger effect on him than anything last year.
His loss to Malfoy on the other hand, that was far more rumour-mill noteworthy, and Malfoy seemed to have gained some prestige in Slytherin House for it.
Harry steam-rolled through his review classes without worry, but lacking his usual flair. Charms, Transfiguration, History of Magic and Potions flew by on Tuesday, barely a concern. Nor was the quick Defense pre-class assessment assigned by Professor Remus Lupin, the wizard who saved him on the train, and he quickly caught up on what he missed in Arthimancy and Magical Creatures on Wednesday. It was in Potions on Thursday that he struggled.
His potion was at the top of class, but not his usual standard of excellence and Professor Snape couldn't help but notice.
"Stay after class, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded. "Yes sir." The Hufflepuffs and Harry's fellow Ravenclaws filed out, leaving Harry alone in front of Snape's desk. He eyed the shrinking potion he had submitted. It wasn't the color of a fresh orange, a touch too red, and it shimmered a little too much.
"You diced your Daisy roots," Snape began. "Why didn't you pulverize them?"
"The instruct-"
"You have never followed my instructions to the letter, Potter, and crushing the roots is a standard modification for you at this point. This," The greasy man held up Harry's submission. "Is mediocre work."
"It's better than the others you'll grade," Harry defended, only to wince at how weak that excuse sounded. "Sir."
"Backtalk, Potter? You have never settled for being better than your peers. Don't think I'm the only one to notice. You would do well not to slip into your father's habits in your classes." Professor Snape drawled.
Harry tried to clear his mind and not get angry. "Yes, sir."
"Go."
Harry picked up his things and left, heading out towards Defense against the Dark Arts, only to pause at the door.
"Sir?" Professor Snape looked up at him, eyebrow cocked. "Do you know how to cast the Patronus charm?"
"I am indeed capable, Mr. Potter." The man was giving him an indecipherable look.
"Would you be willing to teach me?"
Professor Snape scoffed. "I have better things to do with my time than to attempt to teach a third year one of the most advanced charms ever devised. I have little interest in an exercise in futility."
Harry nodded and departed.
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"Good afternoon," Professor Lupin greeted. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson, so you will need only your wands."
The man led the class down a hallway to the Teacher's lounge.
"Now then," said the Professor, beckoning the class toward the end of the room. There was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.
"Nothing to worry about," said Lupin calmly after a few people jumped backward in alarm. "There's a Boggart in there."
Harry took a step back, having read about boggarts. They had been turned over in his thoughts after the discussion with the Headmaster, in front of the Mirror of Erised two years ago. He had constructed a potential list of forms it might take but…
He glanced around. This was not how he wanted to find out what he was most afraid of.
"Now, we have an advantage, can anyone tell me what it is?"
Su Li raided a hand and the Professor pointed at her nodding. "It won't know what form to take, because there are so many of us."
"Precisely! Excellent. When you encounter a boggart, it is a fairly good idea to have company. It becomes confused. The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me please... 'riddikulus!'"
"Riddikulus!" chorused the class.
What would Harry's be? Voldemort returned to power? Returning to Privet Drive? Never being able to use magic? It would be difficult for the Boggart to become something abstract, it would also be difficult to make something abstract appropriately funny. It could easily become something he had read about, something which wouldn't normally be the fear of a thirteen-year-old because it wasn't known to most thirteen-year-olds.
Or did that not matter? Did it become what you thought was your worst fear, or was it your worst fear that you knew of, or did it become something you would fear most if you learned about it?
Time was running out. What terrified him?
The Dementors…
It was true; they... they certainly kept him up at night more than Voldemort ever had. They made him weak. They could take everything from him and not a single one of his talents or resources could stop them.
Su Li was up first, gulping audibly.
Something stumbled out, possessing long, spindly limbs and no eyes. Its face was longer and taller than a person's should be, and it snapped its head in Su's direction; gnashing its teeth as it did so. Its skin was stretched taut over its skull and its cheeks were fleshless, making the motion all the more gruesome.
"Riddikulus!" Su shouted, wand snapping un the prescribed motion.
The monster's too-long legs were abruptly noodles, and it swayed, unable to keep its balance.
"Ernie!" Professor Lupin cried.
The creature refocused on the new victim, shifting as the Hufflepuff approached. It turned into what looked like a cloak, at least until it stood up, slithering towards Ernie. It was clearly a Lethifold, or perhaps what most assumed a Lethifold to resemble. Ernie quickly turned it into a flying carpet that promptly whizzed around the room, causing more than a few smiles from the waiting teens.
When Hannah Abbott came close it became a Runespoor, which hissed and reared back before becoming a spring.
It bounced about until the Professor stepped forward and it floated as a silver ball which Lupin blew back into the wardrobe.
Harry lingered as everyone else walked away. Even Lisa, who was dragged away by her friends. Harry walked closer to the Professor while he was working with the wardrobe.
"Sir?"
"Huh- Oh? Yes, Harry?"
"I was hoping I could see." Professor Lupin hesitated, and Harry wondered if he understood Harry's meaning. The Professor pulled through, though.
"Do you not already know? I assumed that it would take the form of Lord Voldemort."
Harry jumped. Professor Lupin was the only teacher, no, the only person he had ever heard refer to Voldemort by that name aloud, apart from Dumbledore.
Harry frowned. "I'm not sure, Sir."
The Professor paused. "Alright, I suppose it couldn't hurt, as long as I'm here. Are you ready?"
No. Not at all.
He nodded anyway.
"Three, two, one." The man opened the door.
Out swung a gaping maw of black and a shuddering breath. It lanced straight through his Occlumency shields much faster than the real one.
Harry cried out even as he fell. Pain pounding behind his eyes.
Of course.
He had clarity enough to think.
It uses Legilimency to discover our fears. Though in this case…
A powerful legilimency attack was his fear, or a part of it. He clasped his hands over his ears as the screaming began.
Its using Legilimency to imitate the Dementors, and because it knows it will terrify me.
It was working, and the cold was creeping its way inside him much faster than before.
The Professor shut the creature back in quickly, looking down at Harry with an expression of concern.
Harry brought himself back to his feet slowly. He was shaking, but slowly bringing himself back under control. He felt pain behind his eyes from the attack, and he could still hear the screaming in his head. It was never in his ears.
It had always been inside him.
"Are you alright Harry?"
He steeled himself.
"I'm alright, Sir."
"Hmm," the man considered, ragged robes sweeping back and forth. "Should you change your mind, you'll find my office door always open to you."
Harry took that as a dismissal and left the lounge.
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Both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall eyed Harry in their afternoon classes, but could find no cause for complaint. His transfigurations and charms were well-practiced by now. He had already completed most of the work for this year in both those subject and it showed, even if he hadn't slept or eaten since Monday.
Harry adjourned to his room without going to dinner, but not before raiding the library for material on Boggarts.
His journal was open again.
A boggart is an amortal shape-shifting non-being that takes on the form of the viewer's worst fear.
Boggarts seem to be generated and sustained by human emotions; most notably, fear.
Quoted straight from a textbook, but beneath that Harry noted the use of Legilimency.
Dementors are amortal, non-beings. They are related to lethifolds in both appearance and nature.
Dementors also seem to be sustained by human emotions, most notably happiness, leaving their victims with dread, fear, and misery.
Harry had noted beneath this summarized description their use of legilimency, or perhaps some twisted form of empathy, along with the meteoromancy and thermokinesis Dementors displayed.
Of course, the similarities between the two creatures seemed obvious now when drawn so close together.
The similarities to himself were there too.
The door opened again. It was Hermione. Harry glanced up from his book and touched her mind, finding it weak and frail. But he could see himself through her perspective, and didn't look much better. His eyes were sinking into his head and lost some of their brightness. Harry looked away and back to his journal. Hermione began walking over, eyeing his book, but he shut it before she could get close enough to read anything.
"Hello Hermione."
"I didn't see you at dinner today, Harry."
"I was here."
"I didn't see you at lunch or breakfast either." She stepped closer, worrying her hair as she did. "Harry…" She reached out to touch him, but dropped her hand at the last second. "Harry, Neville and Lisa… both mentioned that they talked to you."
Harry nodded. "You do like to gossip." It was a weak attempt at humor, and Harry's smile cracked. She ignored it.
"Harry we're worried about you."
"I did notice," Harry muttered.
"You haven't been the same since the train," she pushed on. "Lisa said you heard screaming and you were convulsing. It was horrible, Harry, you need help."
He nodded. He could agree, he did need help, but he doubted she, or any of his friends, could help him.
"Maybe."
"At the least go and see Madam Pomfrey."
He wanted to laugh. The sickness was in his mind. Madam Pomfrey was good, amazing even, but she didn't know anything about the mind arts.
"You don't understand, Hermione."
She shook her head getting frustrated. "You aren't listening! The Dementor did something to you Harry, you're sick."
I'm certainly not well.
"Go to the Hospital Wing Harry, you can't keep this up; it just isn't healthy. The tremors you have, your… lapses. They're all symptoms of sleep deprivation."
She memorized the symptoms in the hopes that would convince him. As if he didn't already know.
"I was shaking like this Monday, too," he countered.
"All the more reason to go see Madam Pomfrey!"
She was waiting for him to agree or say something. He continued to wait until she became uncomfortable.
"You don't understand, Hermione." She opened her mouth. "You don't think I haven't tried to sleep and eat? You think I want this?"
"You could get-"
"There's nothing Madam Pomfrey can give me that would be anything more than a stop-gap, if that." There was heat in his voice again.
She flinched as though she had been slapped.
"You need to listen to me Harry!"
"I did listen!" He snapped. "You are wrong, Hermione. You thought things through and memorized some facts, but that doesn't make you right and it doesn't mean you understand."
She looked hurt, but Harry didn't regret what he said. She was wrong and that was what had happened. The truth mattered. She humphed visibly and picked up her bags.
"Fine! Just hurt yourself then, if you're not going to listen to reason. I can only do so much!"
Harry let her storm out. She would have to learn to get over things like this and not take it so personally. It may be selfish, but right now he didn't need that. He needed…
He looked at his journal.
He didn't know what he needed, but it wasn't Hermione's trite reasoning.
He focused, replaying the instructions in his mind as his wand came up, and cast.
"Expecto Patronum."
Nothing, again. He thought for a moment. He had been using the happiest memory he had available, the memory he had experienced years ago of a woman's wedding day. It was happy and strong, so why wasn't it working?
He should at least be getting mist, so he tried again, forcing more power down the connection.
"Expecto Patronum."
There was a bang which cracked Daphne's table, but likely wouldn't have protected him from the Dementors.
Harry refocused and absently fixed the crack. He knelt at the table and began inscribing runes into the edge, working his way around and carving them in blazing green with his wand. When he finished he concentrated, and the table turned solid and heavy. It was quartz, polished and with greys and whites swirled together.
The glowing green fire diminished, but the runes stayed carved into the table and now possessed their own faint light.
He sighed. It felt… good; to do something. He felt like he was waiting, but for what? Why? Maybe working on these projects would do him more than a little good.
One down.
Harry opened his book to the ideas he had for spells but hadn't made.
A lot to go.
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Harry didn't sleep Thursday night either, he was up working, accomplishing things. He didn't give himself time to rest, nor a moment to think about anything other than his next project.
It was seven in the morning when his stomach growled and he was forced to stop. He washungry. It had been a few days since he last ate. He glanced around.
The room looked polished and cleaned and more than a little larger. Over there was the table he had turned to quartz and, glittering in the air above it, were soft white lights based off the lumos charm. There was a bathroom to the right, where Harry planned to set up working magical plumbing along with what may, at some point, become a library; with clean shelves and tall, crystal windows. Near the center was a dias, where Harry intended on constructing and then enchanting a pensieve. On the other side of the table, was the beginnings of a dueling chamber. He used the same lights, but stuck them to walls, furnishings and mantles. Across from the dueling chamber was what could only be a lounge, with couches and what would be a fire place.
The room practically glowed with magic and, seeing it all, Harry sighed.
He reached out, and his journal twitched across the table. The feeling was like dipping his fingers in warm water after coming in from the snow, but…
He breathed deep. This was his; in this room he had control.
He was also exhausted beyond measure. The magic he had worked in the room had taken a lot from him and he was running on less than fumes. So, for the first time in days, he departed for the Great Hall.
The Dementors still hounded his thoughts, and his inability to defend himself nipped at his heels while he walked, but neither could touch him right now.
He steeped himself in his Occlumency.
That's better.
He found the Great Hall empty aside from a few early risers, and he ate quickly. It was as delicious as ever, but his hunger made it downright divine. His eyes crossed paths with Percy Weasley, busy day-dreaming about Penelope Clearwater. His magic didn't turn to ash in his hands and mouth, didn't bite back and drive agony behind his eyes. It was just sore. Like a muscle, strained and ripped and torn, but…
It was flexing again.
He smiled lightly.
Arithmancy flew by in a blur, as did Care of Magical Creatures. However, on the march back to the school from Hagrid's 'classroom', Harry found what he was looking for.
"Finally crawled out of that hole, Potter? You avoiding the Great Hall improved the place by a wide margin." Malfoy was as obnoxious as ever.
Harry swayed slightly on his feet. He was feeling the exhaustion of days without sleep. He reached deep within himself, and instantly knew it wouldn't be enough to beat Malfoy.
"Look at you! You can hardly stand." Malfoy laughed as though this was the pinnacle of comedy. His minions gave two low, stupid chuckles.
Laugh now, Malfoy. Laugh now.
Harry walked past the teen into the castle, seething in his rage and impotence at his situation. Beneath it though, was a cord of steel will, twisting patiently.
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Harry slept for nearly six hours on Saturday. It was… more than a little for him. He dreamed he was burning to death. He had felt it, and then when he woke up he was cold again. The Dementors were still inside him. He wasn't well rested, but… he was better. He was healing.
He was in the room just after breakfast and found Daphne running her fingers across the table, admiring the lights.
"Hey, Harry."
"Daphne," he greeted, glancing around. "Where's Tracey?"
"Just me today. After you turned away Neville, most of us figured it best to leave you be, except…"
"Except Hermione," Harry finished.
"And that didn't exactly work either."
Harry nodded, taking a seat and pulling out his homework. He could wrap all this up in the next two hours and have the weekend free.
He waited as the silence grew, but was confident that it was making her more uncomfortable than it was him.
"So… are you okay?"
He shook his head. "I'm alright."
"What happened on the train? The only other person who was affected so badly was that Ginny-girl."
He thought that through. "It makes sense that they would affect her as well," Harry mused after a pause. "In fact, it confirms something for me."
"What happened, Harry?" She didn't take the bait.
He sighed. "I'd… rather not talk about it, Daphne."
She nodded slowly. "Neville said you didn't want to, but…"
But maybe I'd talk about it with you. Is that what you were thinking?
Harry just nodded.
"Is…" She paused to give him a look, as though considering where she wanted to go with this. "Are you doing this to yourself for a good reason, at least?"
"I'm not doing this to myself, Daphne."
"You are keeping us out though." She stepped closer, before looking down at her hands; they were shuffling her fingers together. "Is it important?"
He considered it. Looking at her he wanted to laugh, but knew it would come out hysterical.
"I'm just sick. I'll get better, I just need…"
"Time?" She finished for him. He recalled their conversation in the library about how time couldn't heal all wounds. He knew she was thinking about it too.
He sighed, and sat down. "I'm already getting stronger again."
"Michael mentioned you finally came back to the Ravenclaw Dormitory last night, but Lisa didn't see you. You were also in the Great Hall yesterday." She glanced down. "But not today." She sat next to him. "Recovering, but not recovered?"
He didn't say anything, he didn't need to.
"Do you think we could practice Occlumency again?" She shifted tracks, away from whatever else she was going to ask.
"You weren't ready last time."
"I think I'm ready now," she tried.
"You're not."
"I felt the Dementor in my mind on the train; that has to count!"
He relaxed into the, well, not usual conversation, but at the least familiar one. That was comforting and, perhaps more importantly, distracting.
He shook his head, tired of fighting his friends. "Did you feel Professor Lupin's boggart?"
"...the boggart?"
"How do you think it knows your fears? How do you think it feeds off them?" He asked rhetorically. "You didn't feel it, did you?"
"Well… what if I-"
"Daphne, you need to be patient with this. You don't want to end up like Ginny."
Though it may already be too late. You might belong to me the way she belonged to Riddle.
Harry shook the sinister thought away. He… cared about Daphne. Dumbledore would say something about love; that he loved his friends, and that's what separated him from Voldemort but…
He frowned.
I care about her. I don't know if Voldemort cared about any of his… friends, followers, whatever; but perhaps Dumbledore is right.
"Fine," she grumbled. She settled into her work and didn't bother him again. Eventually though, she noticed he was still looking at her. "What? I'm not going to leave. This is my room too, even if you changed most of it."
"I can undo the enchantments and let you do them, if you don't like them."
"Don't patronize me." She was glowering at him. "We were supposed to do it together."
He sighed. "Sorry Daphne." He glanced up. "I didn't do the secret passage yet."
"Yet?" She asked raising her eyebrows.
"I didn't attempt it," he explained. "I assumed you'd want to be there for it."
"But not for these other expansions?"
"You never mentioned wanting to do anything like this."
She pointed at the table.
"Except that," he acknowledged with a somewhat sheepish shrug.
She humphed at him, giving a slight victorious smile. There was something confident in it, something he had, despite his self-imposed isolation, missed.
There was silence for a long time - hours, even, while Harry did his work and Daphne sat in companionable silence. He wasn't sure if it was awkward, but if it was, then he didn't feel it.
"Have you tried out that dueling chamber yet?" She asked, after wrapping up her arithmancy homework.
He shook his head, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit.
"Do you want to try it?" She continued. "I know that you'll bea-"
"It wouldn't be a fair contest," he wheezed, breathing hard.
She gave a scathing look. "You can't be that much better than me."
"Daphne, I can hardly cast a spell. You would demolish me."
She gave him an appraising look that morphed into condescension as she pointedly looked around at the new enchantments in the room.
"It took me days to regain enough strength to do that."
She looked... alarmed?
"Harry, are you not recovering your magic? Are you really that sick?" A sly grin spread across her face. "Is that the reason you didn't want to work on my Occlumency? Is it because you can't?"
He gave her a half-hearted glare, it was answer enough. She laughed softly.
"Personally, I think that's all the more reason to duel. Think about it, I'd finally beat you."
He gave a weak chuckle.
"Don't worry Harry, I'll keep you safe from those big bad Slytherins," she drawled in a condescending ton, not even trying to hide her smirk. "Malfoy won't be able to touch a hair on your pretty little head." She reached out to pat his hair and he winced.
"Didn't I have to duel against Malfoy for you in our first year?" He asked, tapping his lips as though deep in thought.
"Prat." She hit him in the chest like she always did. The blow was light, but his condition made him cough and retch slightly.
He breathed deeply to recover and when he met her eyes there was… guilt, amongst other things. He wasn't sure.
"Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you." She worried her lip.
"It wasn't you, it was just…"
"Your condition?" She finished.
He nodded. "Let's call it that."
She didn't say anything for a while, just looked at him with big blue eyes. "Do… do you want to talk about what happened? You were there for me when I needed to talk about my father." Her face was heavy with emotion.
"You don't owe me anything."
"I'm not so sure."
Harry eyed her carefully as she spoke. Her tone was hard to read.
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Harry had recovered enough of his strength to practice Quidditch with his team by Sunday. They had some try-outs to replace one of their beaters, and the rest of the practice was a lecture from the new captain. Harry was starting to believe it was tradition for the first few practices to be purely strategic and on the ground. That was probably fortunate for Harry, he didn't need his team to see how far he actually was from his usual skill.
Harry wanted to be in the sky, but he saw the wisdom in it, and he'd take the good with the bad.
He spent a good portion of the practice looking out over the grounds and watching the Dementors. He could feel them at the edge of his thoughts, constantly reaching out. Trying to be close enough to feed, but not attract attention from the ministry. Pushing the rules they had been assigned, due to the temptation of defenseless food.
Pricks.
He thought very aggressively in their direction, more for himself than out of any belief that they would actually feel insulted.
He met with Flitwick to discuss what was expected of him of his extracurricular studies.
As expected, he was expected to submit a project that displayed sufficient understanding in Magical Theory and Ancient Studies each. He could begin Advanced Arithmancy after his Arithmancy OWL. He was to submit his project at the end of the year, but he was supposed to meet with Flitwick once a month to make sure he was on the right track.
His friends slowly and timidly began approaching him again. Neville and Hermione were hesitant, but it wasn't as though any of them had any ill-will, so they all went back to studying in the room together. It was certainly large enough now.
His magic was recovering, slowly. Day to day he was growing strong again, and he found himself able to slip into the minds of others once more. It was frail, compared to before, but it was returning, and his confidence was growing with it.
Lisa and Hermione were both in the lounge of what was quickly becoming 'Harry's Study' much to Daphne's chagrin.
"It's as much mine as it is his!"
She had been left fuming, with Tracey giggled off to her side.
Harry sat down in a chair next to them and eyed the unfinished fireplace.
I need to do something about that.
"Harry?" Hermione asked after a bit of silence.
He looked up.
"I'm… sorry I tried to push you so hard. I should have given you more space."
He shrugged and was tempted to leave it at that. "No harm done, " he said. "I was sick."
"You still are," Lisa pointed out.
It was true. He still shook and trembled, and he wasn't sleeping much. Maybe three days out of the week, and not for long when he did. Augeomancy meant that his brain was, well, augmented, by his magic. He didn't need as much rest as the average student, but he still had to sleep at some point. There was also the cold. In fact, he was still as cold as he had been the day after the attack.
"But I'm less sick," he responded churlishly.
Lisa just shook her head and sighed. "I heard you were shooting for eighteen Newts," she mentioned offhandedly to change the topic.
"Eighteen?" Hermione asked, closing the book she was reading. "Are you sure you'll be able to keep up with that sort of workload?"
Neville strolled in and plopped down.
"He is pretty far ahead in all the other classes." Neville had his back. "He's been practicing third-year material since the beginning of last year."
Good man, that Neville.
Harry grinned, able to watch as the competitiveness in Hermione grew even as her concern for him abated. So long as he didn't give her a reason to get too competitive, he could leave this conversation without too much of a fight. "He already has his Muggle Studies Newt," Neville finished.
Traitor.
"Aren't you shooting for twelve, Hermione?" Harry deflected quickly, giving both Lisa and Neville questioning looks. He then grinned slyly. "How do you have time for that?"
She almost jumped in her chair, her hand twitched towards her neck. It was enough, and Harry grinned. It wasn't that she had done poorly at hiding her secret, but… Harry could read minds, even if his abilities had been reduced to pale shadow of their former self.
Plus, she had several classes a week that conflicted on her schedule, and he knew she had never missed Divination even though he saw her in Runes every day.
"I manage," she managed diplomatically. "Have you figured out that Herbology project you were thinking about doing?" Now she was trying to change the subject.
He shook his head. "I've been working on other stuff."
"Dementors," they all said simultaneously.
Tracey and Daphne strolled in at that moment. "Are you talking about Harry's latest obsession?" Tracey asked. "Also, this is a Hogsmeade weekend, and we're all going to the Three Broomsticks." She was firm and her resolve absolute. "You did get your permission slip signed, right Harry?"
"I'll send a message to Dumbledore tomorrow," Harry said quickly. Seeing her glare, he added, "Or today."
She nodded, satisfied.
"Although there is Pettigrew to consider…" Neville cautioned, giving Harry a pointed look.
"Plus, he'll have to walk past the Dementors," Hermione added over her book.
"You did want to test yourself against them, didn't you Harry?" Daphne asked.
He considered that. "Well-"
"Wait, you actually want to go near them again? You're only just now getting better!" Lisa chided.
"He said he was thinking about it," Daphne said. "He wasn't sure. Probably wants to get a little stronger, right?"
"Maybe he shouldn't go at all…" Neville put in, trailing off at Tracey's icy look. "What?" Neville stammered. "W-w-we have to think it through."
"We?" Harry asked.
"Yes, we," Daphne stated resolutely. "Keep up."
"It sounds like it's too dangerous," Hermione said. "The Dementors..." She trailed off before finding purchase. "Pettigrew, he was sighted near here recently. It sounds like too much of a risk."
"Don't I get a say in this?" Harry turned to Neville specifically, hoping to find some solidarity with the only other source of testosterone in the room.
"Probably not," Neville informed him honestly.
"Look, I've been waiting to go to Hogsmeade with my Hogwarts friends since I was a little girl listening to my parents' stories. Think of the memories! Plus, there are Ministry officials there who can cast the Patronus charm. Harry will be plenty safe, don't you think? I mean, the Ministry does command the Dementors."
"He was already attacked by them once," Lisa countered. "So they aren't exactly controlled, are they?"
"The Dementors will do whatever they think they can get away with." Neville murmured quietly, looking disturbed. "My gran says they're fickle, and their loyalty is bought with victims to feed on."
"I'm recovering," Harry stated with finality as he stood up. He swayed on his feet and Neville had to grab his arm to keep him from falling over. He ignored the pointed looks he received. "This is all just hypothetical anyway. Dumbledore might decide not to let me go." He pulled out a piece of parchment and scribbled a note requesting the Dumbledore sign his permission slip. He went to go find Hedwig and send it to Dumbledore along with the permission slip.
"Oi, we didn't finish talking about it!" Daphne called as he walked out.
"We don't even know if there's a point to discuss." He waved her off as he walked out.
She huffed. "He drives me crazy sometimes."
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Harry sent his note via Hedwig from the Owlery, although in the future he would have to find another way to do so. The small tower that held the Castle's parliament of messengers was a little too close to the circling ring of shadowy death for his liking. He put it out of mind and considered his projects for the extracurricular classes as he returned to the enchanted room. The spells he had designed would all help him pass Magical Theory, he knew, but that didn't mean he wanted to submit something that wasn't new and designed specifically for the task in question.
As for Ancient Studies; an essay was the simplest solution, but Professor Snape had been right when he surmised Harry never settled for just being above his peers. He always pushed to be peerless. He could recycle his knowledge on the Indian Gods, or write something about the origins of Celtic runes and why they were standard in modern magical society, perhaps? A trip to the library would serve him well in any case, and he hadn't done anything for his Herbology project so far. He was slacking.
He spied the Dementors out a window as he made his way down from the Owlery.
Though perhaps it's not entirely my fault.
He went to the library that night. He felt he knew enough about Runes and Arithmancy to return to the books on blood magic he had abandoned. So, it was with copies of The Fifth Element of Witchcraft and Most Puissant Medium under his arm that he passed the Teacher's lounge under his invisibility cloak, only to pause.
It is my fault I'm not stronger, though.
He swallowed his fear and stepped inside. It was empty, and Harry instantly spotted Lupin's wardrobe. It rocked slightly in his direction when he entered, making him stiffen.
For the briefest of moments, Harry wished he was back in the cupboard on Privet Drive. Then he remembered the Dementor attacking him, and how he had felt that same childish desire for the first time since first-year. He would never forgive himself for that.
It made him pause. It filled him with so much with rage that he snarled, and the room shook slightly. The Boggart wasn't even out and it still scared him! He breathed to calm himself.
He wand was already in his hand.
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Harry dreamed that he was burning again that night. It had taken his strictest Occlumency to prevent him from crying out and waking his fellow Ravenclaws. He breathed deeply and rapidly, trying to put himself back in some semblance of order.
He had been getting better for a week or so, but it felt like he had reached a plateau. He was strong physically, if not as strong as he had been, and his magic was there, even if it wasn't wandless and as calcitrant as it had been before. It was his mind magic that was weak still. He could only receive a few frames of memories or thoughts before he lost focus.
He got up. It was Friday, so he just had to make it through his Friday schedule. He shuffled down to the Great Hall early to dodge the breakfast crowds. Of course, most Ravenclaws were the sort who went to bed and rose early, so he found himself unable to dodge them entirely.
Harry sat next to Michael at their table and helped himself to bacon and oatmeal. It was excellent as always for a Hogwarts meal, but the food felt like sandpaper in his mouth.
Michael waved a copy of the Prophet next to his head to get Harry's attention. When Harry looked up at him, the boy just pointed him to the newspaper.
"Did you hear already? Pettigrew' been sighted." Michael summarized the article between bites of sausage. "It was a muggle woman who saw him, so she phoned nine-nine-nine, but he was long gone by the time the Ministry got there."
Harry looked over the paper, reading for himself. "Do you think that they would have caught him if the lady could have contacted the Ministry directly?" Harry paused to consider. "Do you think the world would be better if we had never separated muggles from wizards?" Harry looked up at Michael to see… something frightened in him.
[...Grindelwald…]
Harry caught the name from Michael's thoughts, feeling a little backlash from the intrusion, but swiftly dismissing it.
"Just hypothetically, you know," Harry continued quickly before Michael got the wrong idea. "Say, we had never separated, rather than attempting to undo the division now." His words seem to calm the other boy.
"An academic question?" Michael seemed to consider it. "Well do you remember that essay we had to write for History of Magic this summer? About whether the witch burnings were pointless?"
Harry nodded and let Michael continue.
"Coexistence is an interesting idea. They help us, we help them; that's a nice thought, ya' know?" Harry nodded again. "And the muggles could help us catch criminals, and I guess their Ministry could have helped against You-Know-Who… We might even have less bigotry in our world against muggle-borns and half-bloods if our two worlds were merged and we lived beside muggles." Michael was getting into it now. "Of course, that's a big hypothetical… and they did sort of burn our children." His smile turned uneasy.
"That kind of thing can be hard to get past, and resentments like that tend to linger." It was Anthony Goldstein. He was a muggle born, Harry remembered. "And I'm willing to bet that wizards and witches did some pretty horrible things to muggles, too. Sorry for cutting, I just wanted to share that."
Harry nodded and held up his fingers. "Coexistence," he listed with his thumb. "Grindelwald imagined domination." He held up his index finger.
He seemed to be gathering attention from his Ravenclaw peers. "Well yeah, but isn't that, you know, horrible?" Mandy Brocklehurst gave her two knuts.
"...Maybe." Su Li seemed to want to cut in. "Wizards and witches give potions and magic and such," She postulated. "In return, they work for us." Seeing the looks she was getting, she leaned back and held up her hands. "It's not that different from economics," she explained quickly. "A trade, of sorts."
"Mutualism," Terry Boot said, pointing at Su with his fork. "A symbiotic relationship. Isn't that more a part of coexistence?"
"That's assuming we'd be dominant," Lisa said. "Muggle weapons are more than a little sophisticated."
"More dangerous than magic?" Mandy asked sceptically.
"Absolutely," Anthony stated adamantly, as the only muggle-born at the table, his words carried weight. "Guns, missiles, rockets. Muggles fighting each other could wipe us out by accident. Many magical locations in London had to be warded against muggle artillery fire during Grindelwald's war." He took a bite of eggs. "And that was fifty years ago."
Harry held out his middle finger. "Genocide then, by either party." They gave him some wary looks. "It could happen, so it's worth adding. We wouldn't have to hide, and they wouldn't have to deal with our criminals." Harry gestured at the Daily Prophet.
"You support Grindelwald's ideals? Then?" Terry Boot asked. "You kinda seem to lean that way."
"I don't know enough about the subject to say what his ideals were," Harry said, before amending it to, "are," with a shake of his head. Grindelwald was still alive, after all. "Let alone whether I support them."
Would I have grown up in a regular family, if Grindelwald had won?
It was something to consider.
"So… you're saying you're not necessarily opposed to killing muggles?" Su Li asked.
"He didn't say that at all," Michael defended. "He's just looking at it academically."
"Academics form our thoughts," Mandy pointed out.
"I don't want to kill muggles," Harry affirmed resolutely. "I think it would be nice if we could coexist."
I don't know if I believe either of those two things.
"It is a nice thought." Lisa supported him. "It's worth striving for."
The Great Hall was getting crowded, so Harry stood up and left the Great Hall. Maybe after he conquered the Dementors and was back to full strength, he would look into Grindelwald.
He went to the study and examined the fireplace for half an hour before leaving for Care of Magical Creatures.
Hermione found him on the walk down to the 'classroom' in the grounds. She seemed agitated.
"Something wrong, Hermione?" He asked.
"Divination is useless!" She seemed glad someone had opened her can of worms, clearly eager to vent. "Professor Trelawney makes these vague predictions and then when they come 'true' Lavender and Padme fall all over her." Hermione huffed. "It's a useless subject."
Harry thought about Luna Lovegood.
"Divination is valid, but perhaps not as Professor Trelawney teaches it. Have you tried looking into self-study?" Harry asked.
"How can you know divination isn't tripe?" Hermione asked him haughtily.
"Remember how I found the Chamber last year? Hermione, people have been making prophecies and foretelling the future forever. There are methods that can allow even those who aren't naturally gifted to see."
"Have you ever see the future?" Hermione asked him, more curious now.
Through Luna I have.
"Look up Asimina or Nostradamus, Hermione."
Books and citable evidence, she could understand. "It's just that in Divination to-"
"You had Divination today? I thought the nine o'clock hour was the first class of the day." Harry turned towards her. "Let me see it."
"Let you see what?" Hermione backed away from him as she clutched her books close to her. "I don't know what you're talking about!" She turned to stalk away and march the rest of the way down to the class.
Harry caught her arm and opened his mouth when he felt a chill and shuddered. He nearly fell to his knees. Hermione had made to push past him, but froze when she saw him turn pale and looked up. The dementors were looming, perhaps closer than normal.
Harry focused his barriers. Resisting their call and blocking out the distant echo of screams.
"Harry?" Hermione asked tentatively. Lisa was approaching the both of them, and Hermione and Lisa made eye contact as Harry steadied himself. Harry felt the desire to crawl into his cupboard and the thought drove him to such anger that he hardly felt the cold, even if on some level he knew it was still there.
"Do you need to go back to the Ca-" Lisa began, giving him a worried look.
"No. I'm fine," he intoned blandly. It quickly turned to a deep cough as he finished his sentence and he felt his fingers tremble.
"Look at Potter!" Malfoy was laughing, coming up behind Harry with his cronies in tow. "You don't look so good. Do you need to hide for another week? Did the big bad Dementors hurt you again?"
"Back off," Hermione said, stepping between Harry and Malfoy even as Harry caught his breath and reached deep within himself. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough.
Harry held out his left hand and splayed it, knowing this would completely exhaust him for the rest of the day. He was pouring magic all over and he didn't have much to spare, but he had enough. Enough for this.
"Or what?" Malfoy asked laughing. "Is the filthy moodblo-agack!"
Malfoy choked.
And he couldn't find air even as he was pulled off the ground.
Harry grinned, his coughing fit turning into a laugh.
"You should have been content with what you had, Malfoy."
The other students gathered in a ring around them.
Harry laughed lightly. It was ruined when he swayed on his feet, but it was worth it.
"Malfoy, your best is my worst," he rasped.
Malfoy scratched at his neck, but it brought no relief. Crabbe and Goyle stepped back warily.
Harry held him still, and watched as Malfoy's eyes dilated and his skin grew pale, well, paler. Harry drank the boys fear and hate in, holding him in place.
Then he released him, watching the boy fall to the ground and smirking as he nearly wretched. He exhaled, and watched as his breath curled in the frigid air. He looked out and saw the Dementors hanging in the sky like twisted puppets.
Soon.
He reminded himself.
"I hope Pettigrew kills you," Malfoy choked out.
Harry laughed and turned away, walking down to Care of Magical Creatures class with a lighter step than he had felt all week.
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Harry,
As your guardian I'm afraid I can't allow you to go to Hogsmeade, at least for now. You deserve to know the reasons for this, and they are twofold. First, is the threat that Peter Pettigrew may or may not pose to your well-being.
The second, and most prominent, is the ill-effect that the jailors of Azkaban seem to have on your health. When you have mastered the Patronus Charm, I would be happy sign this slip.
While we are on the subject, your teachers have all mentioned your exceptional work has merely been superior as of late, and your absence from Ravenclaw tower has been noted. Should you decide you need to discuss this with me, it should be noted that I quite enjoy Honeydukes' marvellous Acid Pops.
P.S. I would consider studying French, were I in your shoes.
-APWBD
He said when I master the Patronus, not if.
The Headmaster's confidence meant a lot to Harry.
Harry looked up from the note at the feast that evening and dug in. He didn't know what Dumbledore had meant by the last statement, but he figured it would become plain.
The feast continued to completion before Dumbledore waved his hands and the food vanished from the Hall.
"Now that we have all been fed and watered, I have a bit of an announcement to make." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling, he had the attention of every student.
"I have the pleasure of announcing the Tri-Wizard Tournament will be taking place next year. Our hosts will be the French Ministry of Magic at Beauxbatons Acadamie pour la Magique." Excited murmuring broke out.
"Now," Dumbledore began again, silencing all conversation. "Unfortunately, only those over the age of seventeen will be allowed to compete, however." Dumbledore's voice rose over the protest. "Only the top students in each class will be invited to visit Beauxbatons as a part of the Hogwarts delegation."
Ah, French it is then.
"This is a once in a lifetime educational opportunity, and a wonderful means to foster and build international relationships," the Headmaster continued. "This invitation is a privilege, and should a student prove that they will be unable to represent Hogwarts with dignity and respect, they will be left behind."
Harry caught Dumbledore's eye. He saw nothing, and didn't bother trying further.
"Now, off to bed, tut-tut," the greatest wizard in the world finished in his own, whimsical way.
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"And while the law has many penalties for the atrocities we inflict on others, there are no punishments for the terrors that we inflict on ourselves." - Burnie Burns
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Next chapter, the Hanged Man.
WG