A/N: Hi Folks, here's the update. Hope you all enjoy it. We're finally in Hogwarts!
AU Changes: OC Intros, Some name differences, new classes, new backstories for characters in the Wizarding World etc.
The Tragedy of Harry Potter
By. Momento Virtuoso
Edited By: BoredBarrister
A/N: I do not own Harry Potter unlike J.K.
Chapter 7
Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft & Wizardry in the Past
Upon exiting the Hogwarts Express, a spark of joy entered his chest at the sight before him. Resting at the end of a long pathway bordered by the trees of the Forbidden Forest sat a castle on a hill.
Hogwarts stood glowing in the dark up on its perch over the landscape.
"Firs'-years! You lot, over 'ere with me now!" a loud voice called out. The half-giant Rubeus Hagrid held a large lantern up over his head, ushering the nervous eleven year-olds to his side. Harry broke out into a grin at the sight of the large figure.
"Oh! You must be Harry Evans, Dumbledore told me about 'cha. You can call me Rubeus Hagrid, I'm the Keeper of the Keys here at Hogwarts','' Hagrid greeted.
"Grea' man, tha' is, Albus Dumbledore. You'll be comin' with me and the firs'-years 'Arry — figured you'd want to see the castle for the firs' time like everyone else 'ad, eh?"
"Thank you, Hagrid. It's nice to meet you, sir," Harry said. Inside, though, he was beaming.
Harry had missed the half-giant over this last month. He had wished it had been Hagrid who found him stumbling out of the Forbidden Forest over the summer instead of Dumbledore; the half-giant had been his introduction to the magical world, after all.
It seemed unfortunate that he hadn't been his introduction to the past as well. The man had been one of the few to ever give him any tangible physical memories of his parents, with his scrapbook on Harry's birthday.
"Alrigh', you lo', let's get on now!" Hagrid called out, leading the new students to the boats in which they were to cross the Black Lake.
The young children broke off into pairs and friend groups, each hopping into a boat. Harry boarded the larger row boat that Hagrid had stepped into to cross over.
"Once in a lifetime view this be — makes every group that sees it fer the firs' time jus' stare in shock, it does," Hagrid said to Harry as their boat pushed off, leading the small armada of first-years.
As their boat glided across the surface of the Black Lake, reflecting the stars from the night sky, Harry watched for the second time in his life as Hogwarts stood impressively out over the lake, highlighted in the darkness by the lit corridors.
It was strange to think that in nearly twenty years, the structure would see a terrible battle and be nearly destroyed by the forces of the Dark Lord.
"Not this time…" Harry thought with determination burning in his gut. He wouldn't let Voldemort get that far this time.
Soon the boats landed at the boathouse, with students disembarking to head up to the Entrance Hall.
Harry walked, towering over the small first-years, seeming very out of place amongst the younger crowd. Eventually, he came to a stop with the other new students as they found themselves before the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor, Minerva McGonagall.
"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon, you will be attending the Opening Feast with the other students. First, however, let's cover a few housekeeping rules, why don't we?" The Scottish woman said over the whispering first-years.
The Scottish woman was just as stern looking now as she had been in the 1990s, carrying herself with a professional grace. McGonagall wore a dress of emerald with red undertones, and a large hat sat on her head, with only her tightly bunned hair slightly visible.
"You shall enter through these doors to the Great Hall, where you will stand in single file in alphabetical order, to be called upon for the Sorting. Upon receiving your House for your tenure here at Hogwarts, you will sit with your newly sorted house, who you will share every meal with in this Great Hall. You will all be sorted into Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor," McGonagall explained to the gawking children before her, except for the sole figure taller than the rest, Harry Evans.
"Mr. Evans, since you are a special case, you will enter last and be sorted last after everyone else," she said to the young man, brokering no argument with her voice.
Harry visibly gulped. It seems like he was always doomed to enter the start of the term feast with the whole of Hogwarts watching him under a microscope.
After he nodded his understanding to the professor, McGonagall decided to move on, entering the Great Hall and closing the door behind her. This left the first-years and Harry to shift on their feet for a moment as they organized themselves in place and jittered nervously.
Soon, the doors had opened, and they had stepped into the large vast dining hall.
Looking over the Great Hall as he followed behind the unsorted first-years, Harry spotted his father, fellow Marauders, and their friends, all clustered together at the Gryffindor Table.
James was seated next to Sirius, on his left, and Lily, on his right. Remus, Peter, and two girls whom Harry had heard were Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes, were seated across from the trio on the other side of the table.
Upon seeing Harry, they each offered their own forms of greetings and encouragement. A loud wolf whistle sounded out from Sirius, while Lily simply gave Harry a thumbs up.
Coming to a halt, Harry stood in the back of a line hosting an impressive amount of first-years. All of the young, unsorted students looked starry-eyed in wonder at the ceiling, floating candles, and the beauty that was displayed in the architecture of Hogwarts' Great Hall.
As soon as the first-years stopped shifting about on their toes, the Transfiguration Professor, Minevra McGonagall, read out the first name upon her list of newly admitted students.
"Atherton, Lionel!" she called out first. The young blond first-year walked up and sat upon the stool. The Sorting Hat fell down over his eyes, almost covering his nose.
"SLYTHERIN!" the old Sorting Hat declared. The table at the far end of the hall clapped and cheered for their new member.
"Dorceaux, Cassidy!" was the next name heralded and promptly sorted into Ravenclaw.
Dozens more names were called forward; more than were in Harry's first year, the time-traveling wizard noted. Some were even surnames he had never heard before in the Wizarding World.
It had never occurred to him just how many wizarding families had been killed off during the first conflict. After zoning out into space, Harry's attention was suddenly grabbed by McGonagall's voice.
"Evans, Harry!" Professor McGonagall called out.
Nearly the whole Great Hall looked towards the student in question. There had been whispers about a transfer student in the seventh year spreading on the train ride to the castle.
Harry walked up and sat down on the stool. As the Sorting Hat was placed over his head, he winced, but it didn't fall down over his eyes and ears like when he was a first year, so he sat still and focused his gaze on a spot just over the heads of all the students watching him.
'Well, well… can't say I've ever had the pleasure of sorting someone for a second time before Mr. Potter; you seem to possess a talent for challenging the — expectations one would say,' the Sorting Hat said in Harry's mind with a laugh.
'Or should I call you Mr. Evans? Named yourself after your mother, who sits in this very room — well that narrows you down quite a bit. No Ravenclaw for you then, no, no. I'd imagine you'd be locked out of the Common Room every other night,' the Hat mocked the boy's intelligence for his hasty decisions.
'You're not going to try and put me in Slytherin again, are you?' Harry wondered to the Hat. He could somehow feel the Sorting Hat smirking in his mind's eye.
The old dusty piece of leather was sorely tempted to do just that for the boy. The Sorting Hat could see the plethora of Slytherin qualities laying dormant in the boy, waiting to be stirred up like a den of snakes.
'I should now, you know… correct a mistake of the future, or should we say the past? I was right even in that time; you would've been great there — would be great there. So ambitious that you meddle with Time itself… you could fulfill your task easier in that house… some within its walls will need you,' the Hat seemed to debate and foretell.
Having already been acquainted with several Slytherins, Harry did not want to live in that house for his last year at Hogwarts. 'Gryffindor please, or go ahead and make me a Hufflepuff,' Harry groaned. He wasn't in the mood to play with what the Hat saw in him that pertained to the future.
'Ha! I should put you in Hufflepuff… oh, the loyalty you've shown. You walked forwards to your own demise on the words of a man you trusted. Oh, how you balked but battled your fears for your friends!' the Hat emphasized with sympathy.
'I did what I had to. It was the only way' — Harry tried to say but was cut off by the Sorting Hat.
'Apparently not Mr. Potter, because here you are… alive in well in 1977,' the Hat laughed in Harry's mind, but it felt like it was laughing to his face.
Both Harry and the Sorting Hat were silent for a moment.
'I'll warn you now, Mr. Potter; you play with circumstances you cannot understand. Beware here: allies are not friends, nor are they enemies; much the same goes for enemies. They are simply just…' the Sorting Hat said with a sage-like voice, not elaborating further.
Harry sat still and tried to think of a response, but the Hat beat him to it once more.
'You'll need to open your horizons and be vigilant, Mr. Potter, there is much to be done and little time… and there is nowhere better to do so than in…'
"GRYFFINDOR!" the Sorting Hat announced loudly at the end, to the whole hall.
The table of lions burst into applause, with many standing and cheering. James and Sirius held shit-eating grins upon their faces, the latter moving aside to welcome the new Gryffindor to the table.
"Damn! What a Hat-Stall! I swear I haven't seen one that long in all my years here," Sirius proclaimed, smiling from ear to ear as he leaned close to Harry and nudged the other boy with his elbow.
"So share with the class, what were you and the moth-eaten old grump talking about up there?" the dark-haired animagus tapped the side of his head with a smirk.
Harry smiled and shook his head, picking up a glass of pumpkin juice to sip on to maintain his silence.
"The Hat wanted to chat about the ride over. Did you know it's never actually been on or seen the Hogwarts Express?" Harry attempted to lie convincingly.
James snorted, sharing a smile with Remus and Peter across the table. James' hand slid underneath it to grasp Lily's alongside him.
James Potter simply couldn't get enough time with the girl ever since he had asked her out that fateful evening, watching the orca pod swim out to sea — the night he discovered just how much he meant to her.
"See Padfoot, told you he wouldn't be a snake! You owe me!" James howled, holding his hand out for the few galleons owed in their bet on the train.
Sirius cursed under his breath and slapped a few galleons in his friend's hand. Harry raised an eyebrow at the two boys, who, despite both being extremely wealthy by pureblood standards, hackled each other over a few galleons.
The Hall quieted as Dumbledore stood up from his chair at the Staff table and walked over to a podium at the front of the dais where the stool sat with the Sorting Hat.
"Hello and good evening to all the old and new faces gathered with us today at the start of our new term. I'm sure you're all excited to tuck into dinner, but before that, I have some passing news and advice for you all. First of all, I would like to introduce a new staff member, who will be filling in for the position of Defense Professor for this year. Please welcome Mr. Creon Renault; he is a world acclaimed duelist, cursebreaker, and one of the newest faces within our treasured Chocolate-Frog-Card alumni!" Dumbledore said.
The man in question stood up from the staff table. He was older, in his fifties, but appeared to be middle-aged or so by looks, sharply dressed with a dark tweed vest over a blue button up shirt and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shoulder-length hair was a dark brown but his neatly trimmed beard a surprisingly deep red, covering the outline of what appeared to be deep horizontal scars across his cheeks. Waving at the students gathered in front of him on Renault's left arm was a magical tattoo of a deep green kelpie, neighing and tossing its kelp mane about as it swam around the man's forearm in a circle, chasing its own tail merrily.
Professor Renault returned to his seat after the applause died down.
Dumbledore held a pause before continuing on with his introduction speech.
"There is of course a list of banned items that will be posted in Mr. Filch's office. Please be aware that such items are not to be in places such as hallways, classrooms, and most public areas. Furthermore, in light of the news these last few years coming from the world beyond the castle, dueling and fighting between students is expressly forbidden. Offenders will be severely punished if apprehended. I also want to state that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds for any students to wander about at any time without faculty permission."
Looking over the Great Hall, Dumbledore's eyes hovered over the giggling forms of the Marauders, the four Gryffindor boys sharing mischievous looks amongst each other. "Without further ado, I give you these parting words to enjoy the feast with. Borborygm! Widdershins! Donnybrook!" the Headmaster shouted happily with a wave of his hand, the tables filled up with the dishes of the opening feast.
James and Sirius snorted. "That old geezer is getting crazier and crazier every year, eh Lils?" Sirius asked the redhead with James. Lily simply rolled her eyes at Sirius and began to fill her plate.
"Merlin, did you all see the new Professor?" Marlene said with a flirtatious smirk at the girls around her. All of them except for Lily shared knowing smirks and giggled.
"He definitely looks like he's competent, at least. Last year we had Professor O'Conner. She couldn't even finish her own class on boggarts," Sirius groaned, remembering the stories from the third years about how the woman had run out in fear when the creature had turned her direction.
Soon Harry was helping himself to food across the table piling up upon his plate. After a year on the run and all his life starving at the Dursleys, old habits indeed died hard.
The marauders and several Gryffindors around them watched as Harry began to eat a proverbial mountain of food.
"Say, mate, I think I've seen a werewolf with better table manners than him," Sirius nudged James while both grinned over at Remus, who was frowning deeply at his friend's comment.
The werewolf suddenly became very self-aware of his chewing.
"You really should slow down," Dorcas Meadowes said in a tone that reminded Harry very much of Hermione when she saw Ron's eating habits.
Harry looked down at his plate and grinned sheepishly at everyone.
"Sorry, just not used to full meals is all. I grew up not knowing when I was going to be able to eat again," Harry said in a low voice, he felt ok admitting this to his parents and their friends. Sirius and Remus already knew this, of course, in the future.
Lily's eyes, however, turned into a hard glare, "Are you telling me that wherever you grew up, they starved you?" she hissed out. Her face turned a shade not too far from her hair's color.
Harry blinked at the realization that Lily could not knowingly realize she was impossibly referring to her own sister, Petunia. He simply nodded in confirmation at the Muggle-born's question.
Everyone was silent at the confession, but Lily just fumed. She came from a loving family that always took care of one another; she simply couldn't fathom ever treating a child like that growing up.
"Can't say I ever had much growing up. The roof over my head was complimentary, barring the agreement I worked like a house-elf," Harry surrendered over that information to the group.
"Sounds like an orphanage," Lily said, thinking of the one that was near her own family home in Cokeworth.
Harry didn't correct the girl's observation and shrugged his shoulders. He couldn't come up with a better story on the spot. He had neglected to create an efficient background for himself outside of what he had told Dumbledore.
"You were raised as an orphan then?" Marlene Mckinnon asked, her voice in a state of shock.
While most of their portion of the house table were purebloods and half-bloods, where child abuse was common through corporal punishment but never maliciously cruel, none of them wanted to consider a boy being starved to a point of malnourishment.
While mistreatment of orphans was commonplace in both wizarding and muggle communities, it was seldom ever spoken of in polite society, as many orphans in both worlds seldom rose to prominence.
The few that were adopted in the Wizarding World were brought up by pureblood families, often seeing it as an honor to bring someone up in their image and values.
Adoption was a very magical thing in the wizarding community; it had protected several bloodlines from dying out when they had magically adopted new members into the family. It wasn't often males were adopted into a main line, but many branch families had begun this way.
It was almost a sign of respect to be adopted into any pureblood family.
Taking a moment to think of what story he'd tell, Harry very well couldn't describe the Dursleys in front of Lily. She'd potentially pick up on the similarities, remembering the Sorting Hat's scathing remark about taking on Evans as his surname.
He had to be smart about this, and begin to manage his lies and what stories he'd have to craft.
He opted to nod his head at Marlene. What would a white lie hurt? Harry believed he'd have had an easier childhood in a group home rather than at the Dursleys.
What he couldn't explain easily was his magical knowledge. Harry remembered how much Hermione had to study and struggle with over the years.
"For a time, yes. I was actually raised by my muggle aunt and uncle. Before they took me in, I was treated poorly in a muggle orphanage in London. I was only with them for a few years," Harry explained, picturing Mrs. Weasley in the place of Petunia and an older Sirius in the stead of Vernon Dursley.
"But that ended about two years ago. I've actually been on the run of sorts with some friends before now. I only just took my O.W.L.s this summer. We hid under the Fidelius Charm before we were attacked by Dark Wizards. I was the only one to make it out, to my knowledge," Harry spun and added to the tale he had told Dumbledore in haste, breathing more life into the fiction he had crafted.
Their side of the table simply stared in shock. Peter Pettigrew let out a whimper and sank lower into his chair. James and Sirius shared a look at each other inquisitively, but decided to come back to their thoughts later.
"Holy Merlin, how did you escape?" Dorcas asked.
"We made a quick portkey, but I was the only one to take it in time. I actually ended up somewhere near here, in Scotland, actually," Harry said, sticking as close to the truth as possible.
Everyone simply nodded and understood the dark nature of the topic that had befallen Harry. The meal continued on in a stunned silence.
However, like in days of old, he brought his eyes up to look across the hall at the Slytherin table — but instead of Draco Malfoy glaring at him like he was used to, Harry saw a curious, if not downcast, expression on Bellatrix Black's beautiful visage as her dark eyes met his momentarily.
The pair held eye contact for a second before it broke, as Bellatrix's attention was captured by a girl sitting across the table from her.
Moving his eyes further up the Slytherin Table, he saw several boys were glaring at him exactly how Draco Malfoy used to, especially in sixth year when he had been trying to uncover whether or not the boy was a Death Eater. This time though, based on his experience with their older selves, Harry was positive the group in question were all Death Eaters or on the way to being marked already.
As Bellatrix stirred her soup mindlessly, a confusion sat nestled in the young woman's head. Evans was a Gryffindor — had she read it wrong? Surely not? Harry Evans possessed a wand tainted by dark magic, and himself bore the scars from the nature of the magic… Harry had insisted he had never done dark magic, but a wand like his wouldn't pick someone affiliated to the light — it had to have been too far gone to do so. He even carried an undertone of an extreme vicious streak — especially against those like herself and her darker housemates.
It was also unclear exactly what the boy's blood status was, but he had mentioned not being connected with any of the darker pureblood families. 'It doesn't mean much, but at least he isn't potentially a traitor like some of them,' Bellatrix thought thankfully. She didn't want another one within Hogwarts. There were enough in the world already as it was.
Yet, he also bore the surname of Evans like the muggle-born in Gryffindor. That didn't solidify the Hat's decision though she knew. There were plenty of half-bloods sorted into Slytherin, such as Snape; even another muggle-born had been placed in the house during her tenure at Hogwarts.
Bellatrix blew a stray strand of hair away from her face grumpily. She had been so convinced Harry would join her in Slytherin, maybe then he'd have gotten off his high-horse about whatever animosity he held for her. Bellatrix hated being wrong.
"You look like you've just found out your broom doesn't go as fast as advertised," a voice in front of the raven haired girl said.
Bellatrix's dark eyes looked up to meet one of the few people she considered to be a friend at Hogwarts, Verona Jennings. Her hair was a dark brown, but short, almost halfway to her ears, and her eyes were a hazel color. Jenning's face was almost cupid-esque, a cherubic quality to her features.
Bellatrix always assumed she had a fairy ancestor somewhere in her bloodline, but she knew better.
Half-species could seldom ever hide their heritage and in a place like Slytherin that was dangerous. Bellatrix had considered the girl a friend since the middle of their first-year. When they were sorted and even put in the same dorm together at first, Bellatrix hadn't cared much for the girl. Jennings had impressed her later with the vicious streak she contained, just like Harry Evans, it seemed.
"I'm just put off that Evans is a damned lion. I was sure he had to have been a Slytherin in nature," Bellatrix explained. Verona smirked at her friend.
"Ohhh, does the infamous man-eater Bellatrix Black have a crush?" the girl smirked.
Bellatrix considered blasting the offending girl's food in her face at the statement accusation.
"Not like that Ver, you twit! He's just interesting is all… he's got some half decent qualities about him," Bellatrix whispered the end conspiratorially.
The brown haired girl tweaked her head to the side in interest, It wasn't often that Bellatrix took notice of anyone other than a potential victim. Verona felt for the boy, if he had somehow already earned the Black's wrath and ire.
"How so?" Verona asked the raven haired girl curiously. "I know you don't impress easily — hell, it took me practically cursing the ears off Mulciber for you to even notice I was present, let alone warm-blooded."
"Well, for one, his wand is corrupted. Like he's been casting curses with it for the last hundred years at least. Hell, the damn thing is older than a hundred years too — it has a focusing stone in it, and that was disbarred practically centuries ago, for the dangers of it. It's showing extreme signs of decay from the core; it was radiating dark magic when he had it pressed against me when we met," Bellatrix explained.
Verona's eyebrows short up at that confession. "You'd need to have performed some kind of dark magic for that level of decay to occur," Verona mused. "Few wands excrete their magic like that. They become practically wired bombs."
Bellatrix nodded, "Exactly! You see my curiosity now?"
"I can see how you would like something that was, what did you say? Radiating…" Verona flirted at the raven haired girl. Verona shook her head in mirth as she ate some of her soup. "You'll just have to cozy up to him in class then, to get what you want outta him," she giggled, almost fully laughing at the disgusted look upon Bellatrix's face.
"I'd rather wear a house-elf bag for a year," Bellatrix confessed un-amusedly.
There was little to no chance she was going to get close to a lion. She had too much pride in herself and her house for that course of action.
"So he pressed his wand to your chest, then?" Verona questioned with an inquisitive look. "What a compromising position, dare I say… intimately so…" the Slytherin girl smiled like the kneazle that caught the canary.
Bellatrix sighed, and rubbed her chest just over her heart, where the offending wand had dug into her skin. She could still feel the bruise that had faded weeks ago.
"He rescued Andy and her muggle-born boy toy from Rabastan Lestrange. I walked in on the fight and took matters in my own hand. I had both of them on the ropes myself but Evans wielded some very surprising magic at me — if I was less of a witch I'd have been in real trouble."
The pair glanced upwards at the table where the young man was sitting next to his brother, Rodolphus, and surrounded by the less savory of their house.
"Evans was hit by a cheap shot mind curse from Lestrange, and was out of sorts from then. When I went to lift the curse, he snapped and nearly cursed me for my troubles. His wand was practically a knife to my throat. He had me completely helpless," Bellatrix confessed.
It was a sore spot for her that her yearly good deed had been met so rudely by the newly minted Gryffindor. Also because he had gotten the better of her only through a physical altercation.
"Earlier, I pulled him away from his new Gryffindor friends. Before our conversation could conclude, though, we were interrupted by Lestrange and his lot. They were hunting Evans on that train," Bellatrix confessed to her friend.
Verona nodded her understanding. "It's better he isn't with us, then. He wouldn't last a night in the snake pit with that lot baying for his blood after standing up against them," Ver said. However, Bellatrix shook her head.
"He handled them well enough; what really surprised me was his finesse in runic magic. He managed to silently place a rune on Rodolphus without the fool even noticing he had been marked. I didn't see the rune exactly, so I have no idea what it could be, but it was cast almost flawlessly. To do so on anything organic except for animal skin is complex magic."
Verona let out a low whistle, wanting to turn her head to catch a glimpse of the wizard herself. She didn't know many in Hogwarts, except a few professors, who could do such a thing, let alone in a heat-of-the-moment ordeal.
"Do you think there will be reprisals in our house for your affiliation so far with Evans? Even if it doesn't seem like much, you've stuck beside him in two spats now," Verona reminded Bellatrix.
Bellatrix simply shrugged. She hadn't exactly stepped out of place from her station by associating with Evans. He was an undetermined piece on the board that many were now looking at for their own advantage. She could see the older Slytherins glaring at the boy across the hall.
"If so, it'll be Rodolphus or Rabastan threatening me for throwing a spanner into their plots to get in mine and Andy's knickers."
"Those pricks will keep their wands to themselves if they know what's good for them. We're two of the better duelists in the school for reasons they haven't forgotten," Verona growled, remembering just how she and the feared Bellatrix Black became friends all those years ago.
There were still some in their house who slept with one eye open, given the lengths the Black girl had gone to with those who had sought to bully and take advantages in her first year.
Verona had never asked Bellatrix to stand up for her, and she didn't quite understand to this day why the pureblood girl had done so.
All she knew was that once you were claimed by Bellatrix, the daughter of Black was very reluctant to let trespasses go against what was hers.
"Come on Ver, let's head down to the dungeons and get some rest. Merlin knows it's been an eventful day for me so far," Bellatrix said, standing up from the table and departing from the Great Hall with a few other students.
Harry was led up to Gryffindor Tower by the Marauders. It was strange for him, having to pretend that he didn't know almost every inch of the castle just as well as his new company of friends.
He had been thankful for having studied the Marauder's Map as much as he had when it had been in his possession. He missed the magical piece of parchment, and wondered if the Marauders had already lost their invention to Filch. Harry debated on liberating it from Filch's office, but he would make do without for now, he supposed.
Upon entering the scarlet-covered main room of Gryffindor Tower, Harry was hit with a wave of nostalgia for his own time period, where he had spent countless hours here with Ron and Hermione.
The Marauders and company meandered towards the very same couch and chair that he and his friends had used to occupy. A smile came to Harry's face at the thought of a few things being able to transcend time like he was.
Harry still wasn't sure how he entirely felt attending his final year without his friends. His heart felt heavy at the thought.
Sitting down next to Remus and Peter, Harry tried to keep a straight face at his proximity to the rat.
Harry's thoughts were still torn about handling the traitor of his time. Peter may not yet have been the man who would turn his parents over to the Dark Lord, but Harry couldn't be sure.
Lily sat down on the arm of the chair that James occupied, and Sirius proceeded to sit down on the ground, leaning against Remus' legs.
"Well that was eventful! I can't wait till we get our class schedules in the morning. I wonder who will have Professor Renault first," Lily said as she began to braid her red hair.
"Oh? Does Slughorn need to sleep with one eye open in fear of losing his position as Lily Evans' favorite professor?" Sirius poked fun at the red headed girl.
The Black got a blast of wind from the tip of the redhead witch's wand for his trouble, making Sirius bark out a loud chuckle.
"Well, we'll just all have to wait and see," James said, smirking at their antics.
Harry watched the interactions and considered that, if this was to be his final year in Hogwarts, then maybe it was something he could be ok with. The group chatted by the fire late into the night until they all went up to their dorms, retiring to their beds. Harry joined the Marauders as the new edition in their room.
Break
Harry woke up at three a.m., long before all his new dorm mates. James, Peter, Remus, and Sirius were all passed out in various states of sleep. Slipping on some comfortable clothes, Harry grabbed what he would need and slipped out of the Gryffindor Common room, pushing the sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady open.
Harry quietly made his way through the halls and staircases up to the seventh floor, stopping before a very familiar and empty wall across from a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's horrid attempt to teach eight trolls how to dance a ballet. Legend had it that Barnabas had been beaten to death and cooked in a stew when the trolls didn't take kindly to him after one rehearsal session.
He paced in front of the empty wall. 'I need a room to train in,' Harry thought, picturing the room that he had once held D.A. meetings in.
Soon, the sound of the door to the Room of Requirement appearing greeted Harry's ears.
Harry entered the room with a rush of memories coming to the forefront of his mind.
The Room provided Harry with a large open space to practice spells, a small workout area to improve himself physically with weights and punching bag, a wall filled with several shelves of books to aid him, a target dummy, and a desk to work create and test runes.
Deciding that he had to begin with his physical body, Harry began to run several laps around the room. His lungs burned from the effort, but Harry knew how important it was to be in shape. It was one of the few reasons he had lasted as long as he had during the Battle of Hogwarts; a year on the run did excellent work for one's cardiovascular capacity but Harry had lost much of that over the month he had been in the past.
Wiping the sweat from his brow at the physical exhaustion from the laps he had done, he would definitely need to grab food from the kitchens and sneak back to the dorms for a shower before breakfast.
With a flick of his wrist, Harry pulled out his birch wand and summoned several books to him from the shelves. Harry knew his combat was atrocious. He was nowhere near what he was meant to be. He didn't know how he would honestly be able to defeat Lord Voldemort in a duel.
Albus Dumbledore's plan all along had hinged on Harry being killed by the Dark Wizard after all. He hadn't been given the possibility of walking away from a fight with Voldemort.
This time, however, when he faced his fated rival, he needed to be the one who came out on top. Losing wasn't an option this time.
The entire time, Harry had been a foolish, naive child, playing soldier in an all-too real war. This time, he couldn't afford that luxury. He needed to be better than he was before. He had to be able to stand alone when Voldemort finally realized the danger that he posed and came for him.
Harry had to. For all the people he had left behind before and those he could save now.
'Never again,' he vowed to himself in a mutter.
Never again would he stand in fear before the man who had murdered his parents. Never again would he let someone precious and close to him die for him. Never again would he holster his wand and not fight back when Death came to greet him.
So, that mission would start now and today. Sitting down in a chair conjured by the room, Harry got to work researching spells and dueling tactics that he would have to hone down to a fine edge.
Harry found that the books he had been given by the Room were very informative, and potentially even a better source of knowledge than the Library was bound to have on display. However, none held a candle to a book he already possessed.
He was reading the green leather spell tome he had purchased in Yesca's store. The book had proven to be absolutely invaluable thus far. It was a trove of knowledge that he would have never succeeded without.
It reminded Harry eerily of the almost addictive relationship he had had with his potions book in sixth year. The teachings of the Half-Blood Prince had been invaluable at the time, too.
Within its bindings was information, diagrams, and explanations on spells that the author had created within every branch of magic known to the Wizarding World at the time. Very few stones were left unturned by Gormlaith, it seemed.
Already, he had devoured most of the sections pertaining to Runes that he had access to. The book seemed to judge him and grant him what it thought he was worthy to see.
However, he had also found the sections which pertained to the witch's life. Harry found a kindred spirit of sorts in the woman. He, too, had grown up in a dysfunctional household, where he had been seen as nothing but a servant. No one was near as well-treated as his cousin had been. It seemed that many witches and wizards found their homes within the school.
Returning to task, Harry opened the spell tome to its chapters on charms and curses, but they all lay blank to him. Grunting in dissatisfaction, Harry searched through the book for something that he could actually read.
Finally, he found a spell he could cast. It lay within the Transfiguration section.
It was a basic spell pertaining to the first few things that Harry had learned in Hogwarts in '91. The spell simply called for the transformation of whatever was on hand to create metal knives. It must have been the same spell the Unspeakable had cast at him in the Time Room during his second misadventure through the Department of Mysteries.
The spell created a single solid metal knife. Below a diagram of the required wand motions, Harry read a line of scribbled handwriting.
'To create ſomething from nothinge is impoſsible, there is always a base for the ſpell's magicke to work upon. However, everythinge is around you, so you muſt be verſatile in the inſtructions of what you use. Inorganick material always works beſt, whatever you take control of — change the property to that of a metal of your choosinge, then imagine the object before you, in this case the knife. Create the knife and follow with a banishment charme.'
Harry followed the wand motions labeled out before him, casting the transfiguration silently. A quill from the desk turned into a knife composed of a mix between copper and tin, not nearly equal to the bronze he had pictured in his head.
Having tried the spell a few more times, Harry put away the Sayre book, returning it to the enchanted satchel he had purchased to carry his belongings for class.
He had eventually managed to create several bronze weapons; next time he would handle more complicated metals like iron or even steel.
He fumbled with his hands while opening the second book he had purchased from the kneazle Animagus. It was Professor Renault's book on dueling. He hadn't spent much time flipping through the pages before now, but he supposed he'd have to read this for class anyway, potentially.
The book held a lot of information pertaining to wizard dueling, pulling from contemporary sources to show how the style had evolved through the centuries. It seemed that, like Gormlaith, Renault was also a collector of spells within his own work.
Like before, the book expressed the importance of immobilization before committing to a combat situation. 'It was a matter of safety in the ring,' were the words that Renault had written, but Harry could see the benefit outside of a dueling circuit.
Renault's work stressed sending out a volley of spells in a sounder of three: one immobilization jinx, an offensive spell of some sorts, and then a defensive charm to block any panic shots an opponent might get off.
Harry cast a plethora of jinxes and curses at the target, from tripping, babbling, and even body binding to restrict or break an opponent's stride. Every time Harry cast his attack spell, he made an effort to use the cutting curse or an exploding charm silently, always ending on a silent Protego.
Not a single shot of red spellfire from a disarming jinx or a stunner had left his wand during the whole practice. They were spells he had to leave behind.
Harry wouldn't do any of the dark magic he had found in the Sayre Journal so far, but he would opt for spells that could be dangerous. At the end of the day, the cutting curse was just as deadly as the Unforgivable Killing Curse if it hit the right mark on its target.
Yet, there was a certain detachment in Harry for opting to forgo the favored spell of the Dark Lord. Despite the removal of the man's soul from his, there was a part of Harry that was afraid of becoming like Voldemort. If he had to kill, it would be any other way than that.
Be a good man, that was the promise. What was a good man, though? Was it one who took every advantage to prevent the evil he perceived, or was it someone who, despite being capable of such, had instead chosen another path entirely?
It was a question that had kept Harry up all night until he had fallen fitfully to sleep, before sneaking out of his new dorm room.
Finally, after practicing the spells verbally, Harry attempted to repeat his performance non-verbally, a skill which the book had laid out as essential for the style of combat being taught. Every advantage was to be sought, used, and exploited to the fullest.
He spent the next twenty minutes attempting a single severing curse to no avail. He knew that discipline and concentration were vital to the ability of nonverbal magic; he had seen Dumbledore and Voldemort clash in multiple duels with no spell names leaving their lips. They were the epitome of those two concepts.
Thinking back on what he had read in the Sayre Journal on the topic. Harry recalled the scribbles the witch had written in calligraphic script.
'To cast nonverbally, one muſt not juſt have disipline nor concentration, but determination as well. The caſter must bend the magicke to their wille, but ſilently — speakinge ſpells helps us learn to bend and create magicke within us. But to do so ſilently, thou must feel the magicke more cloſely. It is as if an extension of the wand, as the wand is to a wizard.'
It was different from Renault's suggestion of simply focusing and honing in on the spell within one's mind through discipline, concentration, and determination.
Breathing slowly, Harry leveled his gorgon wand at the training dummy. "Discipline, Concentration, Determination, Extension," Harry repeated like a mantra. He felt the magic begin to gather around his wand tip ever so lightly, like a gentle hum.
With a pooling beginning in his gut, Harry's wand shot out a dark green spell that connected with the dummy's center. It cleaved a hole straight through its chest, leaving a wound that looked as though it had melted from an acid in its aftermath.
The gorgon wand hummed magically as Harry twirled it around and shot another severing curse. This time though, it held considerably less power behind it, only managing to pierce a quarter way through the dummy.
Shaking his head in frustration, Harry sat back down to read more of Renault's theory, repeating the process of research, trying new spells, and going back to the book for hours that morning until he had to sneak back into the dorm room to shower before breakfast.
James Potter woke up to a nearly empty dorm room. Only Remus was still asleep in his four-beam poster bed. Pushing his glasses up on his face, the Head Boy dressed and readied for his day.
Upon entering the Common Room, he found Sirius waiting for him in their usual spot. The Black was dressed sharply, but had still opted to wear muggle clothes underneath his dress robes. A studded belt could be seen around his waist, there was a tear in his pants leg, and his shoes were simply dark combat boots. It could be said that while Black had a sense for dress, he lacked all decorum for that which was socially acceptable.
"Morning Prongs! Ready to grab some breakfast and then our school schedules? Wonder what order they'll contrive to torture us with this year," Sirius chuckled.
"As long as I don't have double potions first thing in the morning, I could be wrangling hippogriffs for Care of Magical Creatures and I'd still be happy," James said.
While he was competent enough in potions, he hated staring at Snape during the class, watching the Slytherin boy attempt to win Lily's affections over the years through his talent for brewing.
"Where are Harry and Peter, by the way?" James asked, looking for the two boys. Sirius simply shrugged.
The Black had warmed back up to Harry after seeing him sorted in Gryffindor, but there was still an unease within him.
"Didn't see either of them when I got up. They must already be at breakfast, I suppose. Let's go see, eh?"
The pair left Gryffindor Tower and made their way to the Great Hall. They found the usual suspects of Lily, Marlene, and Dorcas all chatting away together. Harry sat nearby, listening to the girls, but there was no Peter to be seen.
This struck James as odd, but he shook the thought out of his head. Perhaps Peter was just busy sending a letter to his mom on the first morning. The boy had always been close to his mother.
"Morning ladies," James said as he sat next to Lily and pressed a kiss into the girl's hair.
Lily blushed and swatted James away. "Down, you," she grumbled, not appreciating the man's affections this early in the morning.
James simply smiled at the girl and shook his head. "She thinks I'm a hound, Padfoot. Can you believe it? Paint us with the same brush, eh?"
Sirius shook his head. "You, a hound? That accusation doesn't have an antler to hold it up," Sirius smirked from the hidden joke.
Only Harry's lips cracked the smallest of smiles while the rest of the girls had long since given up on the two boy's animal sense of humor years ago.
"Attention, please! We shall begin distributing term schedules shortly!" Professor McGonagall called out to the hall.
Soon, every student had begun to file in for breakfast and to receive their class lists.
Harry looked down at the parchment that his head of House handed to him.
M/W/F - Defense Against the Dark Arts 9:00 - 11:00
M/W/F - Magical Theory - 11:00 - 12:00
M/W/F - History of Magic - 13:00 - 14:00
M/W/F - Herbology - 14:00 - 15:00
T/T - Potions 9:00 - 11:00
T/T - Runation 12:00 - 13:00
T/T - Transfiguration 13:00 - 14:00
T/T - Charms 14:00 - 15:00
T/T - Care of Magical Creatures 15:00 - 16:00
He'd have to start with double DADA and Potions in his mornings. Harry groaned at the thought of spending mornings with Snape in the dungeon brewing potions. Unbeknownst to him, James was seething for the very same reason.
"Well, I suppose we're off to the new professor then. Weird that they put our year first, instead of one of the younger years," Remus said, a piece of toast in his hand as he gulped down a glass of juice in his haste to fill his stomach.
The group nodded and soon began to disperse to their classes.
Creon Renault stared out in trepidation at the empty desks lining his classroom.
'What in Merlin's soggy shorts am I even doing here? I'm not a teacher,' the man thought bitterly, anger coursing in his veins at agreeing to take the role practically forced upon him by Dumbledore.
Renault would be the first to describe himself as many things, but free spirited was the first in many of his titles. Ever since he was a boy, he had longed for adventure and to see the world; he had achieved those goals in a multitude of ways, gaining fame and fortune, cutting his name into legend.
Creon Renault was one of the few muggle-borns to ever do so. Yet, here he was, a simple teacher … locked within the castle walls, all as a favor for Dumbledore.
"I should've never let Scamander convince me into helping him save that blasted Chimera from poachers," Creon grumbled under his breath, recalling one of his many adventures with the famed Magizoologist.
It was because of those adventures that he found himself so indebted to Dumbledore, and thus here now. He wasn't a teacher, with no tried and true method to pass on the knowledge he held to a younger generation. The few he had tried before had all been failed ventures, especially his attempt at authoring an ultimately mediocre dueling guide when he was fresh off the International Dueling Circuit, as the youngest world champion. The book had barely left the shelves despite his growing popularity at the time.
"Better dealing with a bunch of kids than a Wendigo, though," Creon said to himself one last time before his classroom began to fill itself out. In truth, he preferred a cozy post at Hogwarts to trapezing through the wild places of the world. However, he would at times muse that he might have preferred to face a Wendigo than deal with the Headmaster of Hogwarts. At least a Wendigo didn't hold debts, nor hide its nature behind twinkling eyes and greater goods. Mimicry, he thought, was a far lesser obstacle than politics.
The kelpie on his arm neighed in excitement as the students took their seats. Creon, seeing the tattoo overreact rolled his sleeve down, covering the water demon which let out a silent huff of indignation and swished its seaweed tail in a flurry upon his skin.
Gryffindors and Slytherins made their way into the room, with the lions taking their places in the front of the class and the snakes taking the back sections of the room. It seemed to be a tried and true pattern of arrangement between the two houses which had lasted years, Creon noted.
"Books away, wands out, and we'll be pushing the desks to the side in a moment. We're going to be doing a practical lesson this morning, to awaken you all properly to this term… chop chop!" Professor Renault called out to the class.
The man drew his own wand out. It was a green wood of almost thirteen inches. It held a few runes along its base, but the length of the wood to the tip was engraved with what looked to be waves.
Harry chose a seat not too far from Lily, while James, Sirius and Remus took the rest of the row where Marlene sat. Pettigrew was off to the very front row with a subdued Dorcas Meadowes.
Within the Slytherins, Bellatrix had opted to take a corner of the room, sitting between Verona Jennings and the rest of their house. Her raven hair was up in its usual bun and she was dressed in the traditional green robes of their house.
The Lestranges, Snape, Avery, Parkinson, and Mulicber all made up their own block on the opposite side of the room.
As soon as the students had found seats, they found their desks and chairs moving away from them, leaving the class standing in their small groups around the room.
"Alright, everyone, we're going to pair off! I want to see pairs all around the room. We are going to work on silently casting jinxes and minor curses today. The point of the exercise is to impair your opponent; there will be no aggressive or lethal spellcasting! Is that understood?" Creon ordered.
Several of the students nodded their heads in ascent but there were also students raising their hands in question at the newly minted Professor.
Creon nodded at a blonde Gryffindor standing near the front of the room.
"Excuse me, sir, but if we're dueling, why are we being restricted to only impair our opponents?" Marline McKinnon asked.
Creon nodded his head at the young Gryffindor. "Because in most duels, going toe-toe with your opponent will result in more damage to yourself. You will be caught by the effects of your opponents spells and even the backlash of your own. However, if you learn how to impair your opponent, you can use more precise spells to overcome them," the professor explained to the class. "Anymore questions on today's tasks?"
Several hands remained in the air but all the questions were asked nearly at once when Creon gestured for one to ask their query.
"Is it true you escaped from grave robbers and bandits in the Valley of Kings by integrating into a local Bedouin tribe?"
"Did you really lead a dragon-unit for the British Expeditionary Forces during the conflict with Grindelwald?"
"Were you really the one who snuck the Chimera out of the Turkish Ministry of Magic with Newt Scamander?"
"Are you going to teach us the same moves that won you the International Dueling Circuit in 1939 as the youngest ever to win, or even compete?"
Creon Renault gestured his hands downward in an attempt to placate and cease the stream of questions leaving the mass of students' lips.
"Not exactly like that, yes, I legally can't confirm, and no," Professor Renault answered in a fast pace.
The tattooed man shuddered at the inquisition into his feats of strength. He was by no means an extremely famous wizard as the likes of Dumbledore, but there were few households which didn't envy or revere him for one thing or another that he had done at some point in time.
However, it seemed like not many knew all of his trials and successes — just the few they hung onto closely in need of a good story.
"Any questions that are not about me or my personal life?" Renault asked the class warily. However, no hands raised this time.
Nodding to his new young and impressionable students, Creon waved his wand and the desks pushed off to the side. "Let's begin. Everyone please choose a partner to duel!"
"Yes, Professor Renault," sounded out from the choir and circus of students pairing off with their friends.
Harry moved over to pair with James or another Marauder, but he was soon blocked off by a glaring Rabastan Lestrange .
"You and me Evans. A little rematch … what'd ya say?" Rabastan growled, the Slytherin's demeanor was one of aggression.
James eyed the Lestrange, challenging his friend warily. He himself was seemingly partnered too with the second Lestrange, Rodolphus, now, as the man stood across from him as well. "Harry mate —" James went to say but was stopped by Harry raising his hand.
"It's alright, I'll indulge Rabastan. You get the better looking twin, it seems," he said simply. However, Harry drew his now-preferred gorgon wand from within his sleeve.
After practicing with both wands over, August Harry had found noticeable differences between the two. While the Phoenix-wand was strong and its magic easily came to his will, he found the gorgon wand he wielded to be more powerful. Its spells contained more fangs to its bite than the Phoenix feather resting in the holly wand did.
Magic came just as simply from the wand, but he had found himself forming a connection to the newly purchased tool. It had been only a means to an end at first; he had not been expecting to use the wand as much as he already did. The birch wand felt right — like it had always belonged to him despite possessing a presumably long line of prior masters before coming into the hands of Gregorovitch and his family's business.
Harry stood across from Rabastan Lestrange with his wand at the ready, hanging loosely in his hand. He could practically feel the gorgon within baying for blood.
"Alright class, remember: no dangerous jinxes or curses, now! Silently casting requires concentration, discipline, and determination," Creon recited the methodology for his students. With a wave of his hand, the professor began the various duels which took up the room.
James immediately sent a tickling charm out at Rodolphus, who simply countered with his own leg-lock curse. Both boys side-stepped their respective spells and cast once more, trying to get the other to topple over in their game.
Remus and Sirius playfully cast curses at one another, each releasing a bark of laughter as the other was overcome by the spell's effects. Sirius broke into a jig at Remus' dancing curse, and Remus had wool constantly re-wrap itself around his head as he tried to tear the cloth from his face, obscuring his vision.
Bellatrix and Verona cast silent curses at each other, each masterfully dodging and weaving around their opponent's spells. Bellatrix had even begun to toss several of Verona's spells back at her in tandem with her own curses. Finally, one hit Jennings, which caused the girl to fall back and burst into tears at the crying-jinx Bellatrix used.
Through the water cascading down her face and closing off her vision, Verona cast a silent body-control jinx. Bellatrix's arm immediately responded by grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling, torquing the girl's head off to the side in a yelp of surprise escaping her lips.
The raven haired girl exposed her neck as control of her wand arm was seized by the spell too, forcing the wood of her magical medium into the base of her collarbone.
Angered at being caught off guard by her friend, Bellatrix shot a blast of Legilimency, ignoring the rules of the lesson and attacking the girl's mental defenses with the force of a sledgehammer. With her head snapping back from the force, Verona lost control of her body hack spell. Bellatrix immediately snapped her wand out and fired off ropes which bound her friend's hands to her body, followed by a tripping jinx which sent Verona crashing to the floor.
Meanwhile, Harry and Rabastan's duel had begun to develop into something quite vicious to the trained eye, and became progressively more haphazard. The Lestrange twin had soon foregone the concept of impeding Harry's movement and had instead devoted his spellcraft to deliberate attempts to break Harry in one form or another. Several were meant to crack bone and split skin.
Harry nimbly dodged the spells before delivering one of his own, hitting Lestrange directly with a rope binding jinx; the cord flew from Harry's wand and wrapped itself around Lestrange's torso and wand arm, trapping the limb, immobile, against his body.
Rabastan snarled and cut the rope with a cutting curse he aimed up towards himself, narrowly avoiding the blade of magic as it sheared through the rope Harry created.
"Redactum Skullus!" Rabastan growled, forgoing the silent casting of the lesson and sending the spell shooting off for Harry's head.
Harry's eyes bulged at the spell, and he quickly dropped prone upon the floor. Rabastan's spell soared over him and hit the wall, carving a hole through the stone.
Maintaining the assignment of the duel, 'Colloshoo,' Harry thought with a flick of his wand aimed at his opponents feet. Immediately, Rabastan's shoes became stuck to the floor, glued down.
Harry immediately followed up with a summoning charm to Lestrange's tie; the piece of clothing quickly began to yank at Rabastan's neck until it snapped away, sending the boy crashing backwards as it sailed to Harry's outstretched hand.
With his feet stuck firmly to the ground, Rabastan couldn't get his legs underneath him to stand back up before Harry. The young Death Eater tried to push himself up but found his hands now stuck to the ground as well, leaving him in a very uncomfortable pose not entirely unlike a muggle stress position. The Lestrange snarled at Harry like an animal caged in a trap, for mocking him like so in front of his peers.
"Alright, that's enough, lads, wands away everyone. Stop gawking at them, you lot," Creon ordered the class around. He stepped between the two dueling schoolboys, unsticking Rabastan who quickly fell painfully on his backside. "Twenty points from Slytherin for improper spell use. Don't do that again please, Mr. Lestrange. I only have so many walls," Creon said with mirth, but his eyes bore no humor. He had been wondering about stepping in, but it seemed Evans was able to prevail.
"Nicely done, Mr. Evans. Excellent combination to disrupt and impede your opponent. If you take an opponent's legs out from underneath them, then they are effectively beaten. To fall in a fight is at times the most dangerous position to find oneself in; an opponent can always easily harm or kill a foe who is downed," Creon said wisely to the class, which had stopped their own duels to watch the match between Lestrange and Evans.
Creon nodded at the winner of the duel. "Take twenty points for a cool head under pressure and following the rules, Evans, why don't ya?" the Defense Professor offered.
Creon Renault had been enthralled with Evans' dueling — he saw much of his own movements in the young man. It was like watching a mirror, in a few ways, for the old dueling champion.
"Good job today everyone, but I feel that will be the dismissal for class. You're all assigned a foot worth of parchment on offensive and defensive jinxes. Next time, we'll go over the variety in spellcraft and how to implement them more fluidly in a sequence," Renault called out as the students began packing their things to leave for their next class.
As the last student left through the door, Renault let out a sigh of relief. His first class was over and in the books. Perhaps given time, he'd fill out and be more comfortable in his role. But Renault felt evermore like a failure at the fight that nearly broke out of control between Evans and Lestrange.
If Evans had not maintained his cool in the moment, then the crowd that had gathered to watch them would have been in danger. Creon's memory flashed back to the last time he had seen a gathering around a duel gone awry. He could still see some of the decimated bodies of the spectors, broken and unmoving from the uncontrolled spell. The stench of death swam through his nostrils, and bile and guilt rose in his throat in equal measure.
Creon shook himself away from those dark thoughts. 'Never again, I swore. I'll teach them to be better than I was. Merlin, I told Dumbledore I didn't want this job,' Renault thought in dismay. 'Bastard.'
The first day and week passed Harry by without much fanfare. He had begun all his new classes, taking to them with gusto, while his own studies with the Sayre Journal were yielding desired results.
The days of September crept along and Harry found himself in a melancholic rut between his hours of study. He thought of the times he had spent with Hermione and Ron, all those years in the castle. He thought of that last year with Ginny before the war split them apart.
His new housemates, and the young figures of the Marauders he knew in the future, became quick replacements for his friends and acquaintances in the life he left behind — there was still a hole in his chest.
Harry stared out across the grounds, his eyes moving along the rolling hills and towards the unmoving water of the Black Lake. There was a single old tree along the shore line with only its peak visible, the rest nestled behind several rows of hedges growing.
Harry felt like that old tree. 'It's alone and hidden,' he thought glumly. He was alone in the past and desperate to protect everything he cared for in the future.
It was not yet winter, but Harry could feel a chill upon the air.
Regulus threw up the contents of his dinner into the toilet. The boy was sick to his stomach. Sweat gleamed on his forehead and traveled down the back of his neck.
His hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to support his weight against the porcelain. His body attempted to purge itself once again of everything, but his mind betrayed him by holding onto the horrors with its claws.
"Blessed Morrigan — what have I done?!" the young Black thought in despair. It had gone too far, that much was clear to the young man.
He had been given a mission. One which would bring him prestige and honor to his name and family. The Dark Lord had personally seen fit to place him at the head of the operation, on recommendation from several notable members of his council.
'How did it go so wrong?' Regulus lamented in despair once more, shutting his eyes tight as tears escaped them.
Him, Mulicber, and Avery had been given a clear task: to intimidate, cow, and subjugate several children of prominent lords in the Wizengamot.
It was an easy enough task, but Avery and Mulicber had taken too much pleasure in the torment they had been inflicting on a young Hufflepuff prefect selected that evening. Regulus watched in horror as the two older Slytherins enacted their lord's wishes upon her.
They had taken a leaf from the Dark Lord, seizing control of her and forcing her to cast the spells herself till they grew bored. Avery was the first to break, then Mulciber. Regulus watched on in horror as the two boys enacted every perceived slight from the girl down upon her tenfold.
Regulus could still hear her bones crack from Avery, and could still see the odd angles in which they had been mended by Mulicber. The young Hufflepuff had no control of her own actions.
Regulus, to his own disgust and horror, had joined in when the two young Death Eaters thought he hadn't done his part or taken his fill yet. He had receded into his mind as his body went through the motions with the other two boys. A feeling of bliss had overtaken his mind as one of them turned their wand on him.
The young girl was crying and sobbing. Begging and pleading. He could still hear now, even when he retreated far behind his Occlumency shields. After their Imperius curse had lifted, her face had looked up at him in a begging question during the traumatic ordeal.
Regulus could see her eyes behind the broken features of her face and the blood that covered its surface.
Weren't we friends, Regulus?
It had been enough anguish for himself to take back his will, but in doing so, Regulus now had to act at least in front of the two older Slytherins unless they turned their wands on him again. Opting to put his friend in a different state so she wouldn't feel any more pain, of his own free will, Regulus had cast a curse which inflicted the girl's mind, playing her worst memory before her eyes with no salvation but from the most talented mind-healers.
It was the young Black's first step on a journey through his darkness, his heart clenching in fear.
Regulus once again broke down into a sob. The feral cry clawed its way out of his throat, echoing off the walls of the bathroom. He had just run to the nearest one with reckless abandon, not caring which orientation it belonged to.
Looking down at his shaking hands, Regulus wasn't sure if it was reality or his mind playing tricks upon him, but he could have sworn he saw glints of red shining off his finger tips.
"You're not supposed to be in here," a voice said from behind him.
Immediately Regulus turned and drew his wand, its tip glaring at the opaque ghost of a young girl before him. She was watching him through a pair of large round glasses that she must have worn in life.
"Moaning M— Myrtle Warren," Regulus stopped himself. He was already damned and cruel to the living. He did not wish to be so to the dead too — they deserved a respite. "I'm sorry, I didn't know this was your bathroom."
The Slytherin lowered his wand, and wiped his face, trying to collect himself. It was unbecoming for anyone, even the dead, to see a Black lose their composure.
Myrtle looked oddly at the boy before her, floating down to him. She had been dead for thirty-four years now, and still she remembered the feelings of life. It was the most haunting thing for a ghost.
She keenly remembered being bullied by Slytherins just like the one in front of her. To this day, her spirit was mocked just as much as she had been during her living tenure at the wizarding school.
"Why are you crying?" Myrtle asked the boy simply.
Regulus picked himself up off the floor and hurried to the door, but stopped just before exiting. The Death-Eater-To-Be turned to the ghost who had questioned his torment.
Regulus knew he could not admit to a living soul what he had done, but perhaps his secret was safe amongst the dead, one whose affairs in the world had long since expired.
"Because I'm a monster, and I never wanted to be," he confessed, the low whisper leaving his lips so quietly that the Ravenclaw ghost nearly didn't hear the boy. "I'm crying for the boy who died the minute his mother gave him over to someone else."
Regulus left the second-floor girl's bathroom quickly, and stepped into the dark of the sleeping castle.
The Sayre Journal
Entry #2
Like all of our family had been for generations, I too had been sorted into Slytherin House upon my arrival to Hogwarts with my younger siblings following my example in their own years. We were all proud of our achievement, of entering the House of Salazar Slytherin, hoping to impress our Father.
I, however, held a deeper pride than perhaps my siblings at my own sorting, for I was considered the brightest witch of my generation — even at such a young age.
My first year at Hogwarts in 1560 was one of political turmoil. There was more division than simply between the houses of Hogwarts, but also of demographics drawn upon the map of our island and Europe as a whole, which lay in its own mess. The other kingdoms of Britannia were brought to heel under the Reformation which had swept over muggle England earlier in the century. This created a ripple effect which greatly affected our world of magic, and how we lived amongst their own muggle society.
There were those of us of magical descent who lived in the presence of muggles at this time, freely and openly, often displaying our magic for them to see and be in wonderment of.
These wizards took no action to hide their abilities from the muggles and in their attempts to befriend the vile beings, were thus deemed traitors by the higher society for bringing down upon our kin a great calamitous plague — those accursed 'witch trials'.
Tens of thousands of us were murdered, witches and wizards of all ages from the youngest babes to the most feeble of elders. None were spared from the wrath of the Inquisitions or Witchhunter-Generals.
I took refuge within Hogwarts, one of the many fortunates but I knew a few within my own year who did not return after the Yule term, slain most villainously upon their return to their muggle villages and hamlets. My first friend at school, Kelith Hare, was murdered in her own home; burned alive, the manor torched by the muggles of their village in the dead of night.
How her family fell to this fate I know not, but in my old age now I do suspect foul play among other wizards was the cause of her family line ending in flames. Entire houses were exterminated by opportunistic wizards using muggles for blood feuds during the Trials.
I speak of this so thou will know the danger these pests pose to our society. They are like animals, who snap at whatever they cannot comprehend. They murder that which is different and claim ignorance for their most vile actions. They are savage and unkind people, and were it a kinder world they wouldn't not be associated nor even related to wizardkind in any way.
If it were a kinder world, muggles would kill themselves off in droves, as they do every other creature upon the Earth.
Though our family was safe during these years when the fever of witchcraft began its winding grip over the minds of muggles. We had learned first hand the danger of the Witch Trials a decade before the fervour of it did stir the muggle communities into a frenzy.
I was not even yet two summers old when I was witnessed once, doing accidental magic through the window of our home. A local villager saw and did report it to the vicar of our hamlet. Within the fortnight, a mob had stormed up to our manor, their torches illuminating the darkness as they came for me, attempting to drag me out to face my perceived crimes.
My mother did hide me beneath the floorboards, in a small crawl space. I listened in fear as the men of the muggle's holy faith broke down our door with axes and assaulted my mother. They questioned her, asking, -Where is the little witch?- over and over, yet she broke not, nor surrendered me.
I watched from a gap betwixt the boards, the ceiling of my very hiding place as the men upturned the entire room in their wicked search for me. Finally, they ceded that hunt in defeat and settled instead for my mother alone.
Thy grandmother did beg and plead with the men who had grabbed her by her hair and frock but they attended not to her cries. They snapped her wand and took her to the town square. I could hear her screams yet long past they left the room, all the way down to the entrance.
In the square, they had thrown her before a crowd, where she was accused of consorting with the devil, and bringing forth a terrible blight upon the land. Writing this in my old age, it strikes me most peculiar that the muggles were right in their accusations, in a fashion. She had verily married a devil. I was a misery most singular, a hell spawn from my father which had infected the world.
My mother's confession and plea for clemency fell upon deaf ears; none would hear a supplication of justice, only one of pain. They did proceed to construct a pyre about a stake, to burn her upon. Father had fallen upon the mob in a fury just as they did make to tie mother to that dread thatch upon which stood the beam. Father rescued her thence and returned to our manor to retrieve me. We fled our ancestral home and hence relocated into the countryside.
My mother never recovered from her experience, her health ever worsening. She never sought to purchase a new wand. Father became paranoid and hid us from the muggle community until soldiers were stationed there years later, after which we fled to a shack in Hangleton.
I carried this all into my first year at Hogwarts. I saw the many muggle-borns granted entry into our world as an affront to our way of life, as it was their families who did so persecute us. I saw the blood traitors as no better for assisting the muggles in the capture of wizards and witches against which they held any personal vendetta.
As a Pureblood witch who had felt first hand the violence they caused, I did carry myself higher than them not merely in status but in morals. I excelled in my classes at Hogwarts, and was hailed the greatest witch to study therein since Helena Ravenclaw. I believed every word, that I truly was their superior.
This was the beginning of the descent into the heart of darkness which thou sees within me, dearest niece. I was not always such a monster — but one cannot blame the serpent when it strikes out at the world which would see its head sundered from its body.
A/N: I was very excited for this chapter because now we're getting more Sayre Journals. I've spent most of my time writing these out and I hope the quality shows. I've taken a bit of creative liberty with the Sayre Journals, historically and fictionally. If you'd like to research, most of the history that is told matches up to the historical record. I've only taken liberty with a few things fictionally to fit our narrator's purpose. Like always, if you spot any errors please let me know and we'll get to editing them out.