Albus adjusted the half-moon glasses so they settled on the bridge of his crooked nose and regarded the large bundle of scrolls on his cluttered desk with an expression of wry amusement and inexhaustible patience. Had his younger self ever glimpsed such a tedious future, Albus knew that he would have gone completely mad, yet the older wizard took comfort in the comfortable and familiar ritual. It brought out dedication and patience- traits Albus sought out. The familiar twinkle in his cerulean eyes unconsciously dimmed as his mind wandered back all those years ago, to a furious duel between three powerful wizards, to an innocent witch and beloved sister who got caught up in business that was sadly far too complex for her to understand.
With a slight shake of his head, Albus withdrew from his past with nothing more than a soft sigh and an absent stroke to his long beard. Those times were over and he had done his best to atone for his sins over the years. He picked one of the scrolls up and studied the small, tightly-packed scrawl. It only took him a mere glance to understand what Argus wanted and, with a flourish of his wand, etched on a firm 'X'. He remembered when he had come through Hogwarts and had been whipped and would not wish that on any child.
Well, perhaps not any child. There was one that could at times aggravate him far beyond what anybody else had ever managed. The Weasley twins had their own charm despite their mischievousness, as had the Marauders back in the seventies and the Pranklets in the fifties, but none of them had ever shown the undesirable qualities that Harry Potter revelled in. What was worse, Albus was torn between in his responsibility to see the world as peaceful as possible. On one hand, Harry Potter was quite literally a demon, a master of Hellfire with potent abilities in the darker aspects of magic. On the other hand, Harry was the prophesised one- the only one who could defeat a newly reborn and far more dangerous Voldemort. Perhaps Meciel was the power that the prophecy spoke of?
From her gleaming golden perch, Fawkes let out a soft, comforting trill and Albus gave a gentle smile, regarding the phoenix with fondness in his eyes. He had several regrets in his life, Arianna's death, his reckless youth and his inability to have a family, but they were washed away with the presence of his faery companion. Fawkes was his family now and he never regretted his bargain, although he had wondered on more that one occasion what would have happened if he hadn't met her. When he had confronted Gellert all those years ago, he had been unaware of just how far his old friend had fallen. Without the timely bargain with Fawkes, Albus knew without a doubt that he would have died and the Wizarding World would be a far different place than it was today. Who knows, perhaps it might even be better?
Fawkes let out another trill, a haunting series of notes that would make no sense to anybody except the elderly Headmaster, who interpreted the flow of music as something along the lines of 'pointless musings help nobody'.
“Perhaps,” Albus conceded quietly, leaning back in the chair and gazing into the fireplace. “However, reflection can often lead to the most startling of discoveries.”
Fawkes trilled again, a light-hearted sigh of a being that had argued this very point many times over the decades and always lost. She regarded Albus with wise and utterly inhuman black eyes, seeing into his very being in a way that nobody else ever could. Albus felt her stare and his face creased into a soft smile as he watched the gentle fire crackle on a small pile of logs- he had always enjoyed a natural fire over a magical fire. Not like Harry, of course, whose duelling strategies always seemed to run along the lines of conjuring magical flame, the more the better, and throwing it at other people.
And he was back on the topic of Harry once again.
To be fair, Albus had noted, both from interviewing young Nymphadora and his own scrying spells into the abandoned classroom that Harry had deemed as his personal training centre (Really, did the young Denarian honestly think that Albus wouldn't notice? He had gone to some trouble to keep Hogwarts extensive wards from banishing Harry from the school), that Harry had drastically improved his duelling technique. He had also noted from the reports of his Professor's that he was generally keeping himself in check in his classes. He had received no more complaints from Severus, although he would have been extremely disappointed if he had after giving the rather stern lecture to the tall Head of Slytherin, and the worst feedback he received was that Harry rarely paid attention in the more mundane lessons (something Albus he could empathise with- he recalled feeling the same way almost one hundred and forty years ago).
Without Harry, Voldemort would not fall. However, the more skill that Harry obtained, the harder it would be to keep him from hurting somebody truly innocent. There had been times when Albus felt a pang of regret at handing over the grimoire that both he and Gellert had complied. A demonically possessed Harry Potter wielding Fiendfyre was something that sent shivers up his spine. At the moment, Harry possessed a somewhat questionable moral code, but how long would that last under the constant assault of a demon and temptress? Would future generations forgive him for arming a menace that could potentially be far worse than Voldemort?
Still, Albus owed today's generations the chance to live in freedom- and he owed Lily and James Potter, who had he failed once before. Harry needed to live, both so Voldemort could be killed and so Albus could expunge his conscience and start afresh. Despite Harry's odd charm (although not many would consider Harry to be amiable in any way or form), Albus knew that he would do what was necessary in the future if Harry were to take a turn for the worse- even if he didn't want to…
“This is so fucking awesome,” Harry exclaimed exuberantly, a wide grin stretched across his face. His eyes, glinting with dark power, were narrowed in concentration as he stood in the abandoned set of classrooms that had once again became his home away from home, allowing him to develop and practise his budding skills.
Over the past few weeks, Harry had spent more and more time delving into the thick, seemingly never-ending grimoire of wand-magic that Dumbledore had so kindly given to him, trying to decipher and comprehend just what it was he was reading about. For most wizards, it would have been hard- there was a reason why students were just given books and told to read everything- but luckily Harry had something on his side that everybody else lacked.
Meciel almost devoured everything that was thrown at her and several times, Harry reluctantly gave up control of his body to allow her to pursue some advanced arithmancy that, frankly, he couldn't make heads or tales out of. The first few days saw very little progress but over time, Meciel and Harry had began to work through the technical aspect of the book and focus on the more practical solutions.
Hence, this was why Harry was currently holding his wand aloft, watching with nothing less than sheer delight as a abnormally blazing flock of dark flame moulded into the shape of crows. It was far less impressive that the gigantic looming serpent of fiendfyre that Voldemort was so fond of using, but considering that Harry could barely control a single 'bird' a week ago, he felt as if he were making progress. The fiendfyre tugged at his wand, almost as if the dark magic fuelling the powerful flames was alive and wishing to break free from its restraints, but Harry kept the cursed fire under his control and directed the flock of fiery crows around the room. Heat and smoke pushed at him and Harry flicked his wand, dispelling the cursed flame with a wide grin on his face.
“Do we have a new favourite spell, now?” Meciel's illusion asked wryly, a single eyebrow rising as she sat on one of the various crumpled and shattered desks lying around the room- victims of Harry's ever-growing repertoire of spells.
“You bet,” Harry said with a grin, sniffing the air and heaving a great sigh. “Ah, you smell that? There's nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning.”
“Firstly, this is Fiendfyre, not napalm,” Meciel said wryly, her silver eyes dancing with amusement. She smoothed down the front of her dress, a silver and white piece of clothing that was fashionable in ages gone past.
“You easily could call this magical napalm,” Harry protested absently, flicking his wand and repairing two of the splintered desks- a result from his previous Charm essay (which had given him a cramped hand, a bad attitude and a weeks of detentions after he kicked over a suit of amour in frustration)
“And secondly, I distinctly recall you hearing that in a movie,” Meciel finished.
“Quite possible,” Harry said, shrugging the comment off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But I can't be expected to remember this sort of stuff. That's what I've got you for.”
“I'm glad I'm appreciated,” Meciel said dryly. She gestured at the table with a slim, pale hand and motioned for Harry to continue. “Now, insculpo, if you will.”
Harry gave a short, elegant swish of his wand, his wrist moving with far more elegance than he was used to. The tip of his wand buzzed softly and sheets of magic crackled at the tip as an invisible force lanced at, slashing at the newly remade desk and leaving a very fine but very deep gouge in the wood, as if it had been made by a scalpel rather than a sword.
“I don't like this spell,” he grumbled, although he felt a pang of satisfaction as the desk groaned and split into two, collapsing to the ground with a loud clutter.
“This spell is quite capable of piercing magical or physical shields that the Effodio cannot,” Meciel explained patiently, as if she had been over this a dozen times already. “Furthermore, it is essentially silent when cast correctly- and I don't need to tell you that that could be very useful for us in the future.”
“There's no flash to it,” Harry grumbled, though it was more out of habit than any genuine disgruntlement. He waved his wand, repairing the desk again. “No buzz, no loud claps of thunder, no bright flashes of light.”
“Sometimes it is better that way,” Meciel said simply. She gestured at the desk again. “Now, let's see if we can avoid producing any sparks and light. The book indicates that one truly proficient with this spell will produce neither noise nor light. I've studied the arithmantic equation and it appears that if you variate the fluctuating wand-magic, you can…”
“Meciel,” Harry said sharply and Meciel blinked. “Just tell me what to do.”
“Twist your wrist a few more degrees to the left and lengthen the swish by approximately three and a half centimetres,” Meciel said amusedly, rolling her eyes good naturedly.
“See, isn't that so much easier?” Harry asked and turned back. He swished his wand again and although the tip buzzed again, it was almost undetectable and the sparks were fewer. The desk was once against cleaved sliced in half and fell clattering to the ground.
“I try to tell you what to do but you make it oh so hard, beloved,” Meciel remarked, the smile on her face more affectionate than annoyed. Harry grinned but gave a sigh as she narrowed her eyes, an oddly human gesture that had no real bearing other than making the illusion looking as realistic as possible. “See the small pile of sawdust? That indicates that the slice was not as precise as it should have been.”
“Can we go back to Fiendfyre again?” Harry sighed.
“We could work on your sword practise,” Meciel offered and Harry shuddered, his eyes flickering to the sheathed cane lying inconspicuously on one of the desks behind him. “Of course, I have never had a host who wielded a Japanese katana before, so it would be mostly trial and error for the more advanced techniques.”
“I can't believe they made one of the swords of the cross into Jap-crap,” Harry said disgustedly. His legs were still aching after he had stumbled on one of the parrying moves he had become fond off when using his other sword. Apparently there was a big difference between a straight and a curved blade, and Harry was seriously considering reworking the blade into something more useable for Meciel's experiences.
“As long as the other person is not proficient with melee weapons then your standard point-and-jab should work,” Meciel remarked.
“Why is it always the swords or the axes or the staffs that are magically powerful?” Harry asked sourly. “For once, I'd just like somebody to invent a magic gun. It would be so much easier on everybody. Point, aim, shoot, die, reload. Five simple steps- well, four for me, the other guy only needs to learn how to die.”
“Mhm,” Meciel said absently, not even looking at Harry as she glanced over at the open grimoire on the table next to him.
If Meciel had really been sitting there then she wouldn't have been able to read it. However, Harry had a partial view of it in his peripheral vision and no doubt Meciel had tapped into that and was focussing it on the words.
“If God was all-powerful, then why didn't he get the Pope or whoever to make holy gun,” Harry wondered, idly flicking his wand and blasting one of the desks into pieces with a thunderous boom.
“There were only three nails,” Meciel said and looked extremely amused as she glanced up at Harry. “Bullets are disposable and I do not believe Jesus will come down and willingly crucify himself again so that you can kill some vampires at a distance.”
“I said gun,” Harry said pointedly.
“A gun is only the mechanism that fires the true weapon,” Meciel said. “It is the actual bullet that penetrates flesh, not the gun itself. The most you could do with a holy gun is beat somebody over the head with it, and frankly, it's a lot easier to do that with a sword.”
“Not with this Jap-crap,” Harry said, wrinkling his nose as he gestured at the sheathed sword.
Meciel smiled, but cocked her head a second later, as if she was listening for something that Harry wasn't able to hear just yet. Distaste flickered over her face. “Ah. Your protégé is here.”
“What?” Harry frowned but Meciel's illusion had vanished and he turned around as a loud click hit his ears and the door slowly opened. “Oh, it's just you.”
“Well, who did you think it was?” Amanda asked sharply as she walked into the room, unceremoniously thumping her satchel-bag on the ground with a scowl on her face. Harry blinked at her tone, idly noting that she was rubbing the back of her hand.
“Oh, I don't know,” Harry answered, waving his wand through the air and sending several desks and chairs to opposite ends of the room. “A professor, a student, an Auror, a Death Eater, the Easter Bunny, Jesus…”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Amanda muttered, but a smile was tugging at her lips and she rolled her eyes good-naturedly, moving forward to stand next to Harry and peering at one of the ruined desks curiously. “Do I want to know how you did that?
“If I say yes, will you learn the spell?” Harry asked shrewdly.
“No,” Amanda said, still smiling as she turned to face Harry. She brushed her blonde hair out of her eyes and exhaled loudly. “So what am I learning today?”
“A modified mix of a large scale summoning and banishing charm,” Harry answered promptly and enjoyed the look of puzzlement that flickered across Amanda's face.
“I have no idea what you just said,” Amanda declared flatly, although her interested had been peaked.
“This is what the normal version does,” Harry said and turned his wand into the middle of the room. With a broad gesture, almost as if he was beckoning somebody to come towards him, he swished his wand and incanted “Scindo Vellere!”
Six desks from various corners in the room flew into the air and, grasped by Harry's spell, soared into the middle, clattering and slamming into each other in a wave of noise. With another flick of his wand and a mutter of 'Scindo Diremi' Harry banished all but one of the desks back to where they had started- although some of them looked a little worse for wear.
“That seems…useful,” Amanda said, although she sounded a little disappointed.
“It can be,” Harry agreed, ignoring her tone. “Think about it. A Death Eater is walking through your kitchen and you decide to mass-summon a group of steak knives right into his chest. You'd need to be creative, though this isn't the spell I was talking about. If you angle your wrist a little to the right, narrow the field of the spell and you have this.”
This time, Harry directed the spell at a single desk. The desk shuddered and a loud groaning noise filled the air. Visible dents appeared in the surface, each widening as they pulled away from each other, until the magical forces ripped the desk apart in a shower of flying debris. The torn, splintered desk collapsed to the ground, probably unfixable by magic.
“You're basically summoning or banishing a single object and the stress will just tear it apart,” Harry said casually. “You can make things implode or explode, depending on whether you banish of summon, though it's better to 'summon' when you're trying it on human beings. The results are much more effective and…fun.”
“I'm sure it is,” Amanda muttered, looking at the desk and biting her lip.
“It'd be a lot easier to use a more focussed curse though,” Harry said and raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “I don't suppose you'd like to learn some better ones? Effodio is good and Exturbo Arduro has great stopping power. Irruptus Ardor and Evertoxuro are a little less potent, but they're a lot better when dealing with multiple targets. Siagrus and Laedo fervefacio might be a little too advanced for you, but they're good ones to keep in mind.”
“Whoa,” Amanda uttered after a moment's pause. She peered at Harry with a cheeky grin on her face. “Are you sure you're not obsessed with curses or anything?”
“Maybe a little,” Harry conceded and thumped himself on the chest, looking quite pleased. “But I'm still standing, aren't I? Of course, that could be because of my incredible good looks and charm…”
“I'll pass on learning those spells, thanks,” Amanda answered, rolling her eyes with exasperation. “I don't think the others would like it when I started teaching them overt dark magic. They were a little wary over Plecto and Niteo tutaminis, and they're technically okay.”
“You're still teaching the others what you learn in here, then?” Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. Amanda nodded.
“Some of them didn't like the fact that they're so painful,” Amanda said and added dryly, “it makes it hard to get them to practise with each other. Hey, you don't think you could focus on some OWL level spells?”
“You mean the ones that are as weak as piss?” Harry asked and scoffed as Amanda winced.
“Yeah, those ones,” she muttered, ducking her head. “Some of them just want to pass the OWL's and you're not really covering anything that might be covered on the exam.”
“Not a chance in hell,” Harry said cheerfully, turning back to the desk and prodding his wand in its general direction as he tried to repair it. “Oh, c'mon…” he muttered sourly under his breath, prodding his wand at it again. One of the pieces of wood twitched but did nothing else.
“Funny you should mention hell,” Amanda said dryly and Harry blinked, glancing up at Amanda's challenging stare. Harry could easily see the nervousness behind the bravado and just shook his head as he made a face.
“Somebody's getting testy,” Harry began.
“Sorry,” Amanda said and Harry sighed.
“…and there you went and ruined it,” he continued, finally giving up on repairing the desk and banishing the remains into a dark corner. “If you're going to be testy then at least stick with it to the very end. Now, let's see you do the spell- unmodified, to start off with.”
Amanda raised her wand and gave an awkward swipe, 'Scindo Vellere' spilling from her lips. One or two of the desks might have twitched but nothing else happened. Harry rolled his eyes irritably and moved in from behind. His arm snaked around and he ignored Amanda's squeak of surprise as he roughly corrected her wrist and stance. She remained completely still, as if she was frozen to the spot, and only moved once Harry had moved back.
“Now do it,” Harry ordered.
Amanda tried again and it seemed to work a little better this time, three of the desks jumping forward with a loud clatter as if they were trying to run into the centre of the room. Harry gave a theatrical yawn and glanced down at his wrist. He paused and then frowned.
“I probably would have made my point a little better if I had a watch on,” he confided, lifting up his arm and revealing a bare wrist.
Amanda wasn't looking at him though. Her gaze was riveted to the cracked and broken desk and suddenly she was biting her lip, looking hesitant and wary.
“This can be used to kill, can't it?” She asked, although she looked as if she already knew that answer. Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. This was a question that he heard every time she learnt a new spell.
“Of course it can,” Harry scoffed, looking annoyed. He gestured to the broken desk impatiently. “Does that look like the result of a stunning charm?”
“There's no need to snap,” Amanda retorted irritably. “I just don't want to kill anybody.”
“Listen brat,” Harry said, leaning forward to emphasise his point. Amanda leaned back, looking uncomfortable at his close proximity. “Every spell can be used to kill somebody, every spell. It just depends on how creative you are.”
“Every spell,” Amanda repeated slowly.
“Yep,” Harry said, nodding vigorously. He turned back to the centre of the room and flicked his wand, banishing the desks and tables back to their proper positions. “Every spell.” He concluded.
“What about the…cheering charm,” Amanda challenged, struggling to think of the most harmless spell she had heard of.
“Keep a cheering charm on somebody for seventy-two hours and see how they like sleep deprivation,” Harry retorted dryly, flinching himself into one of the seats and lounging back as he glanced up at Amanda with languid eyes. “Sleep deprivation can kill people, by the way.”
“Stunning charm,” Amanda offered challengingly.
“Stun somebody fifteen times and see if they can get up again,” Harry responded almost easily, a wide grin stretching his face. “Please, go on.”
“Petrificus Totalus,” Amanda said, looking vaguely disturbed as she too took a seat at one of the scattered chairs.
“That can cause paralysation if you're careful,” Harry said with a wicked smile. “Or not so careful, if you get what I mean.”
“Levitation- wait,” Amanda trailed off, mumbling something under her breath and shaking her head. She brushed her hair out of her eyes, biting her lip in though. “…um…summoning charm?”
“You could summon something sharp and split their brains open,” Harry said and his eyes went a little distant. “I did that once, actually. It was kinda fun…”
“I was thinking of summoning a heart of something and…” Amanda trailed off, looking quite disturbed and fidgeting in her seat as Harry gave her a brilliant smile.
“Good thinking,” he declared and Amanda flushed, her eyes flicking with a variety of different conflicting emotions. This was quickly replaced with indigitation as he continued brusquely, “If you were a moron, of course.
“It could work!” Amanda protested, although it seemed to be an automatic reaction rather than any genuine disagreement.
“No, it couldn't and here's why,” Harry said, looking far too smug than Amanda liked.
“I presume you're about to teach me something now?” Amanda muttered under her breath, but she unconsciously leant forward, listening intently as Harry started to speak.
“Every living thing is resistant to wand-magic,” Harry began. “Some are more resistant than others. Wizards are a lot more resistant to wand-magic than Muggles are, for example, but regardless, some resistance exists- probably because it doesn't exist in this realm and there's conflict with the natural forces and whatever.”
“We're resistant?” Amanda echoed slowly, digesting the concept rather than actually questioning it.
“We are,” Harry said briskly and rolled his eyes. “Look, the human body can cop a lot of magical shit thrown at it and still survive, especially the average wand-wizard who has very little power behind them.”
“What's your point?” Amanda asked and Harry narrowed his eyes. He stared at her until she flushed and ducked her grey eyes down to her lap. Feeling pleased, Harry continued.
“My point is that you can't summon a heart or any internal organ out of the body like that,” Harry concluded. “Magical resistance won't let the spell work and there's only so much power you can push into a close-ranged summoning charm. It's why this spell here will tear through wooden desks but cast on a wizard, will crack a few bones and cause some internal damage- unless you're careful.”
“Huh,” Amanda uttered after a moment's beat. Despite her hair colour, Harry had assessed that she was above average in matters of magic and was sure that she would get it eventually. But there was something else that was bugging him…
“You know, you've been getting a bit of an attitude problem lately,” Harry noted and blinked as Amanda's face flushed, her eyes brewing with anger.
“Umbridge,” Amanda spat out in a tone Harry had never heard before. “She doesn't like me and insists on giving me detentions every single lesson!”
“She doesn't like anybody,” Harry said carelessly, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on one of the desks. “Or so I've seen.”
“Like you'd know,” Amanda's voice was sharp, curt and full of a mixture between resentment and…was that hurt Harry could hear? “You just spend the entire time sitting at the back of the class with a stupid grin on your face. I'm the one copping the detentions. You could at least help me out or something.”
“Is she using a quill that uses blood instead of ink?” Harry asked and Amanda looked startled, blinking and staring at him in surprise.
“Well, yeah,” she said slowly. She scowled. “I told McGonagall and she yelled at Umbridge but then she just pulled out another one of those damned educational degrees the next morning.”
“I could teach you a few spells that might put a damper on Umbridge's little reign of terror if you want,” Harry offered and grinned malicious.
“Do you ever give up?” Amanda asked after a moments beat, both with exasperation, as if the constant offers of dark magic annoyed her, and resignation, as if she knew Harry wouldn't stop.
“In a word- no,” Harry uttered with a cheery grin. “Well, it looks like I'll have to do something about her then. Just know that when she's dead, it'll be all your fault. If only you had cursed her arm to give her a massive bitch-slap every time she clears her throat…hmm, I wonder if that's possible.”
Amanda rolled her eyes and sighed loudly, but there was a reluctant grin tugging at the corner of her lips. She watched as Harry stood, extracting his well-polished wand from his robes.
“Okay, I get that you don't want to learn the spells, but what about watching?” Harry tried with a twinkle in his eye. He gestured to his wand and gave her a mischievously dark smile. “Do you wanna see something cool?”
“…yeah,” Amanda said slowly and stood up, watching Harry carefully. “But don't try anything, Harry, I mean it.”
“Oh, I won't,” Harry said distractedly. “Now, what I'm about to show you is a form of cursed fire- a potent piece of dark magic called Fiendfyre. Frankly, it's the best thing to come out since the Effodio curse…”
The first thing that he had noticed about the place was that it smelled...grubby dirt, human sweat, the inevitable dust that would appear no matter how many charms you put down…but he had been given a mission by his master and he would obey. He scurried forward, trying with all of his might to suppress the animalistic instincts to flee from the giant predator slithering forward by his side.
Suddenly there was another smell, a very familiar smell that he recognised almost instantly. He had lived amongst this smell for twelve years and dread gripped his tiny heart. As much as he feared and obeyed his Master, he did not wish death upon the man that had helped shelter him…but suddenly the snake by his side lurched forward, also aware of the single guard.
There was a muttered word and suddenly a bright cone of light filled the hallway. He got a glimpse of a balding man, with red hair and a kind face with an upraised wand, before the snake attacked and suddenly the man was screaming and twitching, blood gushing from his wound. The snake fell back, satisfied, and Wormtail shuddered in his rat form, unable to drive away the strong scent of blood from his superior nostrils…
Harry's eyes flipped open as the smell of freshly spilt blood lingered in his nostrils. Far from concerned, Harry gave a loud yawn and rubbed his sleepy eyes. It was almost painful to open them and he flopped back in his bed.
“Oh, for the love of…” Harry mumbled groggily.
'Go back to sleep, beloved,' Meciel whispered in his mind, sounding as if she had just been woken up from sleep- or whatever it was that Fallen angels did instead- as well.
“Bloody gits,” Harry muttered, ignoring Meciel and hopping out of bed. He put on his shoes with an absent swipe of his wand. “Who gets bitten by a snake these days?”
'Obviously, this man,' Meciel murmured dryly, giving herself the mental equivalent of rubbing ones eyes. 'And viewed through the eyes of Wormtail, well, it seems as if Voldemort is up to something.'
“Do you think Dumbledore will pay me for this?” Harry wondered out loud, before he sighed and left the dormitory, preparing to tell Dumbledore that (presumably) one of his people had been attacked.