Chapter 39 - Eyes and ears

"You did not let me face the Boggart," Harry said with a frown. The class had just ended—the best class of Defence they had ever attended, even if he had been left out—yet Professor Lupin had called the boy to his office. It was a large yet simple room above the very classroom, with a large desk of polished wood right under a big window. A black carpet covered the floor, though it did not show any pattern at all. There were some shelves near the walls, some contained books of every kind and others instruments of all forms. "I know you, purposely, wasted a lot of time with Lavender. I do not think that's fair, Professor."

Had Hermione been there, she would have slapped the back of his neck with no doubt. Fortunately, the Professor just smiled at Harry. "Do you fancy a cup of tea? Or a mug of hot chocolate, perhaps?" He asked, instead. "Winter is yet to come, but, to me, every season is good for a cup of chocolate."

That irked Harry even more, though he kept his composure. "Chocolate is fine," he finally replied. "Now, are you gonna answer me?"

Remus Lupin just ignored him, once again, as he walked towards a smaller table near the door which led to his bedroom. There, he grabbed a tray over which a jar of chocolate and some cups rested. "It was not because I think you are weak, Harry," the man sighed. He handed the boy a cup, then pointed his wand at the liquid, which started to emit steam in no time at all. "Had it just been you and me in the class, I would have gladly let you face the Boggart. However, many more students accompanied us."

Harry took a sip of his drink; it was hot and delicious. "You thought that it would take the shape of Lord Voldemort, whichever it might be," he mused. The Professor did not flinch at the mention of that forbidden name, which was good for a change.

"Which else could it have taken?"

Harry just ignored that question and went on; he had a lot to say, many things to get out of his mind. "To be honest, I cannot remember how he looked. I was just a baby, after all." The one other time he had seen Voldemort, at Hogwarts, he was nothing but a shadow—a shadow whose presence managed to ice the blood in his veins, but a shadow nonetheless. However, that was a piece of information he would not share with the older wizard. "I think a part of me wanted to see that fake Voldemort, to put him in his place and show everyone I was not scared of that monster. I wanted that small victory, but I understand your reasons."

The boy realised he had already drunk the entire cup, so he just poured himself another one under Lupin's pleased eyes. "That is very mature, Harry. Trust me when I say there is nothing else I want but to help you. But, as a Professor, I must put aside my personal feelings when other students are around. I feared that Voldemort's illusion would cause fear among your mates, and I decided to put their wellbeing above your education."

Now that he looked at it with a cold head, Harry knew it had been the adequate choice. It seemed that, finally, Hogwarts would have a decent Professor of Defence.

Yet his denied encounter with the Boggart was not all he wanted to talk about with Remus Lupin. "Sirius told me all about you," Harry said. Those words made Lupin snort. "Well, most of it, at least, or so I think. Why did you refuse to meet me?" This man had been a brother in all but blood to his father; why had he avoided him for so long?

Remus Lupin took a seat on his chair. He was the same age as Sirius, yet looked far older, far more exhausted about life itself. "Because I am a coward, Harry," the man sighed. "Because I am a bloody coward." A humourless smile adorned his face, yet he shook it away. "The day your parents were murdered, I believed the story the Ministry spread. How could I not? I had been told that Sirius had been chosen as the secret keeper, and the only way to pass that information is willingly. It all happened so fast I did not have time to acknowledge half of it, thus I was so exhausted from war, of losing so many people I came to love, that I just did not want to fight anymore. Not even for the truth. To me, Sirius had betrayed us and Peter had died in search of revenge for Lily and James."

"The war ended, but my personal hell had just begun," Lupin continued, and Harry keenly listened to his tale. "I could not sleep for months, I swear, but as the days went by, little by little, I managed to bury those emotions at the back of my mind. And with them, I buried my memories from Hogwarts; the most precious memories I had. Days turned into months, and they turned into years, and I lived a sorry excuse of a life. However, it all changed when Sirius was proven innocent. You cannot imagine my face when I read that, ha! Peter bloody Pettigrew had managed to fool the entire world! He was alive, he was healthy; living peacefully in a pureblood household, if that was not enough. Honestly, I wanted to close my eyes and to never wake up. Yet, above all that sense of shame, one emotion rose: that of duty. I owed it to Sirius, and I left all I had to help him in those hard months. Much to my horror, he came to forgive me rather easily. He and James had always been like that."

Harry granted him a moment to regain his composure, so he took the word. "Sirius told me about that. It was a huge shock to me, you know? To accept that I had people who loved me, people who had loved my parents. In fact, for quite a while, I just refused to think about Pettigrew, the man who had sold my parents to Voldemort. I was just happy to live with Sirius, and the more tales he told me about my parents, the more I wanted to meet those other persons he spoke of. The one name he repeated the most, by a large margin, was that of Remus Lupin, a man whom my father considered as a brother."

Lupin just nodded in response, a sad smile on his face. "I tried to help Sirius as best as I could," the man went on. "But I was not ready to see you, Harry. I had been told you were a copy of James with the eyes of Lily, and that just was too much. It would have been an insult to them, or so I used to think. Later on, as you went back to Hogwarts, I resumed my visits to Grimmauld Place, but there I found that Sirius was fully recovered from his wounds, and all he desired was for a hunt. Again, that overwhelmed me, and I refused to accompany him, which, if I may add, made him very furious. Last I knew of him was that he had spent many months all around the world, accompanied by some old friend of ours, a Hunter named Gerard Stokes, in search of Peter. However, if there is a person who can elude death, that is Peter, damned be him."

"Sirius did not find him," Harry replied. In front of him, the large window above the desk showed him a very beautiful sight, that of the sun, an orange disk of fire, being almost covered by the tall trees of the Forbidden Forest. Dinner would be served in no time at all, as soon as all the classes were to end, but the boy did not care about going to bed with an empty stomach. After all, living with the Dursleys had prepared him. "Although I ignore the details, since he refuses to tell me about it, I know he and his friend really tried. I also know something awful happened, because I've heard him talking in his dreams when he falls asleep on the couch, but I don't even think it is related to Peter at all. Despite that, this summer, Sirius made a confession to me. There were days in which revenge was all he could think about, but that changed when I was petrified. At that moment, he came back and understood life was more than his desired revenge, that it would not change a thing but his personal relief. I cannot judge, since there are days in which I also would love to go in search of that man, to confront him about the reasons why he sold my parents, but, again, that would not change a bloody thing. In fact, I could just lose Sirius or someone else I care about."

Harry took a moment of pause to exhale a tired sigh. "Although no matter what he said, the promises he swore to me, I know he will not rest in peace until he confronts Peter. I just hope Sirius does not lose his head, or his life, in the process."

Lupin just closed his eyes and drank all that was left in his cup in one long sip. "Yes, that sounds like Sirius," he chuckled, mirthlessly. "Azkaban is a tough place, Harry, one of the cruellest hells on this planet, and he endured twelve years of his life there. At first, I tried to talk a bit of sense into his head, but he was far too gone. Moreover, he accused me of not hating Peter as much as the rat deserved, since I did not want to go in search of him. To be honest, I do not know what course of action I would take if we ever cross paths. Perhaps, rage and hatred would win, or maybe it would be all those memories from our youth which would stop my wand. Either way, I do not know, nor do I want to know it." The wizard stood up from his chair and pointed his wand at the lamp which hung from the ceiling, right above their heads, and lit it up with a non-verbal spell. "Enough of this sombre chat. I have wanted to meet you for thirteen years, Harry, so let's talk about life and more mundane aspects of it. Say, did you have fun during your two years at Hogwarts? Oh, also, do you fancy having dinner here? It's getting late, after all."

Harry smiled at the older wizard as he nodded his head in response. "There were tough days, for sure, but Hogwarts it's the best thing to ever happen to me. Although it has its bad points, of course, like Malfoy and his friends…" His tale went on as the moon rose until it rested atop of the dark, cloudless sky. Harry talked to Lupin about his friends, about those adventures he had lived with them, and the Professor, in exchange, told him stories about his youth and those adventures he experienced alongside James and Sirius.

When Harry left the Professor's office, the boy found a silent Hogwarts, in which no noise but those the characters from the pictures made disturbed it; their whispers seemed to follow him every corridor he walked through. His Cloak was in the depths of his vault, sunk under countless pieces of cloth, yet he hoped to not need it. In his hand was clutched a piece of parchment, and the words written by Remus Lupin should grant him a safe pass if anyone was to catch him on his way to the common room. However, Harry would never be safe from punishment as long as Severus Snape was to retire from teaching.

In the end, the young Professor would not find him, but someone else did, and the boy did not know which option would turn out to be worse.

"Oh, Harry, what a surprise to see you here," Dolores Umbridge said the moment he was about to turn into a corner. Oh, how he hated that acute, childish voice of hers! "Although it is a bit late for a night stroll, don't you think so?"

Harry turned around and tried to smile at her; in theory, he was safe from any punishment, so there was no need to look worried. "Hello, Mrs Umbridge." The said witch had discarded her usual pink robes in favour of another set, of a bright yellow shade that hurt the eyes even more. Amidst the darkness of the night, she could have been spotted from one corner of Hogwarts to the other! "I know it is quite late, but I have my reasons. Here, would you take a look at this?"

The boy handed her the piece of parchment, and Umbridge just grabbed it with a raised brow. For a few seconds, as her eyes scrolled down the paper, she said nothing; though her eyebrow rose even more. "Remus Lupin, eh? May I ask about the reason why he arranged a private tutorial so early into the year?"

"Today, we had the first class of Defence, and we faced a Boggart," Harry explained. "It gave me a little trouble, so he helped me with all the doubts I had after the class ended." There it was; he did not need to lie to her, just in case.

"I see," she hummed in response as the parchment went back to Harry's hands. "Say, what do you think of him as a Professor? To be honest, I believe he went very hard on you, third-year students. A Boggart is no mundane creature, much less this early into the year. I believe there were some students who had an ugly experience in that class. One from Slytherin and two from Ravenclaw, if I remember correctly."

"Well, I thought it was fantastic," Harry replied with a calm voice. He needed to make her think he was under her control, that he feared her. "Probably, the best class I've ever had." He also needed to finish the conversation as soon as possible, otherwise, he might snap out of that submissive attitude with the next comment. "It was a pleasure, Mrs Umbridge, but I really need to go. It is late, and it has been such a long day. I'm knackered. So, with your permission."

Before he could turn around, into the last corridor before the Gryffindor Tower, the First Counselor just cleared her throat, and Harry was left rooted midway through it. "One last thing, Harry, if you are so kind. Have you talked with Albus Dumbledore?"

That question left him puzzled for a few seconds. "No? I mean, no I did not," the boy finally said.

"I understand this was a very busy week, given the fact it was the first one of the third year and you have two more periods than the previous one," Umbridge went on, her voice not so soft anymore. "However, I thought I and Cornelius were pretty clear, were we not? We need eyes and ears inside the Headmaster's office, and there is no one else who can do that but you, Harry. Remember what we told you; that you would be a friend of us if you did your bit. Remember it and do not ever forget."

"But," Harry started, having trouble finding the adequate words. "I cannot just barge into the Headmaster's office whenever I please. We are not that close."

"If you do not want to be a friend of the Ministry, then you will be an enemy of the Ministry, Potter," the witch just said. "I do not care about how close you are with Dumbledore, nor do I fully believe you, no matter what you say about your relationship. I know for a fact that you have visited his office a few times. Find your way into his office and inform me of all he says." That being said, she just walked away and left a rageful Harry alone in the corridor.

This woman is truly insufferable! Worse than Malfoy! It was really a shame. His week had been awesome, close to perfection, so much it still was hard to believe, but, of course, it could not end on a happy note. If so, let's play cats and dogs, Umbridge. You just wait and see.

"I just could not do a thing," Ron grunted. "He was in front of me, and I knew he was a fake, yet I still failed." The warm winds of September ruffled his hair as he leaned onto the tree's roots. From up there, a little hump, at his favourite spot, he had nice views to the Great Lake and the Forbidden Forest, though that did not matter at that moment.

In front of him, Gerdnyaram had taken a seat, and the Essentia listened to him with keen eyes. "I knew what shape the Boggart was gonna take. I knew it and still I froze! The bastard only needed a few words, but that mocking voice of his did the trick. It was like that day all over again." Six days had passed since then, but Ron could not pass the page yet, no matter how hard he tried.

For the following days, he had felt the eyes of his house-mates on his back, their whispers and Tracey's unspoken questions. Probably, they had wondered about the identity of the man whom Ronald Weasley feared so much; from where he knew Tom and what had Tom done to him. No one had dared to ask the redhead about it, true enough, and it was not as if he cared about their opinions; it was long ago since he last gave a second thought to other people's thoughts. However, Ron was greatly disappointed with himself. He had believed for Tom to be buried at the back of his mind; nothing but a bunch of memories from past times in which he had acted foolishly.

In all truth, it had turned out that he still was a foolish buffoon.

"Once, when I was eight years of age, the Great Sight spoke through me for the first time," Gerdnyaram went on. "I knew it was considered a forbidden power, hated by many and feared by all. Yet, foolish me, thought of herself to be above it, to be able to control it. In the village I lived in, I had just one friend, and her name was Milla. The first vision was about her, who would be raped and killed by a man from another isle, where people who opposed our Priest lived. I was terrified, partly because of the horrors I had just witnessed in that vision, but mostly because I could not tell a soul about it—had I done that, I would have been sacrificed, as they would try the year after that. In the end, I tried to save her all by myself, but I failed, and both my dear friend and the man who would abuse her died. More visions came after that one; some less disturbing while others were of the same calibre. Yet they all share the fact I kept them to myself. Do you see a pattern there?"

"No." What was she on about? Her story had nothing in common with Ron's, or so he thought.

"In what way did I face Herpo, Ronald?" Gerdnyaram asked, instead. "In what way did I try to save my friend? In what way did I try to save the world? The answer to those questions is the same: all by myself. I became scared of the Great Sight and the visions it showed me, and although I knew I was not alone, that I had by my side people who loved me and who would have helped me, I still acted on my own. Perhaps, had I asked for help, those tragedies would have never occurred. Perhaps, had I asked for help, I would have never hated myself and my weakness so much. Ronald, do yourself a favour and follow the advice you gave to your sister. Talk about your fears and confront them, do not just bury them. Otherwise, you will not ever escape from them."

Ron spent an entire minute thinking about those words, and finally, he nodded in response, though reluctantly. "I see your point," he started. "I really do. However, one thing is to say it and a very different one is to carry it out. Besides, I have already tried that, don't you remember? I talked about it with Hermione and Harry. I-"

"No, you did not," Gerdnyaram interrupted him with a stern voice. She looked at him dead in the eye, and Ron was about to avoid her gaze, yet he persisted. "You cried in front of them and pleaded for forgiveness. That is a whole different thing, Ronald. Your friends assured they did not hate you, and that the evil deeds committed in those dark days belonged to the hands of another person. Yet you never came to fully believe them. No, you just sent those thoughts to the back of your mind, just like you did with Tom, and ran away from them as fast as you could. One day, you will need to face your fears, to get past them and to embrace them like a new armour. You can do it alone, like I did, then fail, like I did, and pray to have a second chance, like it happened to me. You can travel that path in solitude and see how the world crumbles because you were afraid to confront yourself. Our role in the future is of the utmost importance, Ronald, we cannot afford to self destroy ourselves. Be better, be colder, yes, but do not ever forget your emotions. It is okay to be afraid, it is okay to feel weak. Please, just do not think of yourself to be above it all."

Ron did not utter a single word in the next hour, and so did Gerdnyaram, who respected his silence. Long ago, when the sweet, little Gerd had yet to be replaced by Tom, the Essentia would have talked warm words into the redhead's ears, and he, probably, would have accepted them with no second thought. Gerdnyaram was far colder, true, but so was life, and it was time to wake up and accept that.

"I will try," Ron said, finally. "I need to get rid of Tom before it is too late. If not, how can I face the real Voldemort when a fraction of his past self is all I need to crumble? One day, I will look back and know that I have defeated him, and I will make sure that Ginny is by my side. But that day is yet to come. I am not ready yet."

"To acknowledge a weakness is the first step, Ronald," Gerdnyaram nodded. "One day, that will happen, indeed, and I will also be by your side, proud and happy. I do have faith in you."

Yes, one day, Ron thought as he laid back. The Heir of Slytherin casted a great shadow, but it was not long enough to eclipse the determination and will of a Weasley. Yes, he and Ginny would make it. It was just a matter of time.

Time passed as the redhead laid on the warm grass, deep lost in his thoughts. The sun started its way down, though it was still far too soon for the coolness of the nightfall to appear. Far away, closer to the castle, the voice of those who had decided to enjoy the day in the outdoors reached his ears; the students wanted to make the best out of the nice weather while it lasted. In fact, from his spot Ron observed how a group of first-years, from Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, played by the shore of the Great Lake—had they even been told about the giant squid? It looked not probable, for they played with no hint of fear, as their loud laughs gave away.

Ron closed his eyes, though his peace would come to an end quite shortly.

"I knew you'd be here." The voice belonged to Nott, who just took a seat by Ron's side without asking for permission.

"I told you this was a very busy week," Ron complained, his eyes still closed, as if that could make Nott go away.

"You do not look busy at all, certainly," the weedy boy pointed out, to which Ron snorted and finally opened his eyes, looking at him with a raised brow. "It was quite easy to track you down. You always come here when you want to be alone. Which, if I may add, has happened quite a lot since your encounter with the Boggart. Well, I'm not one to judge—I could not care less about who that man was, nor about what he could have done for him to become your greatest fear. I just want to duel you, Weasley. You are good at it, and I like competent people."

Unfortunately, Nott was as right as he was blunt, which was no short thing.

After the debacle of that damned class, he had avoided everyone's eyes and the silent questions they asked. Some, like Parkinson, had shown more than it, of course; malice and delight, to be precise. Yet he had ignored them all with ease. Even Tracey, let it all be said. She had tried to comfort him many times, and Ron, in response, had just acted as if nothing had happened at all. His indifference had hurt her, he was very well aware of it, but he had also ignored that. Gerdnyaram had been right all along—Tom might have been dead, but that bastard still had him in his grasp. Well, it seemed that some apologies were in order. Tracey did not deserve less, let alone to suffer because of his stupidity.

"Okay," Ron said as he stood up. "Certainly, I'm not busy, though I'm in the mood to blow off some steam. Come on, then." Nott smirked at him, triumphantly, and followed the redhead towards the Forbidden Forest. No word was uttered on the way—their relationship was not like that; just two boys who made use of one another when they needed to.

Near the boundaries of the Forest, a barrier of trees with little density, they found a group of first-year students. A mix of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—of course, as per usual, Slytherin was an unwanted guest—with Marc Davis being the loudest of them all.

The boy's eyes glistened as he spotted them. "Hey, Ron!" He exclaimed, waiving a hand at him. The rest of them turned around, looking at the older students with a mix of emotions.

There was a black boy, taller than the rest, who lowered his head as soon as Nott sent him one of his cold glares. Another boy, a Gryffindor of raven-black hair, as his tie proved, knotted around his wrist, just stared at them with something akin to awe in his eyes; shorter and with eyes of a deep green, he was kind of handsome, though there were specs of dirt all over his face. Then came the blond girl of sharp, grey eyes whose sorting had been the longest by a large margin, who just withstand Nott's annoyed look with ease, which greatly impressed Ron; honestly, had an older student given him that look when he was a newbie, he would have shat his pants. Face frowned like that, she looked like a hawk which had just sighted another predator.

"Hello, Marc," Ron smiled at the younger boy. "You lot are a bit too close to the boundaries of the Forest, ain't you?"

Though it was the girl who replied, beating Marc to it when the words were about to leave his mouth. "That's what I've been telling him for quite a while. However, he has ignored me as if I was a fly. All of them, actually." She reminded Ron of Daphne. At least, in the way she spoke, as if she expected everyone to obey her commands with no hesitation.

"What a shame," Nott grunted, taking a step forward. "I am no Prefect, but my brother is and I don't think he will be very delighted to hear that some nosey newbies have been wandering around the Forbidden Forest at first chance given. That's a very bad way to start the year, you know?"

"You are an only child, Theodore Nott," the blond girl replied, also taking one step forward. For a few seconds, all the eyes fell over her figure. She was crazy! How could she stare back at Nott so nonchalantly when the boy's eyes screamed murder? In fact, her friends, Marc included, had lost all trace of mirth from their faces. Indeed, that proved they had some wits in their heads; unlike her. "But still, that threat was very appreciated. I don't think these fools will have the spirit to break the rules now. Come on, boys, I want to explore the dungeons next."

Calmly, she made her way out of the Forest; she even walked by Nott's side! The rest followed her, like some ants would follow their queen, though with a much faster and nervous stride. Marc mouthed some silent farewell at Ron, who was as puzzled as him.

"Damn brat," Nott spat as he started walking towards the Forest. "She's always had a venomous tongue on hers, but she crossed the line this time."

As they got deeper into the Forest, the trees became thicker, and so did their roots. Ron jumped over a long one. "Wait, did you know her beforehand?" The redhead asked.

"Of course," Nott grunted. "Sophie bloody Dorian, the sister of Alexander bloody Shawn. There is very bad blood between that American bastard and I. That being said, I did not expect her to call my bluff out. It was clear she didn't want to be there, and I didn't want those nosey kids around our duelling zone. I helped that brat, and you saw the way she paid me back. I swear this is the last time I try to be nice. Damn! She will regret it."

"She is a kid," Ron sent him a hard look. Nott was crazy enough to curse and hurt that girl. "You won't touch her. You won't cross that line."

His threat was answered with silence, a tense one, yet the weedy boy did not break it until they reached the clearing. It looked the same as always. There were a bunch of trees cut in half and others which looked to have been torn off the ground. The grass was high and thick, but in those places where fire spells had hit, creating patches of bald soil, it was black and charred. Above them, the sun illuminated the place with ease, seeping through a large hole where the trees' branches did not get to close it.

"If you give me a good duel, then I will not touch a single hair of her blond head," Nott suddenly said, pulling the wand out of his robes. "Now, if you waste my time, then I will make sure that arrogant brat suffers the consequences. I won't be too severe since I don't want to serve detention, but I promise you it won't be pretty."

Ron just pulled his wand out. It felt warm to the touch; the embrace of an old friend, truly. "You will not hurt a kid, much less a girl." Those words being said, the two wizards took a defensive stance.

For the first time, Ron was the one to open the duel. The tip of his wand glowed, and various spells flew from it in a rapid succession, the Severing Charm and Fire-Making Spell among them. Although those had been his most used spells, they fulfilled their role and surprised Nott; a classic of his, perhaps, but non-verbally this time.

However, the weedy boy just moved out of the way, elegant and subtle, as per usual. It still puzzled Ron how such a long body could dance like that. The redhead had many aces up his sleeve, but, most likely, Nott would always win in a fair match. He needed to trick his rival, to make him believe he was the same as always.

Nott's counterattack did not take long to show. Wand ablaze, three Bombardas came at Ron with an absurd speed. I hate that bloody spell! He avoided them by rolling to the side; yet necessary, it was a bad move. For an instant, he lost sight of Nott, who used his opportunity to its fullest. With a quick sweep, the many leaves which had fallen over the ground rose up, then, with a twist of his wand, he transfigured them into wooden, sharp arrowheads.

Ron was about to cast a Protego, prey of panic, but he thought twice just in time; that would have been his end, surely. He went for the safer yet harder option. "Finite!" The wave of magic that came from his wand instantly turned those arrowheads into leaves, which just fell back to the ground in a silent rain. He could also play that game. This time, before the leaves could touch the ground, Ron set them ablaze, then casted a weak streak of wind to direct the fire at Nott.

The weedy boy just shielded himself with a Protego, which made Ron really happy. "Impedimenta," the redhead mused. Suddenly, he was sent upwards, towards the tall trees, and there, he just rested atop of a thick branch, almost ten metres above the ground. It granted him the moment of rest he so desired for, and also, the strategic advantage.

As soon as Nott dispelled the cloud of fire, which was absorbed by his shield, he transitioned into a more defensive stance. There, he observed the empty battlefield. "Really, Weasley?" He asked aloud. "Get out and fight! You have clearly improved since last time, but, oh, do not confuse wits with cowardice!"

The dense thickest did not grant him the best of the views, but Ron could still spot Nott from up there; parts of him, at least. It would need to be enough. He walked through the branches, huddled, making as little noise as possible. Fortunately, they seemed to hold his weight well enough, not even cracking, so he continued his search for a weak spot.

From below, Nott's furious voice reached him. "So you wanna play hide and seek, eh? Then I'll give you a good hide and seek!"

And just like that, Nott disappeared from his sight. What the hell? Ron was left stunned for a few seconds, yet a memory from his childhood came to his mind. True, Charlie had used that spell to make a prank on the twins—the Disillusionment Charm! He did not stop moving from an instant; if Nott located him, he was lost. Sweat started to dampen his face as no idea came to his mind. It was just a matter of time for Nott to find his position, and he had no way to unravel this new tactic of his.

From the corner of his eye, the redhead spotted a bright flash of blue. "Fool, uncloth your eyes," Gerdnyaram said with a stern voice.

To uncloth my eyes? What does that even… Oh, wait. Of course, what was the point of his new ability if he could not transfer it into the battlefield. Ron focused, closing his eyes, and opened his magical aura to the world. It all became clearer—the colours were brighter, louder were the noises, and many sensations came to him. The Forbidden Forest was alive, yes, but so was Hogwarts; like a background presence, far yet ever present. Then, there was this other presence below him, much more clear yet still faint.

Focus! Yes, he could track Nott down. Ron was about to snort, ironically, but he refrained just in time. How could he have forgotten about this? He had been fighting with weights all over his body! He waited until Nott was right under him, then he jumped down.

Ron fell over the weedy boy like a bludger. A loud, surprised gasp came out of him, but it was far too late. It all happened in less than a second. "Protego!" Ron chanted as Nott's Expelliarmus came right at him, like a light arrow of a crimson shade. It was dispelled under a rain of sparks. Ron landed on top of Nott, who became visible, eyes full of surprise and mouth opened in awe, wordless.

"I won," Ron smirked down at him, wand pointed at his neck. "I finally won."

Nott sent him a murderous glare, one full of hatred, that sent shivers down the redhead's spine. Then, a sudden pain in his back made Ron yelp in agony. In no time at all, he found himself on the ground, Nott's boot over his wrist and wand under his chin.

The weedy boy had a ragged breath, face full of sweat and red like a tomato. Yet the fury was long gone, replaced by a cold calm. "Drop your wand, Weasley," he said. The pressure on Ron's wrist increased, and the redhead thought his arm was about to snap.

He dropped the wand.

"Are you mental?" Ron groaned in pain. Black spots had appeared in his vision, dancing like some fireflies. "Ahg, this is the second time I'll be visiting the medical wing in just a few days."

"It ain't broken," Nott bit back. Then, much to Ron's surprise, offered him a hand so he could stand up. "The duel is not over until I have surrendered or fallen unconscious. Carve that into your mind, Weasley." Then, he handed Ron his wand. "I am very impressed. Truly. May I ask how did you detect me? I thought my Disillusionment Charm was very polished—I still think it, hell—so it does not add up."

"I told you," Ron replied, trying to squeeze the pain out of his wounded wrist, which made him wince like a toddler. "I did my bit during summer."

Nott's eyes just seemed to stare through his very soul. "There is a way," the boy mused, almost to himself. "But that's impossible. No offence, but I do not think you are good enough to have mastered the Sense. Probably, I must have stepped over a little branch or something like that. Yes, most likely, that's what happened."

"The Sense?" Ron asked with a raised brow.

"It's some advanced technique," Nott replied with a thoughtful voice. "It allows us to truly feel and use magic to its fullest. Although I doubt many students in Hogwarts can make use of it, not even those in seventh grade. It is a very tedious path, with little reward at first and which needs countless hours of effort. Hell, I myself tried to achieve it this summer, but it was a lost battle from the very beginning."

So it is called Sense, eh? Gerdnyaram never mentioned a name. Perhaps there wasn't one in her age? Not as if mattered, though—Sense or whatever it was called had granted him the first close duel. "I just knew you were there," Ron said, instead. "Call it a gut or a stroke of luck, I just knew."

"Well, it does not matter anymore," Nott replied. "You had me, yet lowered your guard when victory was at your finger's tip. I did worse, though. I allowed you to jump over me; it was pathetic. Either way, I'm off to the castle. Thank you for this duel, Weasley. You really gave me a reality check."

That being said, the weedy boy just walked out of the clearing with a thoughtful look on his face; his footsteps took little to disappear, yet not as little as his frame, which was enveloped by the shadow of the thicket. At that moment, Ron allowed himself to smile; a large smile which almost split his face in two. He had almost done it. "And to think how easily he swept the ground with me back in the first year," Ron said aloud. "We've really come so far, Gerdnyaram."

The Essentia just flew down from the trees; again, she had chosen her eagle form, that regal-looking bird. Wait a moment, is she an Animagus? It was the first time he really thought about that, but it made all the sense in the world. After all, long ago she had mentioned how skilled she once was in the art of Transfiguration.

He voiced out his discovery, and she just nodded her head in response. "In my age, we were called Shapeshifters, but it is the same nonetheless. Names come and go so easily." Then, suddenly, she adopted her human form; as per usual, she wore her long, white dress. "Now, back to the important matter, I must say that was a splendid duel on your behalf. You only committed one mistake, and that was to lose control when he turned invisible. Fortunately, I was there to save you, but you must be better."

"Yes, I agree," Ron said. I need to be colder, better; there is no other way. "Thank you for that."

"There is no need," Gerdnyaram said, softlier. Even her features looked warmer than usual, which was good for a change; this looked more akin to how Gerd was. "No matter what, I will be by your side, forever. However, if we want to maximise our chances, you must embrace all you have learnt, to be able to do it with your eyes closed and almost thoughtless, while I focus on those things that are yet beyond your capacity."

Although the redhead tried to keep a semblance of seriousness, for he had yet lost another duel, those words felt really good. He had always thrived in those few times others had complimented him; much more if those compliments came from people he greatly respected, like Gerdnyaram, Bill or Albus Dumbledore.

Nevertheless, he smiled at Gerdnyaram. "This is the way, Gerd. No matter how many times we stumble and fail, no matter how many times we think it's over, all we need to do is to get up and fight once more. I might not be a talented wizard, just as I am not the most intelligent nor strongest boy you could have Linked, but, even so, I swear to never give up again. It does not matter who stands in front of us, let it be Tom, Voldemort or any other bastard. We will fight, and we will come out victorious. I'm certain of that. No one else has more to lose and win than us."

And for the first time since their talk at the Soul Sanctum, Gerdnyaram gave him the hint of a true smile.

Rain poured from those dark clouds which covered the sky, weakly yet constantly, impacting on that natural wall those tall trees of the forest formed. Many drops managed to make their way down, dampening the ground and turning those man-made paths into muddy ones. Peter Pettigrew hated mud; always have and always would. It made him slower, it reduced his chances of escaping if needed. Although, certainly, this rain did not lower his chances of getting out of that monstrous place, for they were as close to none as they could be.

Down there, at the feet of the Flower of Heavens, hope was as futile as a breath.

"Is there any update on Ashram's condition?" The Shadow mused—Lord Voldemort mused.

Peter just lowered his head even more, eyes fixed on the muddy ground and forehead about to touch it. "No, my Lord," he replied. "He remains as unresponsive as the first day, since that wave of putrid magic took him out. I know these people who held us captives are not allowing him to die. They feed and bath him every day, but that is all I've been allowed to see."

"I understand. Then, you shall still serve as my eyes and ears within this place, Peter Pettigrew. Tell me, my eyes and ears, have you learned something about these people?"

If eyes and ears was all He wanted, then Peter would become that. "Very little, my Lord. While it is true that I've been granted freedom of movement, as soon as I take one step in any direction their eyes follow me. I can sense them, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot spot them. In fact, that sombre presence upon me is all trace of life here. There is no one else—Helena has disappeared, the creature that almost killed Ashram is nowhere around and that little girl I spotted my first day here has also vanished. However, there are muggles in this area. Muggles who tend Ashram's wounds and who act with the confidence of those who know they aren't in danger. Also, from time to time, I've been able to spot one of those creatures Ashram killed. They are referred to as Hunters, which struck me as very odd."

"Non-magical people, you say," the Shadow repeated those words. "Tell me more about that."

Peter gulped down the knot in his throat. True enough, he had more information to provide him with, but he had hoped to keep it for future meetings. If not, how was he supposed to preserve his head if he was of no use?

"Well, they are simple people, and there is not much to say about them," the Animagus started. "They come early in the morning, a little entourage, and leave late in the night after taking care of the place. I've turned many times into a rat to get closer to them, but all I've heard are the same words and names again and again. Those muggles, when they think I'm not around, talk of Hunters and Nightmares, about some kind of equilibrium. And then there are those specific names—Lanphael, Exados, Shuiran and Clexa, though unfamiliar to me, is all they repeat." At least, those had been the words he had grasped. After all, they spoke fast in a language he had no idea about.

"Ah, those are names I've also heard," the Shadow mused. Its misty figure seemed to quiver. "Lanphael, the name of the woman who swore oaths to me. Exados, the name of a creature who is venerated in this forest. Shurian, a name that inspires shudders to those who pronounce it. Yet this is the first time I hear that last name. Good enough, Peter, good enough." Peter allowed himself a moment to breathe, although he lowered his head even more to cover it. "You shall continue this task, my eyes and ears. Listen, observe and then come at me with all that knowledge."

"Your orders are my purpose, my Lord," Peter replied as he stood up. "Your wishes are my utmost motivation. I will come back to you next week, as you first ordered, though if you need me before that, I will answer your call instantly." This time the Shadow did not answer, so Peter took his leave.

The way back to the Flower of Heavens was a short one, around four hundred metres of muddy and unlevelled ground in which his boots sank up to the ankle, taking more energy from him in each step than he would have wanted. Like always, the closer he got to the Flower, the heavier those eyes on his back felt, like silent daggers. Peter was alone in a very dangerous place, surrounded by enemies who did not appreciate his presence in their home, and with the sole support of a man who wanted to use him. Finally, he made it to the Flower, and with a simple gesture, that of raising his hand, a long, reddish vine came from the mighty tree. He grabbed it, and so, his ascent began.

Where was Helena, the woman who had brought them here? Or should he call her by her real name, Lanphael? Those questions and many more swarmed his mind as he went upwards. Could he even gather more information for the Dark Lord? He had been confined to that small area near the Flower, and there was very little he could do in such a place. A week ago, when desperation won the battle against preservation, Peter had travelled through those roads of dirt he had walked countless times and further away, until he had been stopped at the boundaries of some village. No one had tried to stop him, nor had it been needed, for he had been sent away by a sombre presence, which had reeked of death.

There is no way to escape this place. At least, not one until the Dark Lord is back at power, Peter told himself as he jumped down the vine. Without giving it a second thought, the Animagus embraced his second form; the one who had allowed him to survive in situations in which far mightier wizards would have died. However, those eyes in his back remained the same. Let's see if I can find something new.

The sun could not be seen with that dense carpet of clouds, coal black and which rained a constant curtain of water over them, so it was hard for him to tell the time. Still, the afternoon couldn't have passed so early. With that supposition in mind, Peter made his way towards the hut where Ashram rested. He left those dirt roads and walked by the tree's shadows, where the grass did not try to sink him. In no time at all, the Animagus started to sweat, his weak and tiny muscles struggling to get their job done. Of course, that horrible climate did not help at all—how could it be so hot in the middle of September? He truly missed England.

Peter missed home and his old life.

Still, he pulled through it all; to ignore those silly emotions was a must if he wanted to survive for another day. In the end, after more than ten minutes of fighting to make his way through the forest, Peter distinguished the shape of their small, wooden hut among the gigantic trees which surrounded it. However, puddly paths would not be all he would face that afternoon.

Suddenly, the Animagus was pulled from the ground by a small hand, which held him with a strong grip; a very strong grip. Peter whimpered and refused to look upwards, towards his predator. Maybe, if he was to act like a common rat, whoever had captured him would just toss him into the forest.

Unfortunately, he acknowledged that it was a feeble dream rather quickly.

"Out of all the forms you could have taken, you decided to take such a pathetic one," a feminine voice said. Her accent was horrible, dragging the words in a very slow rhythm. "I guess you were pretty limited by your skills, or so I hope."

From the ground, a vine started to grow, and from it came many green branches which ended in colourful flowers of every kind of colour. It grew past the one metre mark and a bit more, and as soon as it stopped, Peter was softly dropped on the tallest flower, a rose of a shade darker than blood.

Very surprised, the wizard opened his eyes. In front of him, at eye level, stood a short woman, or so he presumed. Her hair was crimson red, and the tip of her long locks ended on a deep green shade; eyes of a deep blue which seemed to absorb every source of light around them; her features, though sharp and somewhat attractive, were disgraced by some kind of floral protuberances which coursed through her face, their colours very similar to those of her hair. Just a bit, it reminded Peter of Helena and the marks she had around her eyes, though that thought was quickly erased from his mind as it revoked the memory of her face. No, this being was not as beautiful and regal as Helena was. Not nearly.

"Rat or not, I must admit you are a bunch of interesting humans," she went on, which confirmed his theory. Peter used that moment to regain his composure, and he understood he had kept his mobility at its full extent. He was not a prisoner. "Your friend, the one who is about to dance with death, managed to kill a Hunter like Gaanjar. Impressive, but also incredibly stupid. Exados was furious, and your friend paid the price of blood. Lanpahel should have never led you here. This is not your world. Your kind do not belong here. It has been centuries since the Oaths were broken."

Between the nervous mess his mind was in and the way her horrible accent made those words sound so bad, Peter had no idea what she was talking about. Still, he saw a chance, and he dived for it. "You sound like you don't want us here. Just like everyone else—just like I also do. Please, help me get us out of here. Please, I beg you."

The woman just tilted her head, looking at him with indecipherable eyes. "That is a good idea," she just said. "And I would do it, gladly. However, as of today, my people are divided and I cannot act on my own without causing a grave conflict. We have spent the last seven centuries here, in solitude, and no human has ever dared to cross the boundaries to Caelem. We made sure of that, but it was not us alone. Your kind, the Hunter's Union, have kept a strict watch on their side of the forest, just as it was agreed time ago. Because of your actions, foul trespassers, a little minority wants to retaliate and finally burn the world, but fear not, for Exados and Niklos have suppressed them for now."

Her face gave the hint of a tired grimace as she shook his head in denial. "Then there is Lanphael, who acts alone, and whose ambition remains a mystery, although it is pretty clear she needs you, foreigners. And lastly, here I am, with the sole purpose of protecting the defenceless from that Shadow who roams the Flower of Heavens." She pronounced those words with a more venomous voice, though her body seemed to shiver in fear. In fact, the woman wrapped herself in her simple robes of a deep-green shade. "Ah, Lanphael, what have you done? Alas, is a peaceful life not enough for you?"

Peter ignored her rambling and pushed on. "Please, I just need a bit of help. You do not need to expose yourself, to anger your people." Because of one reason or another, this woman had interacted with him. Perhaps, it was just out of curiosity towards his Animagus form, but Peter doubted it. These people—no, these monsters—were beyond that. Things like this did not happen just for the sake of it. This was a deed of fate. "You fear the Shadow, but so do I, and trust me when I say He is a monster of unimaginable proportions. Do you really want to protect your people? If so, you must help me; it is the only way. Once He's recovered, we will go. Lanphael made that pretty clear."

"Oh, of course I fear that Shadow," the woman said. "He has crossed the boundaries no human should. Death dances around him, when it should be all the way around, just like everyone else. No matter how mighty a man thinks of himself to be, no matter how blessed he was born into this world, each time Death is defied, the world suffers the price of that foolishness. Herpo, cursed be his name and roots, was the first to unleash hell upon life, but many more came after him, many more followed his path, and that is why, in this age, an age I believe to be the last, we are about to take our last breath."

Nonsense, that was all Peter understood from her words—utter nonsense. However, just when he was about to open his mouth, the woman continued. "Still, I want that Shadow as far from here as possible. He was once a man, and maybe, if a body is all he desires for, then his wish could be granted. Niklos must know a way. If there is one, he must know it."

Whoever that so-called Niklos was, man or monster, it did not really matter, Peter would lick his boots clean if he knew a way to get them out of that horrid place.

"Yes, a body will be a nice start," Peter mused. His voice came out hoarse and raspy; it had been many hours since he last drank water, enough for each word to cause a slight ache. "But allow me to warn you: he will not stop there. My Lord, although wise and benevolent with those he deem, is ice cold and hard as steel. Helena, a woman whose name is known as Lanphael here, swore oaths of help and safety to Him, and poor souls those who lie to Him! Oh, poor souls, those who lie to Him, them and their loved ones!"

There it was, the best he could do. To him, it was very easy to transmit that feeling of dread and sheer terror, for they were emotions Peter knew well enough. Please, don't be a fool and listen to my words! You must help me! However, much to the Animagus' dismay, nothing changed in the face of this strange and small woman.

"Do not try to manipulate me ever again, human," she just said with a neutral voice. There was no trace of disdain nor anger in her voice. It was a very simple message, one which Peter understood with ease. "If there is any measure I can take, then I will see to it. How could I not, when the fate of my people is at play? Meanwhile, you will shut your mouth and keep your Lord satisfied, no matter what it takes."

The flower where Peter had been placed suddenly sunk back into the ground, so fast the Animagus fell to the grassy floor with a soft thud. When he opened his eyes, he realised the strange woman had disappeared, yet a soft streak of wind still carried her voice. "You must not talk with anyone else, human. Out of all the beings that roam this area of Caelem, I am your one and only ray of hope. Do not ever trust Lanphael; despite her beauty and soft words, she is a venomous snake."

Peter whimpered as he ran back to his hut. He was surrounded by monsters, yet he would survive once more. All the sacrifices he had made, the lives of James and Lily, would not ever be in vain. Lord Voldemort would rise again, and Peter Pettigrew would stand by his side, and if the world was to be turned into ashes, then he would feast on them.