Chapter Twenty-One: Going Home
Halloween had never been Harry's favourite holiday. The Dursleys had never allowed him to properly enjoy the muggle celebrations, and ever since he'd re-joined the magical world, the day had mostly served as a sombre reminder of the family that was taken from him. The Halloween Feast at Hogwarts wasn't half bad, though, so at least there was something redeeming about the holiday.
Whether it was simply a quirk of the magical world or just his unique brand of luck, unusual things tended to happen around Harry on Halloween. In his first year, it was the troll attacking Hermione in the bathroom. His second year started off in peculiar fashion with Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party, which was followed by what would turn out to be the first of several basilisk attacks. The following year, they had to spend the night in the Great Hall, because Sirius, in his infinite wisdom, thought it a good idea to attack the Fat Lady's portrait in pursuit of Wormtail, and Harry didn't even want to think about last year's debacle with the Goblet of Fire.
Now in his fifth year, the annual Halloween adventure had become almost routine — so he shouldn't have been surprised when he received a note from Albus Dumbledore, asking to meet him in the entrance hall immediately following the feast.
"Hello, sir," said Harry, from under his Invisibility Cloak.
"Good evening, Harry, I trust I find you well," replied the professor.
"Well enough."
"I suppose that will have to suffice, although there are several worse alternatives," Dumbledore replied sagely. "If you are willing, I have arranged another extra-curricular excursion, which I believe you might find interesting."
"You know me, sir," said Harry, eliciting a chuckle from the headmaster, and together they left the castle and set off across the grounds.
"Has there been any news about the escaped Death Eaters?"
"Nothing to speak of," Dumbledore replied quietly. "After such long stints in Azkaban, I suspect they shall require a fair amount of recovery before they are able to cause any real trouble."
"I guess that makes sense," said Harry, and the next few minutes were spent walking in silence.
"I could not help but notice that the youngest Miss Greengrass has been regularly taking her meals at the Gryffindor table, and that you may also be found dining with the Ravenclaws, on occasion."
Harry turned in surprise towards the professor. "Aren't you a bit old for gossip, sir?" he replied jokingly.
Dumbledore laughed. "Quite the contrary," he said. "Once you approach my age, you may find that many of your contemporaries have little else to do; but that is not why I mention it. I had feared that recent events would cause you to isolate yourself, in an attempt to keep others from harm. I admit to being quite relieved that you have allowed someone else to get close to you, in spite of the burden you face."
"Well…I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it," Harry admitted hesitantly, "but people keep reminding me that I don't have to fight the war by myself. Plus, Astoria made it pretty clear that she was sticking around whether I liked it or not."
"How wonderful," chuckled the professor. "I have always believed that our bonds only make us stronger; something which I sincerely hope you continue to discover on your own."
The front gates were growing closer, and Harry correctly assumed they would be Apparating as soon as they crossed the school's boundary. As curious as he was to learn about that evening's destination, he had one more question he needed to ask first.
"Professor…what do you know about the Death Eater called Travers?"
Dumbledore turned his head to look at Harry — or, more accurately, where he assumed Harry would be, considering he was currently invisible.
"Talford Travers is one of Lord Voldemort's more dedicated servants," he answered. "I attended his trial, where he was convicted for his role in eliminating a rather prominent wizarding family."
"The McKinnons, right?"
"Correct," nodded Dumbledore. "The youngest daughter, Marlene, was a member of the original Order of the Phoenix. Her death was quite a blow to us all. May I ask why you are enquiring about Travers, specifically?
"Astoria's worried," replied Harry. "I guess Travers is her mum's cousin, so she's worried about what him being free means to her family. I think part of her is afraid he'll show up to Christmas dinner with some of his mask-wearing friends."
"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "What do you know of her parents?"
"Well, I know they both believe in blood purity, but from what I can tell, her father doesn't seem like the type to join up with Voldemort — at least not willingly."
"A reasonable assessment," concurred Dumbledore. "Elias Greengrass has sat on the Wizengamot for many a year, and while his voting record is far from progressive, there has never been any indication that he is closely allied with Lord Voldemort's supporters."
"Their mother, though…" continued Harry. "Astoria hasn't said much, but I get the sense her mum might be more open to supporting him, given the chance. I think that's what's making her nervous — she's not sure what will happen if Travers winds up contacting their family."
"I believe I understand," replied the headmaster. "While I am sure it is of little consolation, the odds of such a thing happening are relatively low, in my opinion — at least in the near term."
"But it is possible," said Harry.
"We cannot rule it out," conceded Dumbledore. "While I can reasonably assure you of the Greengrass sisters' safety within Hogwarts, I am afraid there is little I can do during the holidays. If you are concerned, might I suggest you consider creating a method to quickly communicate with one another?"
"That's a good idea, sir. Any suggestions?"
"Perhaps, but I admit to being rather curious about what sort of solution you might come up with on your own," replied the professor, much to Harry's annoyance. "I am fairly certain Miss Granger would also lend her assistance, but if it makes you feel any better, you may approach me about this again in December, if you have yet to devise a reliable method."
"Thanks…I guess," said Harry, mumbling the last part under his breath.
After another minute of walking, they finally reached the front gates of Hogwarts.
"I believe you may now safely remove your Cloak."
Harry did as he was asked and stuffed the Cloak into his robe pocket, and then looked up to see Dumbledore standing with his arm extended towards him, making no attempt to conceal his look of amusement. Sighing, Harry braced himself and grabbed hold of the professor's arm. Less than a second later, he felt the familiar squeeze of Apparition, and then found himself standing in an alleyway directly across from a small village square.
"Just a moment, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, transfiguring his plum-coloured robes into an old-fashioned muggle suit of a similar shade. "There will likely be muggles out and about, so I believe a change in wardrobe is in order."
At first, Harry thought Dumbledore was going to transfigure his clothes for him too, but instead, the headmaster just peered at Harry expectantly over the tops of his spectacles.
"Oh, right…sorry," Harry murmured sheepishly, before taking out his own wand. He moved to change his outfit into something more suitable, but then he paused to look up at Dumbledore. "Hang on," he said, "I still can't do magic outside of school."
"Ah, of course," replied the professor. "Without revealing too much, let us just say that the Trace is not nearly as accurate as the Ministry would like you to believe," he explained. "As your headmaster, I give you my permission to use any appropriate magic during our out-of-school lessons."
"Oh — all right, then," said Harry, before transfiguring his school robes into a grey woollen jumper and blue jeans.
Dumbledore nodded in approval at Harry's work. "Shall we?" he said, and then he led Harry out of the alley and into the square.
It was a quaint little village, with several shops, a pub, and an old church lined with stained-glass windows. There were at least a dozen villagers walking about — including a few children in costume — and Harry could hear the sounds of laughter and muffled conversation coming from the pub.
In the centre of the square was a moderately tall obelisk, which Harry supposed was a memorial of some sort. He was about to comment on it as they passed, when it suddenly transformed before his eyes into a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and — Harry's breath hitched when he saw it — a small baby being held lovingly in his mother's arms.
"Professor…what is this place?" Harry asked distractedly, gazing up at the stone likenesses of what was obviously meant to be him and his parents.
"This, Harry, is the village of Godric's Hollow."
That at least explained the statue, although he never would have believed that such a thing existed, had he not seen it with his own eyes. "So, this was where it all happened," Harry said to himself, as he gazed around the village a second time.
He wondered where he could find the cottage that had once been his home. Was Dumbledore planning on bringing him there? It had been exactly fourteen years since that night — was there even anything left of it? Harry idly wondered if his parents went to church, or if they ever ate at the pub. Perhaps they even had friends who still lived in the village.
"I realised that you have never been given the opportunity to visit your parents," said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the church.
At first, Harry didn't understand, but then he saw the graveyard tucked behind the church. "My mum and dad…they're buried there?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
"Correct," Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "If you like, I can show you to their grave. It is, of course, your decision."
"I'll — I'll go," Harry replied after a moment, even if small part of him was afraid to see it.
Dumbledore led Harry behind the church and into the graveyard, though the professor lingered behind after pointing him in the direction of his parents' graves. There was just enough moonlight to see, so Harry didn't bother lighting his wand, in case there were still some muggles about.
As he made his way between the tombstones, it dawned on Harry that he had never properly grieved for his parents. He felt guilty for a moment, before deciding that no one could really be expected to mourn for people of whom they had no memory in the first place. After all, if it weren't for the photographs Hagrid shared with him, he wouldn't even know what his parents looked like. Even so, the realisation that he was about to see the place where they were buried settled like a weight on his chest, which only seemed to grow heavier with each step he took.
Harry was so lost in thought that he almost walked right past it, but then he saw it. It seemed fitting that the two of them shared a single headstone, made from pure white marble that glowed in the moonlight.
"Hey, Mum…Dad," said Harry, the words catching in his throat.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the enigmatic words engraved near the bottom: The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. Perhaps he would ask Dumbledore about it later. For the time being, it was much more important to Harry that he commit his parents' birthdays to memory. Seeing that they had only been twenty-one when they died came as a bit of a shock, and it also served to remind him of just how little he actually knew about his family.
For a long while, Harry simply stared in silence at his parents' grave, caught up between thoughts of the past and sorrow over the future that was stolen from them. Not for the first time, he wondered what his life would have been like, had Voldemort never existed. Perhaps he would have had brothers or sisters, maybe even a pet or two. If nothing else, there was little doubt that he would have grown up to be a completely different person. What would his parents think of him if they saw him now? Would they be proud? Disappointed? Angry about everything he'd been forced to deal with?
"I really wish you were here right now," he said in a hoarse whisper, not even bothering to wipe his tears.
Deciding that he'd lingered long enough, he silently promised to return soon, and then turned around to search for Dumbledore, who he spotted attending his own silent vigil in front of a grave two rows down from him.
"Sir?" asked Harry as he approached, taking care to maintain a respectful distance.
"Please join me, Harry," Professor Dumbledore responded, in a friendly voice.
Harry passed between the rows and moved to the professor's side. Looking down, he was surprised by the names on the weathered headstone. Near the top of the marker was engraved the name KENDRA DUMBLEDORE, followed by the dates of her birth and death, and directly underneath it read, AND HER DAUGHTER ARIANA.
"Professor…is this your family?"
"My mother and my younger sister," confirmed Dumbledore. "They have been gone for nearly one hundred years now."
"Sorry," replied Harry, not knowing what else to say. "So…you're from Godric's Hollow, too?"
"Not originally," answered the professor. "My family moved here when I was young, although for all intents and purposes, Hogwarts has been my home for many decades."
"It looks like they died one after another," observed Harry, noting the dates on the headstone. "Were they sick?"
Dumbledore shut his eyes for a moment. "Not in so many words," he eventually responded. "My mother died in a tragic accident. Ariana's death…was my fault."
Harry was at a loss for words. He could tell, just from the man's expression, that a century still hadn't been enough time to erase the pain of Professor Dumbledore's loss. What could have possibly happened to still elicit such a strong reaction after so many years?
"My sister was not well and needed near-constant supervision. My father had been imprisoned some years before, so when my mother died, that responsibility fell to me," explained Dumbledore. "During that time, a young man from the continent came to stay with a relative of his. He was, if you forgive my lack of modesty, the only person I have ever met who was my true equal, both magically and intellectually. As you might expect, we became fast friends."
"He must've been something, sir."
"Something, indeed," he replied sadly. "We made such grand plans together, Harry. The two of us were going to take the wizarding world by storm, and be the leaders who would usher our society into a new age…" Dumbledore bowed his head, a look of sorrow etched upon his face. "Fools, is what we were, and it was my foolishness that led to the death of my sister — perhaps even countless others, when all was said and done."
Harry's eyes widened as he struggled to grasp what Dumbledore could have possibly meant by countless others.
"What…what do you mean, sir? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."
"The time eventually came when my friend and I decided to tour the world and set our plans into motion," he continued, shaking his head as if ashamed. "My brother was set to return to Hogwarts, so with no one else to care for her, I planned to bring Ariana along with us."
"Your brother…is he still alive?" asked Harry curiously.
"Aberforth," nodded the professor. "You may have even seen him around Hogsmeade on occasion. He has been the proprietor of the Hog's Head Inn for many years now."
"I don't think I've ever been there."
"It is not the most popular haunt for students," Dumbledore acknowledged. "As I was saying, my friend and I were preparing to embark on our journey with my young, extremely delicate sister in tow. When my brother learned of our plans, he tried to stop us. When Aberforth — quite rightly, mind you — castigated us for such a foolish plan, my friend was outraged. An argument ensued…"
Dumbledore sighed and gently massaged his forehead with his fingertips.
"What happened?"
"The argument quickly devolved into a duel between the three of us, and Gellert lost control. Aberforth was injured, but Ariana —" Dumbledore choked up slightly, and Harry could see tears glistening on the man's cheeks. "— the duel suddenly ended, and Ariana lay dead upon the floor. I never discovered which one of us cast the spell that did it, and to this day, I remain terrified of learning the answer."
"I — I'm sorry, sir," Harry said consolingly, while the professor worked on regaining his composure.
"Ariana was dead, Aberforth was justifiably furious with me — our relationship remains strained to this day — and Gellert fled to the continent, where he would go on to do unspeakable things under the guise of fulfilling our plans for the greater good of wizarding society."
"Gellert? That was your friend's name?"
"Correct," replied Dumbledore. "Gellert Grindelwald."
Harry's brow wrinkled at hearing the name. There was definitely something familiar about it…He sat there thinking for a moment, and then his eyes widened in recognition. It was quite a famous name, after all — one he had first seen the on the back of Dumbledore's own Chocolate Frog card, during his first trip on the Hogwarts Express.
"Grindelwald?" he said disbelievingly. "Wasn't he the Dark Wizard you defeated?"
"One and the same," replied Dumbledore, nodding in confirmation.
Harry ran a hand through his hair as he attempted to process what he'd just learned. It was difficult enough to envision Professor Dumbledore as a young man — one who had experienced his own hardships — but learning he had once been friends with a notorious Dark Lord was nearly too much to take in. He was just about to speak, when Dumbledore turned to him with a serious expression.
"Tell me, Harry. What do you know of the Dark Arts?"
Harry's blood ran cold. "He knows," was all he could think, although he sincerely hoped he was wrong. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir," he eventually responded.
"Come now, Harry, you received an Outstanding on your Defence O.W.L., did you not?" he replied, almost disappointedly. "What can you tell me about Dark Magic?"
"Well," began Harry, "generally speaking, the Dart Arts refers to magic that exists only to harm, control, or kill others."
"A succinct, and fairly accurate summary," confirmed Dumbledore. "Yet not one without flaws. By your definition, some of the minor jinxes and hexes frequently used at Hogwarts should be considered Dark, yet they are not. So, in your opinion, what makes true Dark Magic different?"
"I — I don't know, sir," replied Harry. "I sort of thought that magic was just magic, and the only real difference was how you used it."
"Ah, a common misunderstanding," said Dumbledore, with a slight bow of the head. "Do you recall our previous conversation, when we discussed how magic is, in a sense, 'alive'?"
"Er — yeah, you compared it to how plants are living things with instincts, even though they can't think for themselves," recalled Harry.
"Well remembered," said Dumbledore, again nodding in confirmation. "Dark Magic is unique, in that it draws power from the negative emotions of the caster — anger, fear, hate, to name a few. Indeed, the absence of these emotions would render the use of truly Dark spells nearly impossible."
"I think I understand," responded Harry, the professor's explanation matching his own experience. "It's sort of like the opposite of casting a Patronus."
"Precisely! That is an excellent comparison," Dumbledore said approvingly. "However, there is another unique characteristic of Dark Magic which sets it apart," he continued, his serious expression returning. "Just as the wizard channels their emotions into the spells, so too does the magic redirect some of itself back into the caster — creating a sort of feedback loop, if you will."
Harry frowned at that. "What does that mean, sir?" he asked.
"It means, Harry, that prolonged use of Dark Magic carries detrimental, and sometimes permanent consequences to those who use it," explained Dumbledore, and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of Harry's stomach. "The Dark Arts are, at their essence, a corrupting influence," the professor continued, "one might even say they are parasitic in nature. You see, by negatively influencing the emotional and psychological makeup of those who perform it, the Dark Magic ensures that there will be a never-ending supply of hostile feelings to draw from, thereby perpetuating the cycle."
Harry's feeling of unease only grew stronger the more Professor Dumbledore spoke. He had already experienced a few incidents that caused him to question the source of his increased aggression — most of them involving Malfoy. The possibility of being influenced by the expelled fragment of Voldemort's soul had been his main concern, but had he been unknowingly contributing to his own changes by regularly practicing Dark spells?
"Is that what happened to Grindelwald? He was corrupted by Dark Magic?"
"No, it became clear that the monster Gellert would become had always slumbered somewhere inside of him," replied Dumbledore. "However, his years of experimenting in the Dark Arts, both alone and as a student at Durmstrang, likely exacerbated his issues and helped to bring out the worst in him."
"But just using Dark spells won't make you evil, will it?" asked Harry, his need for reassurance outweighing his sense of discretion.
"Certainly not," responded the professor, "but it can be a slippery slope. It may start with subtle changes in personality or temperament, but heavy, prolonged usage tends to leave permanent marks on a person's soul."
Harry nodded contemplatively before directing his eyes towards the ground. His motivation for learning Dark Magic had initially been to fight back against Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but there was no denying that he had grown to enjoy it. Where was he to go from there? He would have to think more on it at another time, however, because Dumbledore's next words completely jolted him out of his reverie.
"You may find it difficult to believe, but not even I have always been immune to such temptation."
"You, sir?" said Harry, looking up in shock.
"Oh yes," Dumbledore replied seriously. "I was a much younger man at the time, of course. Incidentally, it has been observed that the Dark Arts tend to attract those with significantly above-average magical power, such as ourselves. As such, it is vital that we fully understand the consequences of going down such a path."
Harry balked at being placed into the same category as Dumbledore but chose not to comment.
"Well, you seemed to have turned out all right, at least."
"I am certainly glad that you think so," replied the headmaster, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Fortunately, for my sake, I have had enough positive influence in my life to counter the negative effects. Teaching," he added, in response to Harry's inquisitive look. "I had long since abandoned any Darker pursuits I once had by then, but from the day I began teaching at Hogwarts, I have never once considered re-engaging in such activities."
"That's good to hear," said Harry, not knowing how else to respond. "Thank you for telling me all that."
"You are most welcome, and I apologise for the lecture — especially considering the venue," replied Dumbledore. "As a lifelong educator, I find that I cannot always help myself. I bring this up, because I recognise that at some point in the future, you will likely face Voldemort and his Death Eaters in battle. It is my intention to teach you how to do fight — and win — without needing to resort to the Dark Arts."
For the first time since their conversation started, Harry felt a tiny glimmer of hope.
"Is that really possible, sir? I mean, can we really beat Voldemort without…you know…fighting fire with fire?" he asked hesitantly, hoping he wasn't giving too much away.
"Certainly," nodded the professor. "Truly Dark Magic is often powerful in nature, while also being relatively simple to use — which partially explains why it is so attractive to some. The injuries it inflicts are also difficult to heal, owing to its corrupting nature, but that does not make practitioners of the Dark Arts invincible."
"I see…"
"No, you do not — but you will," Dumbledore assured him. "You will learn that with enough practice, skill, and imagination, a wizard can injure, incapacitate, or even kill extraordinarily powerful opponents without the use of Dark Magic. That is what I shall teach you, Harry, along with the responsibility that comes with wielding such power."
"That sounds brilliant…sir."
"I shall not lie; you have a long, difficult road ahead of you," Dumbledore reminded him. "That said, you have already done remarkably well in our first lessons, which, as you may have guessed, have provided the building blocks for what you will be learning from this point forward."
Harry opened his mouth to ask when they could get started, but the headmaster held a hand up to forestall him. "We shall not be starting this evening," he said. "However, there are other things of interest I would like to show you before we return to Hogwarts."
Professor Dumbledore led Harry into what seemed to be the oldest section of the graveyard, eventually coming to a halt in front of an ancient, moss-covered grave marker. The headstone was set flat into the ground. It must have been centuries old, because the stone was so worn that the name engraved into it was barely legible.
"Ignotus Peverell," Harry read aloud, squinting to decipher the inscription. Unlike the others he had seen, the marker was bereft of any dates or meaningful quotations. Instead, there was only a worn triangular symbol fixed directly beneath the name.
"An ancestor of yours, who resided in this village hundreds of years ago," said Dumbledore.
"My ancestor?"
"That is correct," confirmed the professor. "Ignotus's granddaughter married into the Potter family, who also have ties to Godric's Hollow, going back several centuries."
"That's…interesting, sir, but how do you know so much about my family?"
"Ah, while the Potter family certainly have their own rich history, it was actually the Peverells that captured my interest as a young man," Dumbledore clarified. "Ignotus Peverell was the youngest of three brothers, who, while not nearly as well-known today, were the subjects of many rumours and legends during their time."
"What sort of legends?" asked Harry curiously.
Professor Dumbledore gave him a cryptic smile and reached into the pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a tattered old book and handing to Harry.
"If you are interested in learning why the Peverells are famous — or infamous, depending on your definition — then I suggest you peruse this in your free time," Dumbledore instructed him. "It is a collection of short stories; 'The Tale of the Three Brothers' might be of particular interest."
Harry flipped through a few pages, only to find each one of them filled with unfamiliar characters.
"Sir…I can't read this," he said with a look of confusion.
"That is to be expected, considering you have never studied Ancient Runes," replied Dumbledore, with a hint of amusement. "Perhaps Miss Granger could be convinced to assist in the translation."
"She'll be thrilled," Harry replied honestly. "Hang on…"
Dumbledore looked inquisitively at Harry, who suddenly looked as though he was trying to recall something important.
"I think I've heard the name before, but I can't remember where," he explained, his face screwed up in concentration. "For some reason I keep picturing an angry old man…"
Speaking his thoughts aloud somehow helped to trigger Harry's memory, and the image of an elderly man waving an ugly black ring in the face of a Ministry worker sprang to the forefront of his mind. "Know how much I've been offered for this, with the Peverell coat of arms engraved on the stone?" the incensed man had shouted.
"Voldemort's grandfather!" exclaimed Harry. "He said his ring came from the Peverells!"
"Very good, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking pleased. "I had wondered if you would make the connection. It is as you say — just as your family are descended from Ignotus, the Gaunt family can trace their lineage to Cadmus, the middle Peverell brother."
"Wait," said Harry, a look of disgust creeping onto his face. "Does that mean I'm related to Voldemort?"
"Distantly," confirmed Dumbledore. "While I am sure it is not the most pleasant of thoughts, I would not let it bother you. If you go back far enough, nearly everyone descended from old wizarding families are related, in one way or another."
"Still though," remarked Harry with a shiver. "So, if Voldemort and I are descended from two of the Peverells, what about the oldest brother? Is he like, your great great great grandfather or something?"
"No, no," chuckled the professor. "As far as anyone knows, Antioch Peverell died childless, so you and Tom Riddle are the only remaining direct descendants of that mysterious family."
Harry had more questions, but Dumbledore forestalled him before he could ask. "I encourage you to investigate this matter on your own," he stated. "I may be willing to answer some of your questions in the future, but not before you have done your own homework, so to speak."
"Yes, sir," nodded Harry, allowing his gaze to drift back in the direction of his parents' grave.
"No doubt, this has been a trying day for you," said Dumbledore kindly. "I intended to offer you the choice of visiting your former home this evening. It is still standing, though the damage caused that night has never been repaired."
A deep sigh escaped Harry. As much as he would have liked to see the place where he had spent the first year or so of his life, he really wasn't sure he was up for it — at least not that evening.
"Maybe next time, Professor," he eventually replied.
"I completely understand, of course. Shall we return to Hogwarts?"
Harry took one last look towards the rear of the graveyard and then nodded in agreement. He was grateful to Professor Dumbledore for bringing him to visit his parents, even if the man clearly had his own agenda for doing so. If nothing else, the headmaster had given him plenty to think about.
oOoOoOo
WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN,
WEASLEY IS OUR KING!
"Ron's not doing very well, is he?" Hermione asked anxiously.
"Not so much," replied Harry, grimacing as the Slytherins celebrated going up ninety to twenty.
The match had been truly painful to watch. Ron had been a bundle of nerves from the moment he got out of bed that morning, and nothing anyone tried seemed to bring him out of it — not even a good luck peck on the cheek from Hermione. The Slytherins' singing certainly hadn't helped matters, and by that point, Harry was practically begging Ginny to just catch the Snitch and put her brother out of his misery.
For her part, Ginny had flown very well, but she obviously lacked experience at the Seeker position. She spent more time watching out for Bludgers than she did looking for the Snitch, and there had been one particularly painful moment where she'd had the chance to snatch a victory almost literally out from under Malfoy's nose, but she hadn't seen the tiny golden ball in time. Harry definitely thought she had potential to be a good player, but going up against an extremely physical Slytherin team for her first match was far from the ideal situation.
WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN,
HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN…
"And with that goal by Pucey, Slytherin increase their lead to eighty," the morose voice of Lee Jordan called out over the roaring of the crowd.
Harry shut his eyes and rubbed them with the heels of his hands; the sooner the match was over, the better.
"You going to be all right?" asked Astoria, nudging him slightly.
"Yeah," he replied, dropping his hands and gazing up at the action above. "I just wish I could be out there with them."
"You'll get your chance again," she reassured him, looping her arm through his. "Umbridge won't be around forever."
"Yeah, you're right," agreed Harry, but it was of little consolation.
"— and Gryffindor captain Angelina Johnson zooms up the pitch, ducks a Bludger from Goyle and tosses it to Katie Bell, back to Angelina, who avoids Warrington, back to Bell, who shoots — GRYFFINDOR SCORE! Excellent technique from the Gryffindor Chasers! The score is now one hundred to thirty in favour Slytherin, Pucey now with the Quaffle…"
Harry cheered along with the rest of the Gryffindors, though he was momentarily distracted by the deafening sound of a roaring lion coming from directly behind him. He turned in his seat to see Luna clapping wildly with a beaming smiling on her face. The eccentric Ravenclaw girl had been spending a lot of time with the Gryffindors lately, especially since the first meeting of the Hogwarts Underground. Apparently, she had decided to show her appreciation by procuring a hat shaped like an incredibly lifelike lion's head, which, as Harry had just been reminded, came equipped with a built-in roaring function.
"I have a bad feeling about this," murmured Harry, as he suddenly saw Malfoy streaking after the Snitch. Ginny was hot on his heels, but a surprisingly well-placed by Bludger from Crabbe gave Malfoy all the room he needed to snatch the tiny golden ball and deliver Slytherin a convincing victory.
"— Malfoy catches the Snitch, and Slytherin win two-hundred-fifty to thirty…" groaned Lee, as the Gryffindor supporters deflated in their seats.
WEASLEY IS OUR KING!
WEASLEY IS OUR KING!
"Poor Ron…do you think he'll be all right?" Hermione asked worriedly.
"I honestly don't know," returned Harry. "We might not be able to even get him back on a broom after this."
Harry glared up at the sky as Malfoy took a victory lap around the stands with his teammates, the Golden Snitch raised high above his head. Directly across from him, he could see the Slytherins in the stands either celebrating with one another or jeering the Gryffindor players as they left the pitch.
"Bugger…"
Harry started grumbling to himself, but he stopped when he felt a pair of lips pressed against his cheek.
"Try not to let it bother you," Astoria said quietly in his ear. "You're better than Draco in every possible way, and he knows it."
Harry snorted and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm not really worried about him," he replied. Malfoy had largely been ignoring Harry as of late, although some of his usual swagger had returned since the Azkaban breakout. "He is going to be completely insufferable though, especially to Ron," he added.
"You're probably right," sighed Astoria. "Hopefully he'll get tired of gloating soon and move on."
"Have you met Malfoy?" enquired Harry, giving her a look of disbelief.
Astoria deflated. "Right…well, there's always next year," she attempted, causing Harry to chuckle in spite of himself.
"You guys coming?" asked Neville. He and Hermione were standing with Luna, apparently waiting on them. With a final look out over the pitch, Harry stood and joined the crowd as they made the trek back to the castle.
After escorting Astoria back to Ravenclaw Tower — with a few quick detours along the way — Harry returned to his own, unusually sombre common room. The Quidditch team were all gathered dejectedly around the fire, except for Ron, who apparently hadn't been seen since the match. Harry waited as long as he could for his best mate to return, but he was supposed to be meeting Daphne that evening, so he resolved to connect with Ron later and made his way up to the seventh floor.
Harry had been pleased to learn that the Fidelius Charm had not prevented others from using the Room of Requirement, at least whenever the Underground weren't occupying it (several of them had taken to using the shortened name, after Ron had insisted it 'sounded cooler'). He managed to arrive before Daphne, so he opened the Room and went inside to wait for her.
While he was waiting, Harry thought back to what Dumbledore had told him two nights prior. The very concept of Dark Magic permanently changing one's personality, or potentially even damaging their soul had shocked Harry to his core. He briefly toyed with the notion that the headmaster was lying to him, but then he remembered Sirius saying something similar over the summer. No, Harry was certain that Dumbledore was telling the truth — the only question was whether Daphne would believe it.
Just then, the door opened and Daphne strode inside, her look of annoyance visible from all the way across the Room. "Sorry," she grumbled as she made her way towards him. "The entire House is still going mad over the match. It's by far the biggest party I've seen in my five years as a Slytherin, so it took a little while for me to make my escape."
"And there I was, afraid you'd decided to ditch me to celebrate with Malfoy," Harry responded wryly.
"As if," scoffed Daphne. "Now, if they'd let me on the team like I deserve, then that would be another story. Speaking of the match, I saw Astoria sitting with the Gryffindors today; I take it things are going well?"
"Definitely," nodded Harry. "Surprisingly, nobody's really bothered us, either — at least not so far."
"Well, it probably helps that you haven't been too obvious in public," she suggested, before fixing Harry with a recriminating stare. "I assume you are behaving like a gentleman in private, as well?"
"Of course, I am!"
"I know, Harry, I'm just teasing you," replied Daphne, a smirk forming on her face. "My sister tells me everything, you know?"
Harry felt his face heating up. "Right, I should've known," he muttered.
"Yes, you should have," she laughed, "but enough of that. I had a great idea for something new we can work on today."
Harry had a sinking feeling that whatever she was going to suggest wasn't going to mesh well with his impending 'no more Dark Magic' proposal, but he gestured for her to continue.
"We practice the Imperius Curse on each other," she suggested, confirming his suspicions.
"Why would we ever want to do that?" asked Harry, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.
"Isn't it obvious?" she replied, a little impatiently. "I need to learn how to throw off the curse! All this duelling practice is for nothing if someone can just sneak up behind me and hit me with an Imperio."
"Didn't you get to practice that last year with imposter Moody?"
"Yes, but I was rubbish at it!" she practically shouted, before taking a seat to calm herself. "Look, Harry…nothing has happened yet, but the Death Eater spawn in my House are getting cockier. I need to be able to protect myself — plus, it wouldn't hurt to know how to cast it, just in case…"
Feeling a headache coming on, Harry started gently massaging his temples. "Listen, I understand where you're coming from, but —" he started, but she cut him off before he could raise his concerns.
"No, you listen! You are the only person I know who is both capable of casting the spell and noble enough not to take advantage of the situation," she said testily. "You also know that I wouldn't be able to control you even if I tried, but you could at least tell me if I'm doing the spell correctly."
As much as Harry wanted to argue, Daphne had made some valid points — and it was important that she at least learned how to fight the Imperius Curse, if not throw it off completely. He was obviously going to agree, but first, he needed to make sure Daphne understood that some things had to change.
"Fine, we can practice the Imperius until you can fight it off," he told her. "But after that, I think we need to take a break from Dark Magic."
Daphne's celebratory expression was quickly replaced by one of confusion. "What do you mean?" she asked, clearly not understanding the cause of Harry's sudden about-face.
"I had a talk with Dumbledore the other day…" Harry began, and then continued to fill Daphne in on everything he'd learned about the nature of Dark Magic and its long-term consequences. She listened patiently to his explanation, though she did raise a sceptical eyebrow at one or two of his assertions.
Once he had finished, she leaned forward in her seat and asked him, "Have you considered the idea that Dumbledore might be lying, so that his precious protégé doesn't delve into magics he doesn't approve of?"
"I did consider it," replied Harry, which seemed to surprise Daphne. "I don't think he's lying, though. For one, someone else I trust once said something similar. For another —" Harry hesitated, not really wanting to admit what he was about to say, even to himself. "— I can feel it happening already. I've tried to explain it away, but I can't deny it anymore. The amount of Dark Magic we've been practicing has started to affect both of us — and you'd see it too, if you let yourself."
For a moment, Daphne just looked at him with a contemplative expression, as if he were a puzzle she was attempting to work out.
"Okay…so what?" she said eventually.
"So what?" repeated Harry. "Did you not hear what I said about permanent, irreversible consequences?"
"Of course I did, I'm not deaf," she spat. "The ends justify the means, as far as I'm concerned, or were you lying when you said you would do whatever was necessary to protect your friends? What's going to happen to Astoria if you're not willing to fight back?"
"That's a load of bollocks, and you know it," Harry retorted angrily. "That might be how this all started, but we've gone well beyond what we first discussed, and why? We already know more than enough lethal spells to kill Death Eaters, so why are we still spending hours every week learning more?"
"Because, Potter —"
"BECAUSE WE LIKE IT!" Harry roared over her arguments. "We like the rush of power we get when we use Dark Magic, the satisfaction that comes with picturing your enemies suffering under your wand! Admit it, Daphne, we're not practicing the Dark Arts because we need to, we've been doing it because we enjoy it."
Daphne opened her mouth to respond, but she quickly shut it without speaking and stared back at him with a quizzical expression. Deflating slightly, Harry dropped into the nearest seat and rubbed his face with his hands.
"Look, I'm not saying we should go back to Stunners," he continued, still rubbing his eyes. "If the Death Eaters attack, you should send every spell you can think of at them, if it means you'll be safe. I just don't want either of us turning into people we no longer recognise…people our family and friends no longer recognise." Finally looking up, Harry saw something in Daphne's expression that gave him hope that he had reached her. "I'll help you with the Imperius, because I agree you need to learn how to fight it," he continued, "but after that, I'll not be practicing any more Dark Magic."
"Noble, indeed," sighed Daphne, mostly to herself. "Okay Harry, you've got me convinced…no more Dark spells, but we're going to repurpose that time into more duelling practice, understood?"
"Deal," Harry smiled, relief washing over him. "Dumbledore said he'll be teaching me how to fight Death Eaters without resorting to Dark Magic — I'll be sure to show you some of what I learn."
"For your sake, it better be all of what you learn," she responded, though her tone was more teasing than serious.
"We'll see," he smirked. "Let's go ahead and get this out of the way. Which would you rather do first, cast the spell or try to fight it off?"
"I'll cast it first," she replied, a little too eagerly for Harry's liking. They both stood up, and then Daphne pointed her wand at Harry and whispered, "Imperio."
"Nothing," Harry said after a moment. "Remember, if you're going to use an Unforgivable, you need to really mean it."
Daphne growled in frustration, then closed her eyes for a moment to centre herself. Once she opened them again, Harry saw a dangerous gleam that hadn't been present the first time, so he braced himself as she levelled her wand at him once more.
"Imperio."
At once, Harry felt the familiar floating sensation, as if all his cares and concerns had been swept away and replaced with a vague feeling of contentment. A few seconds later, he heard Daphne's voice in the back of his mind, saying: Do a cartwheel…do a cartwheel…
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said to himself, and he suddenly snapped out of it. "That was much better," he told Daphne. "It probably would've worked on most people."
"Really?" she said excitedly. "What did it feel like?"
"It felt like the Imperius Curse," replied Harry, shrugging slightly. "I felt all calm and happy for a minute, and then I heard your voice telling me to do a cartwheel."
"You looked like it didn't affect you at all, though. How did you break it so easily?"
Harry tilted his head to the side as he looked back at her. "It's hard to explain, really," he replied thoughtfully. "I think it comes down to willpower. I just told myself doing a cartwheel would be stupid, and I decided not to do it — that's when the curse broke."
"That's it?" asked Daphne sceptically.
"More or less," Harry shrugged again. "It probably helps that I'm a bit stubborn to begin with. You should be a natural."
"You're hilarious," she responded with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, it's your turn."
"Brace yourself, and remember — be stubborn," Harry instructed her, a moment before whispering the incantation.
"Imperio."
A most unusual sensation overtook Harry; an odd, tingling warmth that travelled from his brain and down the neural pathways connecting to his right arm, before flowing through his wand and into Daphne. It was a feeling of absolute control, and Harry's first thought was how he could get used to the sensation, which only reinforced his earlier decision to give up the Dark Arts.
Daphne's eyes had glazed over, and she was standing still as a statue as she awaited his commands. After a few moments of contemplation, Harry laughed to himself and asked the Room for a blackboard and chalk. With a flick of his wand, Daphne walked over to the board and wrote, in giant letters: I heart Malfoy. Still laughing, Harry ended his spell and ducked unsuccessfully when Daphne hurled a piece of chalk at him.
"You bastard!" she shouted.
"What?" he chuckled, catching the second bit of thrown chalk with his left hand. "I thought telling you to do something you really didn't want to do would help you throw it off."
"You'll pay for that one, Potter — Imperio!"
A wonderful haze settled over him, and Harry felt all the tension leave his body. Once again, Daphne's voice echoed in the recesses of his mind: Come here and kiss me…come here and kiss me…
Harry's eyes immediately snapped into focus, and almost without thinking, he raised his wand and cast a Stinging Hex at Daphne.
"Ow! What the hell, Potter?" she howled as she rubbed the spot on her thigh where Harry's spell connected.
"The hell are you playing at, Greengrass?" he retorted angrily.
"What? Can't take a little joke?" she winced.
"That wasn't funny," replied Harry, still seething. "I'm done with this. If Voldemort can't control me, you sure as hell won't be able to. I'll give you one more chance to try and break the curse, but not today — I don't think it would be a good idea right now," he said, and then brushed past her on his way to the door.
"Harry…Harry, wait!" she called after him.
He hesitated for a moment, and then with a sigh, he stopped and turned back around to face her.
"I'm sorry," Daphne said earnestly, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. "I don't know why I did that…I mean, I knew it wouldn't work anyway, but still…I'm sorry."
She really did seem ashamed of what she had done. Perhaps it had been nothing more than an ill-conceived jest, but it still didn't sit right with Harry.
"Apology accepted," he said after a moment. "Are you still free Tuesday after dinner?"
"I am," she nodded.
"All right, you have until then to come up with a strategy for fighting the Imperius. Good night, Daphne," said Harry, before turning again to leave.
"Harry…"
He turned back again.
"I really am sorry…please, don't tell Tori," she pleaded.
"Don't worry, I definitely won't," Harry assured her, before turning around and leaving Daphne alone in the Room.