Beta: Digitize 27
Now, 'Cloudburst'
I publicly answer questions at my forum for this story.
It's been a good run, but it's time to leave pretty much all of cannon goodbye. It's time for Harry to grow more powerful and for a lot of moving pieces to come together.
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"This is the tragedy of modernity: as with neurotically overprotective parents, those trying to help are often hurting us the most" – Nassim Nicholas Taleb
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When Harry was summoned by the Headmaster in mid-November he already knew what it would be about. He was oddly looking forward to the discussion, in a way he couldn't describe.
He held his notebook in hand as he paced towards the Gargoyle which protected the Headmaster's office.
"Toffee Tongues," he told it, and it bounded aside.
A soft, "come in," echoed from inside when he stepped off the ascending staircase, and he wasted no time opening the door to step through into the office. He did, however, take a moment to admire the silver magical instruments that spun and whirled and whizzed.
Hours of enchanting by the world's premier wizard went into these artifacts. Each of them were priceless; even without knowing what they did, he was sure of that much.
"Ah, Harry." The old man was behind his desk. "Have a seat, won't you?"
Harry did so at once.
"Lemon drop, Harry?" The sorcerer extended a wooden box full of yellow-colored sweets. Harry had heard from Tracey that, according to widespread rumors, the sweets were laced with veritaserum. Harry selected one and put it into his mouth.
The protege trusted the mentor, just as the hierophant trusted the initiate. Dumbledore did not need to use potions to get Harry to tell him the truth, not when the teen trusted him absolutely.
However, the sour taste was a little much for him and he figured he would have to pass on the sweets next time.
"Madam Sprout tells me that Mr. Longbottom has been asking questions about selective breeding in magical plants. I can only assume this is the project I read from your notes last time." The old man had a proud smile. "Is it what you expected?"
Harry shook his head. "It's more difficult than I thought. Hybrid vigor is… tough, to predict."
"What plants did you select?"
"We want to make it work for dittany, I had hoped that we could help it to grow in non-mediterranean environments."
"You would save many lives with such a development." The old man nodded proudly as he reclined in his chair. "Mr. Longbottom is an interesting talent."
"Neville is perfectly talented," Harry returned. "He just needs more confidence. His magic fails because he's been conditioned to believe that it will."
"You seem familiar with this process."
Harry considered it. "It happened to me, after the dementor's. At least part of my problem was purely mental; I can see that now."
"And the rest of the problem?"
"I'm unsure, Sir."
"Hmm." The wizard gently sucked one of his own sweets. "And your patronus?"
"Just mist," Harry confessed. He had made little progress in the month since their last conversation. "It's... uniquely difficult."
Dumbledore nodded. "It is a most complicated spell. Though, I suspect that it may be more difficult for you than most."
"Sir?"
"You are magically talented enough to cast the spell; powerful, too." Dumbledore stroked his beard. "However, it is a spell that draws from happiness, many have so little experience with such a precious thing."
Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that.
"Did you struggle with the spell?"
"Oh yes, for years." Seeing Harry's crestfallen look, the man pushed on. "I doubt that it will take you so long."
Harry nodded, grateful for the man's confidence.
"Your other projects? Have they come along as well?"
"Some. The pensieve is finished."
"Ah, you went through with it then. I take it you would like to ask me for the memory of my most famous duel?"
Harry nodded.
"I am curious as to why, Harry."
"It's the most important duel of the century, Sir, perhaps of the last two."
"Indeed, though if you wished to know of the historical impact of my duel, there are other methods to do so," Dumbledore counted easily. "Much more efficient avenues to learn about such a thing."
"Historical opinion pieces written half a century after the event, based solely on second hand sources?" Harry returned. "Hardly an accurate source of knowledge. I want to learn how to duel too, Sir. I want to know how it was done between two wizards like you."
"And I wish that none so young as you would ever need to learn to fight." The wizard rolled a candy in his mouth. "Though perhaps this is for the best. Better to be ready."
"Ready for what, sir?"
"I am not so foolish as to think that you will live only in peaceful times through your life, young man." Dumbledore gave him a glimmering look. "Perhaps studying the spells that Grindelwald and myself used is merely a bonus?"
"That too, Sir." Harry nodded. Though, if he was honest, that was probably one of the more enticing aspects of studying the masters' fight.
"I shall give it to you." Dumbledore said, after several long moments of consideration. "Though I must ask for your discretion regarding the memory and its contents."
Harry nodded his consent to the terms. He would have agreed to a lot in order to view that legendary clash.
The man continued, gesturing to a book on the table. "You never asked for it, Harry, but this is the book which contains the knowledge on the Killing-Curse you sought."
Harry looked at it. It was a dark book with yellow pages and looked like it had seen more than just better days.
Lebendig, eine kategorische Studie
"It's in German?"
The wizard nodded. "It is important for wizards such as ourselves to be well read; one language is hardly enough. Have you begun studying French at all?"
He had, but it was slow going. He wanted to cross the channel and spend some time in the thoughts of the people who spoke it. He severally hoped he would be able to steal the language outright, but failing that, such exposure to the language could only help him learn.
He was intimately jealous of the talents of Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The man was a magical polyglot and could learn new languages like eating crackers.
"It's slow, Sir."
"I am sure you will be conversationally fluent when it comes time to depart."
The man reached into his desk and withdrew a vial of silver fluid. He set it next to the book.
"Thank you, Sir." The man waved him off.
"I wished that, in my youth, a great wizard or witch could have guided me. I imagine I could have done a great deal more, and made far fewer mistakes, if I would have had a studious mentor."
Harry gave the Professor a dubious glance. The man had published several papers before he graduated, been awarded the Barnabus Finkley Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting, and received the gold medal for Ground-Breaking Contributions to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo, and that was just the cliff-notes of his storied career.
I can do even better, then. I have to.
"I had a question, Sir," Harry began after a moment of silence. "About Veela."
"Most young men do." Dumbledore nodded sagely.
"I meant about their aura."
"Ah. And?"
"Well it's not dissimilar to the influence of Dementors, is it? Just a different form of the same effect."
"Perhaps, though as you proved, Dementors use Legilimency. Are you so sure the Veela are not more empathic?"
"I suppose I can't be certain, without meeting one." Harry opened his notebook. "But, I think that the Dementor's aura can be imitated by wizards."
Dumbledore extended a hand and Harry handed over the book.
"I see elements of the Central American Meteomancy you were studying." Dumbledore traced a finger along an Arithmantic equation, one Harry believed modeled the cold affect the Dementor's exhuded. "I see your source of inspiration in Veela, Harry."
Veela could summon fire and radiated a field of emotion to their targets. Dementors were similar, but with cold and a different sort of emotion.
"Yes," Harry agreed. "And the Apauruseya."
Dumbledore looked up.
"I've always had a talent for the mind arts, it's not so different from a natural talent for pyrokinesis or electrokinesis like they displayed, is it?"
"Perhaps so." Dumbledore sounded doubtful. "Attempts to imitate Veela have always resulted in failure, though I suspect that those who did were interested in their powers for entirely different reasons than you are." Harry nodded. He wasn't attempting to sway witches and wizards to him.
"Furthermore, the Apauruseya are a vague subject, most would consider them mythical or exaggerated."
"Do you?"
"I never considered them seriously," Dumbledore confessed. "I chased very different myths, in my own youth."
Dumbledore handed the book back. "I would struggle to say that anything is impossible with magic, though I would consider this an ambitious challenge to that claim."
Harry nodded. Dumbledore doubted that it was possible, but he had logical reasons for doing so.
"That being said, I suspect you will leave me behind with your mastery of mind magic within the next half decade, Harry." Harry looked up, surprised. "I was always more interested in the way things changed. How magic could make an object flow from one form to another. Alchemy, transfiguration, conjuration and, to a slightly lesser degree enchanting, were my forte's and focus. I did things with a wand in my youth that my teachers didn't believe possible; but your abilities lean in a different direction, Harry."
Yes, but you didn't have a mentor like you.
Harry would strongly consider what Dumbledore told him, but he wouldn't give up.
"Now, I must ask if you are feeling better, Harry. If you still feel the effects of the Dementors?"
Harry frowned. "I don't hear voices anymore, or my mother; though, that only lasted the day."
"Something else then?"
"The cold." Dumbledore steepled his fingers.
"You feel the chill from the Dementors even now? Is it lingering?"
"It never stopped or receded," Harry admitted. "But…" He gathered himself. "Their magic shouldn't be clinging to me for so long. So, it must have another source, right?"
Dumbledore didn't respond.
"Since I feel the cold all the time, it must come from something I'm around just as often. So, perhaps the cold is coming from the only thing I'm in contact with that much."
"Yourself?"
Harry nodded.
"I'll have to consider this, Harry."
"Do you think it's serious?"
Dumbledore frowned and stroked his beard. "Perhaps. Be sure to inform me if it worsens or changes, won't you? In the meantime, I shall consider it, although, I must confess I haven't heard of such a thing." He at least seemed to be giving it serious thought, if his slightly furrowed brow was anything to go on.
"Is that all then, Harry?" When the teen gave no response he nodded, wiping the concern from his face in favour of a kindlier smile. "Very well. We shall meet again before the holidays."
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When Harry returned the room, he found Neville diligently watering Grey-Toothed Berries. They were their first batch of modified plants and required diligent observation and care against a control. They were watching to see if the berries would grow larger, as they had hoped, due to the cross-breeding with non-magical blackberry plants.
"Hey Harry."
"Neville." Harry nodded back. "Anything interesting?"
"They might be growing faster." Neville looked back and forth between a book on non-magical plants, his copy of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and the plants. "I really can't say. We won't know for sure for another week at the latest."
Neville was confident around plants, and Harry wished he could coax that out in other studies as well. At the rate Neville was going, he wouldn't be invited to Beauxbatons next year. That would leave him alone to deal with Malfoy, who probably wasn't going either without the help of a few well-placed bribes. Harry worried about him.
"Do you want to go to Beauxbatons?" Harry asked as he set down the German book on the quartz table.
"Well, I don't think that I'll qualify." The confidence gained from his preferred pastime couldn't have bled from his voice faster.
Be confident Neville.
"That's not what I asked," Harry said. "I could help you. You take first in Herbology easily, and maybe place high in Care, but Divination would be a toss-up. You place like you do in Herbology, as well as top ten in two or three other classes, and you've got a great chance to get in."
Neville looked even more anxious. "W-w-well I don't really know. I wouldn't want you to waste that much time on me."
"It wouldn't be a waste," Harry insisted. "Just think about it."
Himself, Daphne, and Hermione were practically guaranteed a spot for their year, but Lisa, Neville and Tracey really weren't.
"Er, yeah. I'll-uh-I'll do that. Sleep on it."
Harry nodded at him and sat down at the table. He touched his friend's mind gently and coaxed some confidence into Neville's head. It would be good for the other boy.
Neville finished with the plants before leaving and Harry sat down and finished his homework for the week in just a few hours.
Harry assumed that it was Dinner-time and he checked the clock to find it agreed. He stood up and focused his magic, trying to run it through the Arithmantic equations on Dementors he had written. It might have gotten colder, maybe. Although, he was still completely unsure about the other effects Dementors exhibited, and whether they were working.
Perhaps he should try the spell which the Dementors had inspired him to create. He set up one of Neville's throw-away plants as a target.
"Imputresco," he murmured. One of the leaves he was pointing at rotted away and crumbled to dust under the effect of the spell. He felt reassured by the obvious success. It meant that the decaying effect the Dementor's possessed was imitable. It meant that maybe their other characteristics could be pursued as well.
He stood up and grabbed the memory vial Dumbledore had given to him and paced into the other room. He dropped the fluid into the waiting dias and leaned in without ceremony.
Dumbledore was younger by far, and stood across from a handsome looking wizard who Harry knew must be Grindelwald.
"-and?" Grindelwald extended his arms towards Dumbledore in a welcoming fashion. The memory began in such a way he missed whatever the infamous wizard had said.
"No, I've come to stop you, Gellert." Dumbledore replied, stepping forward and draw his wand.
Grindelwald's wizards and witches looked on, the fighting around the pair dying out as both sides turned to watch the confrontation. There was an electricity in thei air that went beyond words.
Grindelwald had been unstoppable, battles he participated in crushed Europe's remaining free fighters at each turn, and duels Dumbledore attended always ended well for greater Europe.
They were immensely talented wizards each, and everyone in the crowd knew it.
They both drew their wands and then there was thunder. The ground crumbled for nearly fifty meters in every direction when Grindelwald struck a powerful lance of blue light towards a great shimmering barrier contained between Dumbledore's fingers.
Harry had been standing amongst nearly a hundred men and women watching the confrontation, and now he was alone. They had been swept aside by the opening blow and Harry heard screaming. Harry looked down and saw a wizard who had been torn in half. People had been buried under rock and torn and twisted by the blast. Grindelwald stepped sideways and cast a dozen spells in an elegant chain which shot towards Dumbledore. Dumbledore stepped with him, circling each other over a center of obliterated ground.
Harry watched the spells Grindelwald shot miss or be deflected by elegant twists of Dumbledore's wrists. A witch who had been spared the blast, well, in that she survived – likely because she had been standing directly behind Dumbledore –was pulverized until she was nearly flat, before exploding a moment later in an odd twist of space.
Dumbledore returned fire and the two exchanged simple spells like they were fencing. By simple spells, Harry meant they were just traditional spell-fire. Neither was using the conjuration or transfiguration that they were both famous for. At least, for now.
A wizard who was scrambling to escape was pulled off his feet and set on fire in a rush of magic. Another was ripped straight down the center by a stray bolt of lightning. Grindelwald swept his wand and the ground roared. The twisted rock rose into a pack of giant stone lions that bounded towards his opponent.
Dumbledore reduced them to powder, and the cloud of dust that had been swept up into the air as the confrontation continued gathered into a body, a great eagle of stone and dust which gave a cry so loud Harry nearly covered his ears. The bird rushed towards Grindelwald and was caught in a funnel of fire so hot and tight, the bird was reduced to a glassy slag.
While the glass was still glowing and molten, it flowed together into a wingless dragon of liquid sand. It breathed a torrent of glass shards at Dumbledore. The landscape was torn into by the sheer volume of silicates, and Harry heard screaming again, but this time he couldn't tear his eyes from the spectacle before him. The beast gathered itself and pounced at Dumbledore-
Harry was pulled up.
"What?!" He snapped. He met Daphne's eyes. He saw what might have been fear in her eyes and took a moment to breathe. Only when the second-hand adrenaline left his system did he risk speaking.
"What is it?' He asked, slower and more polite.
"You weren't at dinner," she said. "Again." She paced over to the other side of the dais from him confidently, like he hadn't just scared her.
"I was busy," he replied, keeping the irritation out of his tone.
I still am.
"Playing with your new toy?" She indicated the dais. She had finished the secret passageway, electing to not use blood magic. Instead, she used her talents with reading the emotions of the world around her to coax the castle into creating a passage to the first floor. It led to a knight's armor you had to say 'Scarhead' to, to receive access.
She thought the password at his expense was hilarious.
She had taken quickly to trying to tie her psychometric talents to enchanting. If she could do it well and blend the two together, then she could probably enchant things beyond even Dumbledore one day. For all of Dumbledore's talents, he would never be able to weave emotion into his magic the way Daphne might one day be able to; he would never fill an object with joy or wrath or fear the way that she could. It was a decided perk of her talent, if she took the time to practice.
"Dumbledore, discretely, gave me the memory of his duel," Harry said. He knew Dumbledore wanted it under wraps, but Harry trusted Daphne more than just about anybody else.
"Really? His duel?" Daphne looked at once more interested. "He's never given the memory before, to my knowledge. I know he's been offered hundreds of thousands of galleons for it, but he always refused. People just use the memories of others who were there but…"
"I can't imagine many survived," Harry finished for her. "He wanted me to keep it secret so…"
"Got it." She made a gesture of sealing her pink lips. "Was it interesting?" She teased him.
"More than slightly." He said, letting some annoyance fall into his voice from behind his occlumency.
"Well you already promised me that we'd practice occlumency," She reminded pointedly.
So I did.
"Do you want to get started?"
She nodded and flicked her ponytail out behind her, from where it had fallen over her shoulder. He stared at her.
"What?" She asked.
"I expected you to say no. You haven't wanted to for weeks."
"Well, it's time to practice," she snipped.
"Alright," he said after a moment of bemusement. "Are you ready?"
She nodded, and he watched an unnatural calm come over her as she settled her thoughts.
He reached out and touched her mind as gently as he could. She didn't react whatsoever.
Harry floated across her brain. He wasn't getting any strong impressions. She was locked down tight. He slipped a little deeper, following some flash of confusion. He watched the memory of pushing around ice cream in Diagon Alley across from himself.
He touched the flustered emotions she felt at the time. trying to decode them. She was just as confused about them as he was now.
"Do you feel me?" He asked her.
She shook her head.
"I'll make it more obvious." He grabbed a thread and pulled.
[Astoria was sitting across from Harry in what Harry instinctively knew was the Slytherin Common room.
"I don't see it." Astoria was shaking her head.
"Harry's a talented wizard." Daphne defended.
"Didn't he collapse on the train?" Astoria gave a giggle. "I heard Malfoy beat him in the corridors today, too." She said Malfoy's name with an almost dreamy voice and Harry felt Daphne's nose wrinkle in disgust.
"I hadn't heard that."
"Of course you didn't." Astoria laughed. "Everyone knows he's your boyfriend."
Daphne didn't rise to the bait. "Was anyone else there?"
Astoria opened her mouth.
"Besides Malfoy's thugs," Daphne clarified, and Astoria paused in thought.
"Turpey?" She said, guessing as much as informing. "The girl whose mom did that thing at the ministry."
Daphne frowned.
"Anyway," Astoria continued. "Potter hasn't exactly been the prodigy you described. I wonder if you just lied to your little sister, hmm?"]
The memory slipped away, and Harry felt Daphne's mind buck at the intrusion. She cried out in front of his eyes and he pulled the memory back gently. He could have been much more aggressive and made it hurt a great deal more, but he was trying to teach her, not rip her mind wide open like Lovegood's.
He pulled the memory back.
["Harry took Malfoy apart first year, several times. Something must be wrong." Daphne countered. She reached into her bag and pulled out her mirror.
"Harry?" She whispered to the mirror.
He already knew that he wouldn't respond.
"Is his famous mirror broken?" Astoria pressed.
"Harry's things don't break."
"Mmmhmm, whatever you say Daph."]
Daphne mind resisted him, trying to worm its way free of his fingers, but he coaxed her gently and she sighed out loud, almost leaning into him.
["You'll see what a poor prospect Malfoy is, eventually." Daphne told her sister, slightly harsher than she had intended.]
"W-wh-" Daphne was stuttering. She was trying to resist, but lacked the will to actually throw him off. Harry withdrew immediately, sensing her panic go beyond mere discomfort at having her private moments revealed to him.
Her mind had been conflicted between trying to resist him and leaning into the soft relaxing feelings he had pushed into her.
He just waited for her to gather herself again.
She cleared her throat and looked at him oddly.
"It's hard to fight," She confessed.
He nodded. "But you did better."
"Thank you…" She said softly without looking at him. She bit her lip gently and rubbed her arm absentmindedly. "It's… hard to fight." She paused again. "When you make it feel nice."
"That's kind of the idea," he said. "Anyone can fight against something causing them pain."
"Astoria didn't mean what she said," Daphne defended instinctively.
"Yes, she did," Harry pointed out, and Daphne winced. She knew it was true, so he knew it was true too.
"You're not mad? About what she said."
Harry frowned, feeling confused. "No. Why?"
He saw some relief in her eyes, but he wasn't sure why she would be relieved. Was she worried he would judge her for her sister?
"Sorry I didn't answer the mirror, that day," he diverted instead. "I was a little out of it."
She waved him off. "It's fine." Her voice was quiet, but meaningful.
He saw the strange conflicted emotion in her eyes.
"Harry, this is going to sound odd…" He looked at her. She seemed very conflicted and anxious. It was out of her nature; well, kind of. She was normally the picture of confidence.
Hermione paced in with Tracey. "Oh, there you ar-oh!" Hermione turned red at seeing the two of them standing close together.
"Are we interrupting something." Tracey looked almost hopeful.
[Were they snogging? Oh please let them have been snogging.]
"No, its fine," Daphne said.
Harry shrugged, unbothered, which made Tracey sigh.
"What's going on?"
"They posted class standings based on the last two years," Hermione said slowly, as though making sure it was okay to talk. "That way we could get an idea of who was going to Beauxbatons."
Harry nodded. "So, you, Daphne, me, and who else?"
"Ernie McMillan and Su Li." She said.
Harry frowned and looked to Tracey. "I'm only really okay with potions," she explained lightly. "Ernie and Su both do fairly well all around."
Harry nodded, rubbing his jaw. "Neville has the same problem. He could do it if he really buckled down."
"I'm not sure I'm going to accept…" Hermione said, stunning Harry. "Well, it would uproot my education. We only have two years until our OWLs. Can I really afford to miss so much studying?"
"You're right. If only you had more time," Harry said with a knowing smirk
She huffed and glared at him while Tracey gave them both an odd look.
"In all seriousness, I can't believe you're turning down a once in a lifetime educational opportunity," Daphne said. "I suppose travel really isn't for everyone."
Hermione made a face and Tracey giggled.
"Break it up or take it to the dueling chamber," Harry said.
"That's not a bad idea." Hermione eyed Daphne.
"Think you can take me, Granger?"
"Oh, I think I could give you a run for your money."
"Just kiss already." Tracey giggled.
They both turned and glared at her, wearing matching blushes.
Nicely defused. Tracey might even be better than that than I am. Which is impressive, considering I can read minds.
"I take it back. I'd rather shoot spells at you," Hermione told Tracey.
"I don't know-"
Harry turned around and put his head back into the pensieve like an ostrich escaping into sand.
Grindelwald's dragon bore down on Dumbledore, but it was quickly shattered. The twisted glass spikes rose from the ground to pierce Grindelwald's flesh, but they shattered in a storm of wind, only to be faced by a continuous flow of fire from Dumbledore's wand.
Harry was pulled back again.
He almost groaned as he was turned to face Hermione, Tracey, and Daphne.
"I've literally been waiting years for this." He gestured at the memory.
Hermione got on her toes to eye the fluid curiously.
"Harry, we need you to officiate a duel." Daphne said.
"Yeah, how about no?"
"What? Why not?" Hermione asked, sinking back down onto her feet.
"You two are already metaphorically at each other's throats. I'm not facilitating you two literally getting at each other's throats."
There was a long beat of silence.
"Yeah, that seems fair," Daphne said reluctantly.
"It would certainly make things more difficult," Hermione agreed.
"See, no need to fight."
"You know I would have won though, right?" Daphne said, smirking.
Hermione glowered. "You should keep dreaming."
Eventually all the commotion died down in the room until only Harry and Daphne lingered.
"You know you could take a rest for tonight," Daphne said nervously. "No one would blame you."
Harry shook his head. "Will you help me?"
"You know that I will," She grumbled.
It had become a bit of a routine for them. She would stand by and let the Boggart attack him and he would try to resist. They been doing it since they hugged in the room after the second attack.
"Thank you," he told her, and he meant it.
She pulled the Boggart free from its hiding place and with a swing of her wand opened the wardrobe.
Harry felt the attack on his mind and felt the dread fill him. He pulled his mind shut as best as he could against the screams.
He wasn't sure when it was over, or even how much time had passed. Lucidity was a rare commodity after these sessions. But, after a time, Daphne would shut the creature away and he would sit on the floor, trying to pull himself back together.
Daphne hated it every time, but he needed it.
He felt her rub his back as he rose shakily to his feet. "How long are you going to do this to yourself, Harry? You can't keep this up forever and I won't keep helping you torture yourself. Not when there's no end in sight."
"You promised that you would help me," Harry reminded tiredly.
"This isn't help!"
"It is."
"Just tell me you have a plan, that you have a goal. How will you know when you're done?"
She gave him a long look, filled with confusing emotions.
"Until it's not a Dementor anymore."
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Christmas approached rapidly and Neville and Harry were getting published in Herbology Quarterly.
Using Switching Spells to Facilitate Heterosis, by Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter.
Neville frowned at it.
"Your name should be first," Neville said. "It was your idea, your plan. You did the magic."
Harry touched his friend's mind, encouraging a blossom of ego.
"You grew the plants and made it happen, Neville. You deserve this." Harry gave him a grin. "Come on. Did you see the look on Madam Sprout's face when she walked in holding this?" He gestured at the paper.
Neville handed the first edition towards Harry for him to take.
Harry shook his head.
"Give it to your Grandmother," Harry said. His friend was heading home for the Holidays. They all were, except for Hermione, who Harry was certain was going to make the most of her access to him to help her invent spells. Harry was going to be otherwise alone here for Christmas and, if he played his hand right, he could finally devote some real time to breaking down Dumbledore's duel, practicing his patronus, and imitating the Dementor's effects.
He waved goodbye to Neville and watched Daphne and her sister leave the castle together. He never found out what she wanted to ask him, and she had become confusing again.
Harry adjourned to his room to practice.
The rest of the famous duel was short. Incredibly so. It was a common misconception that the duel lasted for hours on end. Both wizards were throwing around more magic in a moment than Harry had in his entire life; the power required for Dumbledore to pulverize Grindelwald's stone lions alone must have been stunning. Perhaps as much energy was used by Dumbledore to destroy them as Grindelwald had consumed in summoning them.
Dumbledore had set a pack of flaming wolves on Grindelwald and Grindelwald had countered with a storm, a torrential downpour that sent the lightning crashing from the sky. The razor sharp winds fell upon Dumbledore with all the ferocity of the man's summoned hounds.
Dumbledore ripped the sky into a whirlwind which tore the ground apart and pulled wizards off their feet. He focused the wind into a ravaging torrent upon his foe, and was nearly torn in half when the ground was rent open and tried to swallow him in the teeth of a massive turtle-like creature that crawled out.
Dumbledore dealt with the turtle ripping chunks away and melting it, even as Grindelwald banished the storm.
They banished, conjured, and transfigured so quickly that when Dumbledore finally struck Grindelwald down with a wave of fire, scorching the handsome wizard's upper body, Dumbledore nearly collapsed after.
But Harry learned a great deal about dueling tactics, chaining spells together and conjuring shields. If he could imitate the Dementor's effects, then he could combine it with several other pieces into a wonderful symphony of defensive magic.
Harry concentrated. He breathed and focused on the memory of leaving the Dursleys, leaving them forever and falling asleep in the Leaky Cauldron. He let the feeling fill him and drunk it in from himself the say way he did for the emotions of others.
He cast.
"Expecto Patronum."
Grey, wispy mist, similar to that of memories, fell from his wand. It congealed into a swirling pattern. A shield. He had finally done it, and he couldn't help grinning earnestly.
He could finally tell Dumbledore to write the note…
Although…
He turned his eyes to the hidden boggart.
He pulled it out of hiding and sat it in the center of the room.
He flicked his wand and it opened with a creak.
The screaming pounded upon his mind immediately, and the creature lunged forward with legilimency. It didn't touch him. It couldn't reach him. His mind was aloft, and he smiled.
Finally.
He felt the cold and watched as gloomy hands extended. A ragged breath rattled free from inside and Harry felt his defenses waver and knew it was inside him.
But it wasn't able to bring him down.
He cast easily.
"Expecto Patronum."
He drove it back inside the cabinet with a laugh, feeling a rush like he had just pulled off a magnificent trick on his broom. He turned to look outside the window at the monsters which hung over the black lake.
You're next.
That night he broke out of the castle. He felt the chill of the Dementors, but it was lessened somehow. They couldn't reach him either, the long result of hours of occlumency, dozens of hours of having his mind raked and torn by the Boggart, and of study of the Mind Arts finally coming to fruition. He understood now.
He had been so dependent on the emotions of others for stability that when the Dementors attacked he instinctively reached out to others and drew more of the Dementors' magic into him.
His own lack of precious memories, as Dumbledore had called it, meant that he had been woefully unprepared for them.
Madam Pomfrey had been right when she called him fragile. He had been. His mind had been easily plucked and dissected by the creatures.
They had shaken his faith in himself, even as he attempted to keep them out. His magic, reaching and reacting to protect him in vain, had worn itself out. Like a strained muscle.
And perhaps… perhaps because he was so like them, that his magic had hurt him as much as it protected.
It didn't matter now. They couldn't hurt him anymore.
A Dementor came close, lingering in the air above Harry. It came closer and closer, but it never touched him with its magic. Its abilities flailed in futility around him and he laughed out loud.
It's time to practice.
He raised his wand.
I'm going to rip you apart.
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Harry was summoned by the Headmaster the next day and he ascended to the Headmaster's office with a grin.
"Ah Harry, having a good holiday?" Harry nodded eagerly and took the proffered seat.
"I can cast the patronus charm," he told his mentor. "Just a shield, but it's enough."
"Truly?" Dumbledore looked surprised and interested. "You believe that the Dementor's will no longer pose a threat to you?"
Harry frowned, before shaking his head. "Except in large enough numbers."
Dumbledore nodded. "I shall sign your pass then, and also offer my sincere congratulations." He smiled. "I have a great deal to congratulate you about, in fact. Your Herbology project came together nicely. I have yet to read it, though Madam Sprout was most ecstatic about her students' progress and Professor Flitwick passed along his pride regarding your ancient studies and magical theory projects. He was concerned about the use of blood magic, but I reassured him that you were being nothing but careful."
Dumbledore beamed at Harry and Harry couldn't help but return the grin.
"And your other research on Dementors?" Dumbledore pressed.
"I developed a spell based on them, but I didn't make any other progress." Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well done, Harry, very well done indeed."
Harry smiled.
"Sir, I've been wondering about Tom Riddle."
Dumbledore leaned back and nodded. "I'd have been surprised if you weren't."
"Did you teach him, the way you're teaching me?"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Tom Riddle displayed chronic cruelty to his fellow students. He cast dark magic spells on his classmates and he had obvious instincts towards domination. I kept a close eye on him here at school; though, perhaps not close enough."
"You made a mistake?" Harry observed.
"I did." Dumbledore nodded. "I resolved to not repeat it with you, Harry. Of course, it helps that you appreciate those who surround you, even if you have your enemies. Like Mr. Malfoy, who aligned himself against you and your friends quite early on, if I am to understand this perennial rumor mill of ours."
Harry gave the headmaster a nervous look.
"Harry, Voldemort was possessive, but never of people. He never valued the company of others the way you do, and his cruelty was never stayed or limited, not even from those most loyal to him. It is here where you are different. You have stood in admirable defense of your friends, for no other reason than that they are your friends. Tom could never have understood this. You are similar in many ways, yes. But, as I said before, it is in the ways you are different that matter most."
Dumbledore smiled gently.
"Were you similar to Grindelwald, the way I am to Voldemort?"
"Largely," The wizard answered, eyes tightening slightly. "We had many similarities, but also many differences. We were talented in the same spheres of magic, as you no doubt realize."
Harry had, in fact.
"We saw some similar philosophies, but our applications of them led us in different directions." Dumbledore smiled almost fondly.
"Did you know you could defeat him?" Harry pushed. He was desperate to know more about his contemporaries.
"No." Dumbledore leaned back and steepled his fingers. "I wasn't certain, but I could no longer wait. The war had dragged on for far too long, and it was becoming clear to me that I was the only one who could face him. I had to act, even if it wasn't easy."
Harry nodded in understanding, or at least, thinking that he did.
"Is that all, Harry? Do you still feel the chill of the Dementors?"
Harry nodded.
"I'm really not sure that it's from the Dementors, Sir."
Dumbledore nodded.
"A shorter discussion this week, then. Don't let me keep you, Harry."
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There was a box sitting in the room next to Harry, inside was the still moving remains of the Dementor he had torn to pieces.
It wasn't dead, because it couldn't be killed. In fact, it had never truly been alive. Dementors were amortal, and could starve if they ran out of magic to sustain them, but they couldn't be destroyed in any other way.
Harry hoped it was alive enough to suffer, though he wasn't sure that it could feel pain.
Its effect was still there though, the cold and misery, which was why a patronus was the only reasonable defense against the monsters.
Even if you ripped them apart, you weren't safe from their cruellest nature.
Harry sealed the box, locking away the creature's aura. He hid the container in the faux chimney he had designed to contain the fireplace.
He would succeed in imitating them, either with practice or with a ritual of some kind, but he was wary of exercising blood magic on himself. There were already powerful magical sacrifices in his blood.
He would need to use a revealing ritual on himself. It would inform him of the effects already in his blood which would allow him to decide which rituals he could safely perform.
It wasn't exact, but it would at least point him away from the absolutely wrong direction. He thought it best not to outright kill himself or accidentally ruin his life.
He could imagine it now. One of the greatest magical talents of the last fifty years, killing themself by accident.
He chuckled and shook his head.
The ritual… it might do another thing. It might let him know if the connection between himself and Voldemort was in his blood.
He searched his mind and felt nothing which could be Voldemort, nothing that indicated any of himself wasn't entirely his own.
That didn't, unfortunately, mean that it wasn't there. He could just be used to it; so used to it, that he would never, or could never, notice its presence. If it was there, then he'd had it since he was a year old.
There was no conscious time in his life where this connection hadn't existed. But… he was fairly sure that Voldemort wasn't in his head. The first reason for this was that he had felt Voldemort in his mind before. Here, at Hogwarts.
The second reason was that this wouldn't allow him to speak to snakes. That particular magic dwelled in other spheres.
This meant that is was either his blood or his soul, or perhaps both.
Dumbledore likely knew this. This was probably why Dumbledore had asked Harry to be cautious about such magics, and Harry by and large agreed.
"Harry?" He looked up.
"Hermione," he greeted. Her cat was on her heels and waltzed in behind her like he owned the room.
No, this is my room.
He thought aggressively in its direction.
Next to Harry on the table was Lebendig, eine kategorische Studie or Alive, A Categorical Study – the German book Dumbledore had given him – his notes, and Trevor the Toad.
The kneazle walked beneath Trevor and gave a feline chattering noise at the toad.
"Your cat isn't going to eat Neville's toad is it?' Harry asked as she walked in to plop a book down on the table. "I don't need a battle of familiars in here."
She scowled at him. "Crookshanks is perfectly well behaved."
He watched it pace beneath the toad with its eyes wide and targeting.
He shrugged. "Alright."
Trevor could take care of itself, maddening thing that it was.
"Have you thought anymore about coming to Beauxbatons?"
"Only a little, but I don't want to show up not knowing any French, and I don't want to neglect my studies here either."
He snorted. "Have you started learning French?"
"I know a little already, but I haven't been practicing," she confessed. "Not like you have." She reached for his book and he let her take a look at it. She didn't know any German beyond 'Ich bin ein Berliner', so he wasn't worried.
"This isn't French."
He shook his head. "It's German. Dumbledore loaned it to me."
"You know it's really unfair that you get help from him."
He furrowed his brow. "Yeah, probably." He grinned. "He is my guardian, though. Maybe if you were an orphan you could get advice from the Headmaster too."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
She set her time-turner down on the table and Harry's demeanor fell away. He eyed the object with undisguised interest.
"What?" She asked. "You already knew that I had one."
"I did," he said, looking at the golden sand from the Department of Mysteries.
"Did Dumbledore tell you?" Hermione asked.
"No, you were really obvious about it Hermione, at least to me. Teleporting around all willy-nilly and going to more than one class at the same time."
"Does Daphne know too, then?"
"Maybe?" He said.
"You didn't tell her?"
"No. Why would I?"
"Well, you two are pretty close."
He shrugged.
"Oh… I guess I just thought that… well- it doesn't matter."
[Are they not dating?]
He recoiled from the odd thought in Hermione's head. He shook his own slightly.
"It's not like we're dating or something crazy," he told her.
"You're not?" He frowned and shook his head at the question.
"No more than you and I are."
She nodded slowly.
"I was wondering, Harry, about divination." He gave her his attention. "And magical talents" He nodded for her to continue. "Well where do they come from?"
"They're usually random, for the most part," he explained from what he knew. "Some families have more common occurrences. The Black family often bragged about have many Metamorphmagi. Their family boasted a Metamorphmagus rate far above the usual frequency in the general population."
"Is it only for Purebloods?"
Ah.
"No, not really. Anyone could be born a shapeshifter, a pyrokinetic or an empath. Some families seem to inherit it but most 'pureblood' families lack any such talents."
She nodded.
"Is it possible to acquire them?"
"Not really." He paused to stroke his jaw. "For the most part, you're either born with it, or you aren't. Though, sometimes the talent can awaken later in life." He paused. "Many are at least imitable. Pyrokinesis can be very closely matched by sufficient practice with wandless magic, and many divination techniques can be effectively used by anyone."
"It's just… I know that being a muggleborn doesn't matter, but with things like that…"
"You're worried you can't compete?" He shook his head. "Hermione, Dumbledore and Grindelwald don't have any of these talents and neither do I."
"You have parseltongue, though."
"You're right, I learn so much from snakes," he said facetiously. "I use it all the time."
"You're also good at wandless magic, though."
"I'm alright." She gave him a bizarre look. "Alright, I'm a bit of a freak of nature, Hermione. But there are so few people who have these talents that you shouldn't worry about it. Besides, you have your own talents, like your memory, that they can't match either. Which is more useful, being smart, or being alright at setting things on fire without a wand?" He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."
"Of course you wouldn't." She sighed. "You're the next Merlin, already getting published."
"Neville and me," he pointed out.
She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you and Neville. How am I supposed to compete with that?"
"You could always not try and compete with me," he suggested. "You're talented enough that Dumbledore or somebody convinced the ministry to give you that." He pointed at the time-turner.
"I suppose…"
Wait a minute.
He plucked her brain.
"Did you ask the sorting hat to put you in Gryffindor just because Dumbledore was in that house?"
She glared at him.
"There's nothing wrong with taking Dumbledore's example."
"No, there's not," he said slowly. This was probably a sensitive topic for her.
"What?"
"Dumbledore isn't perfect, he makes mistakes all the times. He's inspiring, but he's just a wizard."
"Dumbledore is a great wizard! The greatest in the world!"
He nodded. "Certainly the most powerful, though Flamel also has a case for that particular title."
She frowned. "I thought you liked Dumbledore."
"I do. I also trust him absolutely and I love him like a grandfather. But he also makes mistakes, and it's important to recognize that we have different talents."
"Like what? What mistakes?"
"Voldemort," he answered without hesitation. "He confessed to me that he knew something was wrong with the student who would become Voldemort and that he never stopped him."
She frowned. "How could he have known?"
Harry shrugged. "He didn't know, not for certain. He also procrastinated too long before confronting Grindelwald. He told me he probably could have done something sooner."
"Well Grindelwald was a dangerous wizard and he had his duties here." Hermione didn't look impressed.
She didn't get it. "All three of us, he messed up with all of us!"
"All three of you?"
"Me," he said. "Hermione. He messed up with me, Grindelwald, and Voldemort. Who knows what else? Dumbledore is personally responsible for no small part of all the horrible events of the last century."
"What did he do to you?"
He winced. "That's… look here. Do you know what this book is?"
She looked at him for a moment before her gaze shifted to the book.
"It's about experiments done with the killing curse."
"That's horrible Harry!" She looked panicked. "You shoul-"
"Dumbledore gave it to me when I asked him questions about soul magic." Harry informed her. He let that sink in.
"Dumbledore let you read this?" She reached out and looked at it, suddenly much more trusting.
"He said that he wanted to perform some experiments in his youth, but he came across this book," he nodded at it, "by Harfang Munter, instead. I was considering some of these experiments when I talked to Dumbledore about it."
She looked at it, still afraid.
"What sorts of experiments?"
"Experiments on animals and their souls."
[Dark Magic!]
"Harry how could you, Dumbledore would neve-"
"He did. He's not what you think he is." He sighed and shook his head. He could practically taste her doubt and anger. "Have you ever even had a conversation with the Headmaster, Hermione? Look, here's another book I've been reading and talking to him about, the Fifth Element of Witchcraft." Harry withdrew the book from his bag. "It's blood magic."
"You're saying he's evil, Harry." She looked aghast. "I can't believe this."
"I'm saying he's complicated," he corrected.
[What does he mean? He says he loves Dumbledore, but that Dumbledore is also a horrible person with the same breath.]
"I'm saying that you're not like him, and that if you constantly try to be, you'll never reach your full potential."
"I'm not sure I can be around this." She pushed the soul magic book away from her.
"That's what I'm saying," he continued. "You aren't like us."
But he knew that she didn't understand.
"You think you're like Dumbledore?"
"I know I am," he affirmed adamantly. "I will succeed him."
"How do you know that?" She looked astonished. "Harry, he's the greatest wizard of all time."
[He can't be serious.]
"I'm powerful and talented and, unlike him, I have a powerful and talented mentor," Harry explained. "By standing on his shoulders, I can see further than him and reach higher. He's not a God."
"You know I was going to ask you to help me with a spell, but I think that I'll just work on it on my own until you come to your senses, Harry. You've been acting so strange all year. I don't know why you're being like this."
"I've always been like this."
He shook his head as she walked out with her cat. She took their friendship with them as she walked out.
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She didn't understand. This time he wasn't sure that she ever would.
After Hermione left, Harry was certain their friendship must be over. She couldn't forgive what she saw as an attack on her idol, or his fascination with what she considered dark magic.
Though, she isn't entirely wrong.
Harry laid out his materials. He might as well perform the ritual now to see if he could replicate the Dementor's power for himself.
He copied directly from The Fifth Element of Witchcraft and created a pane of runes to channel his intent. He went through the book five times to make sure he had the proper runes and had made no mistakes, before he stepped closer and slit his forearm.
This is going to hurt.
Aside from the blood it took to start the ritual, pain and agony were the things he sacrificed for the knowledge of his blood.
He expected to find some bond between himself and Voldemort. He found nothing of the sort.
The ritual was costly enough that he passed out, and when he woke up the next day he was starving. He cleaned up the bloody mess he had made before grabbing a quick breakfast and hurrying back to the room to find out the results.
Harry watched the Dementors he had conquered from the window of his study. He felt furious. How could he? How could Dumbledore do this?
Maybe Dumbledore didn't know.
Harry had been studying magic for three years, if he could piece it together, Dumbledore could too. There was no way he hadn't.
The man had practically told Harry the truth. Harry felt his trust in the old wizard waver. Why had the wizard lied to him? There must be a reason why. What was it about the soul that Dumbledore didn't want Harry to know? That question was the key to solving this problem.
It just came back to that same question in the end. Why?
The room shook slightly. Harry smelled ozone and could feel voltage across his tongue. He could hear the wind in his lungs and the cold in his chest. A winter storm brewed in his core and sparks of lightning flew from one of his fingertips to the next.
Harry turned towards the table reaching deep within himself. He felt the effect he had long studied in an attempt to imitate the Boggart and Dementors flare to life. If someone had been in the room with him, they would have felt terrifying and soul crushing despair. They would have felt the cold that he felt. He touched the center of himself, where he had long felt the freezing burn, and drew it out. It was frigid, and empty, and it howled.
He felt the decay effect he had Arithmantically devised and based his degeneration curse on join the other two effects. The table began to wither. The enchantments losing hold as they unravelled at some fundamental level.
Harry calmed himself immediately when he saw the damage. His hours of practice with the Boggart and performing occlumency exercises steeled him and he felt temperance grow. Such loss of control was inappropriate. He had to remain tempered.
The magical effects collapsed back to him with a snap and he felt bone deep exhaustion.
He shook his head and felt shame for the outburst. This anger might well be unwarranted. Maybe Dumbledore hadn't lied, maybe Dumbledore didn't know, or maybe Dumbledore wanted Harry to find out for himself. Harry wasn't sure, but he knew that he felt betrayed.
That was ridiculous though, Dumbledore wouldn't hurt him.
Dursley.
Something cold and harsh deep inside him whispered the name, and Harry had to almost physically shake off his instinctual shudder. He would talk to Dumbledore about this during their next meeting. Although...
There was one way he could find out for certain. He needed to have a 'chat' with Luna Lovegood.
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"Floods are 'acts of God,' but flood losses are acts of man" - Oscar Wilde
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Next, 'the Hermit'
I publicly answer questions at my forum for this story.
WG