Beyond Boundaries

Rachel A. Prongs

Rating: PG
Genres: Romance, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 16/02/2003
Last Updated: 19/10/2003
Status: completed

Harry has kept a secret his entire life. After Voldemort’s rebirth he was framed for something he didn’t do. Sentenced to Azkaban he escaped shortly after his trial, and never entered the dreaded fortress. For two years, he hid. Where is he? Who is he? Harry returns, and finds that Voldemort has an unpleasant surprise for him. To survive, he must retell his past, come to terms with the present, and accept his future.

Chapters

1. What Was, What Is

2. Under A Blue Moon

3. Back To Hogwarts

4. The Pectal

5. Training

6. Attack

7. Trust Your Instincts

8. Pure Power

9. Untold Truths

10. It Is Supposed To Hurt

11. Forgive And Forget

12. Dangerous Discoveries

13. Revelations

14. The Chiantesh'alfh

15. The Galen

16. Guardians

17. Serpents Search

18. Breaking Storm

1. What Was, What Is

Chapter One: What Was, What Is

It was early morning. The boy- no, the young man had just finished his morning jog, and was currently walking through the small village, which hadn’t yet awakened. His wrist watch showed six A.M. He was quite tall, a bit more than six feet perhaps, muscular but yet not too much muscle. You could see he was tough, a man you wouldn’t like to end up in a fist-fight with. He was good-looking, with short, dark brown hair, not entirely straight, but not curly either, and ice-blue eyes. His skin had a slight tan, and his mouth seemed to be constantly curled in a small half-amused and half-mischievous smile. His ID-card and driver's license showed that his name was Christian M. Atos, and that he was eighteen years old, born the sixth of April. If you looked at his academic records, they showed him to be an absolutely brilliant kid. He had graduated from the University of Oxford, as Professor with high honors in math and science, even though he was just eighteen years old. He had started at seventeen, had graduated the year before from High School with top grades in all subjects. And then he had graduated from Oxford after only a year, something that had his teachers fainting in utter amazement.

He was still unemployed, and he had few chances of getting a job in the small village where he lived, located somewhere in south Scotland. He lived in a small flat on the first floor in the house of an old lady, who lived at the ground floor. He was almost a celebrity in the village. It hardly had any newcomers, and the residents were constantly wondering why he was there, and the girls were giggling every time he passed any of them.

But Christian Atos wasn’t just a normal guy. He was a wizard in fact, and though his ID-card showed age eighteen, he wasn’t even that old. He had just turned seventeen. And if you were a witch or a wizard, and asked about his past, he would probably refuse to tell you anything. But if you became a friend of his, and he started to trust you, he would maybe tell you. And then you would wish you’d never asked.

Christian Atos’s history wasn’t a pleasant one. You know everything about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the Death Eaters, his followers of course. Christian's parents, Michelle and Eric Anderson, were two of them. They tutored him at home and taught him everything about the Dark Arts. But Christian was a clever boy, with opinions of his own, and he didn’t want to become a Death Eater. However, he couldn’t just tell that to his parents, and being the brilliant child he was, he thought out a plan.

On his first mission with the Death Eaters, at age fifteen, he was supposed to prove for the elders that he was worthy of the Dark Mark. However, he had beforehand anonymously warned the Aurors, and they were there when the Death Eaters arrived in the small French town. Unnoticed by the others, Christian threw off his mask and cloak, and stupefied himself with his wand, so it would look like he was a victim.

When he woke up, he was in a Wizards’ hospital in France. He told them everything, about his parents and the Death Eaters. Then he was told that his parents had been killed during the attack by Aurors, so now he had nothing to go back to anyway. That way he became the orphaned Christian Anderson, thought dead by those he knew.

And so it happened that he ended up in Beauxbatons as Christian Atos. He had been taught by his parents, and had to go through tests to determine which year he should start in, and if he was good enough to start in fifth year, as his age suggested he should. However, he showed himself very brilliant, and he ended up being put into seventh year. After a year he graduated at the top of his class, the youngest student to graduate ever.

After his graduation he went to England, made up some fake High School papers and a fake muggle ID-card. He entered Oxford, where he studied math and science, and his professors found him very gifted. He graduated after a year, also here with top marks, praised by his teachers.

But why should a wizard care about muggle studies? Well, so would many wizards think, but Christian was brilliant beyond words. He had, with his knowledge in science and magic, managed to invent a kind of shield-charm which could stop the killing curse. But no one knew that of course, he kept it secret. No one in England knew him, and if any wizard had seen him, he’d merely assume him to be just a plain muggle. But looks can be deceiving. Oh yes, deceiving indeed. Though he had his papers from Beauxbaton and Oxford, Eric and Michelle Anderson never had a son.

~*~

Meanwhile, at a stony island near the Orkneys, a thin, scrawny boy sat alone in his cell. He looked to be about fifteen years old, but in reality he was seventeen. He had ebony-black hair and emerald-green eyes. He wasn’t insane like the other prisoners, he didn’t scream or yell, neither did he hammer on his door with his fists. He sat calmly, watching the sun play with the dust in his cell. A half-smile played on his lips, and he seemed un-bothered by the Dementors.

~*~

Christian walked silently up the stairs so as not to disturb the old woman. It was a small flat: A bedroom with a bed, a bookcase and a desk, a kitchen and a bathroom, nothing else. On the kitchen table lay a pile of newspapers, most of them The Daily Prophet, something which made it clear that Christian was a wizard indeed. But the papers were centred on one single event.

THE-BOY-WHO-LIVED A MURDERER! One read. HARRY POTTER KILLED HOGWARTS STUDENT! Another headline screamed. One of the papers was tattered and seemed to have been read many times.

HARRY POTTER SENTENCED TO AZKABAN FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE!

‘Fifteen year old Harry Potter, who fourteen years ago defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named got his doom today. He was found guilty of having killed a fellow student, and sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Two weeks ago, Colin Creevey, a fourth year student at Hogwarts was murdered by Harry Potter. Potter was found at the site, and every evidence pointed towards him. However, during the whole trial Harry Potter has done nothing other than claim his innocence. We thank Merlin that the jury didn’t believe him, and that they didn’t let the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived let him get off easy. Potter is clearly a psychopath, and it is very likely that he, during the Triwizard Tournament also killed Cedric Diggory, who rumours say had stolen his girlfriend. Potter however claimed that Diggory had been killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who had returned. It is lucky that he at least was discovered and removed before he could do more harm.

The Daily Prophet, 19th of September, by Rita Skeeter’

Christian emerged from the shower, his hair wet, wearing only pale blue jeans. A sudden wind blew through the open window, and caught the paper, which blew through the room. Christian picked it up. The picture showed a fifteen-year-old, black-haired boy with emerald-green eyes being led out of a court-room, flanked by Dementors. The boy held his head high, but his eyes held such a sadness. Christian gritted his teeth, his hand clenched around the paper. He curled it into a ball and threw it into the trash can. His blue eyes blazed angrily, but did they, for just a tenth of a second, turn an intense, emerald green?

~*~

Smoke. Fire. Running humans. Screams. Aurors and Death Eaters. A village in southern England was attacked by Death Eaters, who were torturing and killing people, both wizards and muggles. The Aurors had shown up only minutes ago, but were already on the defensive; the Death Eaters were too many.

A boy, only thirteen years old or something ran for his life, crying. His father had told him to run, while he tried to hold off the Death Eaters. Suddenly, two of them appeared out of the heavy smoke that covered the whole area. They saw him, and green light missed him by inches. He turned right and ran in between two houses, ran and ran for his life.

Dead end. And no going back. He turned and saw the black-cloaked people come towards him, one of average height, the other short and plump. His eyes widened in fear as they approached him, wands raised.

“Crucio!” the short one shouted. The curse sped towards him, and he could do nothing. Couldn’t dodge, couldn’t run. He was going to die, he thought, and closed his eyes. He was going to die. They would torture him until he was insane, and then kill him.

A flash of gold and red, and a figure stood between the boy and the Death Eaters. The curse hit him in his stomach, but he didn’t fall over and scream, he didn’t even flinch. The curse seemed to be absorbed in a weird way. The two men stared at him. It was a man, that was sure, but they couldn’t see his face, as it was covered by a golden mask. With a flick of his wand the two men lay out cold.

The boy, who had expected the pain of the curse to hit him, opened his eyes cautiously, and stared at the man and the two unconscious Death Eaters in awe.

“Are you alright?” the masked man asked, his voice hard as steel, but yet it had a strange warmth. He could only nod, as the man bent down to examine the bodies. As he removed the mask of the short one he could hear him growl angrily, and in the next moment he was tied up, with a small note fastened on his forehead. The same thing happened to the other, without the note, before he turned to the boy again.

“Stay here, don’t go anywhere before it’s safe. OK?” The boy nodded mutely again, and the man dashed out on the street, looking for more Death Eaters, and the boy couldn’t see him anymore.

But three minutes later he could feel the ground shake, and lightning leaped from the clear sky. Well, previously clear sky. Now, smoke and dust covered the sun and the sky completely. And then, silence. The boy didn’t dare to go out yet, but after an hour or something, still in the same place, he could hear someone approaching. Fearfully he looked around the corner, and to his great relief it was one bearing the Auror uniform. He stepped out so the Auror could see him. He jumped and pointed his wand towards him before relaxing when he saw it was just a mere boy.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I fled, and then I came to this dead end, and one of the Death Eaters shot a curse at me. But then came this man in gold and red and saved me. He tied them up.” He talked fast and the words were almost stumbling over each other. The Aurors head snapped up as he heard ‘man in gold and red’, and followed the boy. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the two; the boy spoke the truth, there was no way he could have done this by himself. He noticed the piece of paper on the short one's forehead. Curiously, he took it down and read it, before turning white of shock. It took him a few minutes to recover, and then he quickly levitated them off the ground, making them follow him.

“Come here, boy. We have to find your family,” he said. The boy followed, his mind on the blazing, intense, emerald green eyes he’d seen. Eyes blazing with power. Emerald green with a tinge of…gold?

~*~

DEATH EATER ATTACK! TOWN SAVED BY MYSTERIOUS MAN!

‘Yesterday a town right east of London was attacked by Death Eaters. Aurors apparated in as soon as they noticed the huge magical activity, but were overwhelmed by the Death Eaters, which were twice their number. However, when everything seemed to be totally hopeless, a mysterious man, clothed in red and gold robes, with a golden mask made an appearance. He single-handedly fought and caught 39 Death Eaters, and saved numerous lives.

“He could really fight! I saw him finish off five of them with a single Stupefy! He whirled around and knocked the wind out of some of them with his feet!” says a onlooker. Another one claims to have seen the man in red and gold shoot light from his palms.

The most curious thing is, however, that suddenly, lightning appeared from a previously cloud-free sky, and it took out fifteen Death Eaters, something which ended the fight. The Golden Mask, which he is now called by those he saved, disappeared shortly thereafter.

The Daily Prophet, 2nd of July, by Marice Newman’

~*~

PETER PETTIGREW CAPTURED!

‘Two days ago, the Golden Mask captured 39 Death Eaters, and among them Peter Pettigrew, a man thought dead for sixteen years!

Sirius Black, who escaped Azkaban four years ago, and is still on the run, presumably killed him. Now, the Ministry must re-consider Black’s charges, ‘cause a year after Black’s escape some people began to claim his innocence. The Ministry denied this, but could there be something true in it after all? The Ministry has said they will question Pettigrew under truth potion, and they are willing to give Black a fair trial if he turns up. This was the information given to me by a Ministry worker, who wishes to remain anonymous, as the Minister himself does not approve of this proposal. However, the same person tells me, he cannot stop it, as he has almost no real power left, for reasons we all know about.

Another source, Professor Albus Dumbledore, assures me that Black will turn up. He himself states that he has believed in his innocence for three years, and that he knows where Black is currently in hiding! The questioning is going to take place in two days, and the Daily Prophet promises to keep you updated. Soon we will know if Black really sat twelve years in Azkaban, completely innocent. If so, can we really trust our courts?

The Daily Prophet, 3rd of July, by Marice Newman’

Sirius’s eyes widened as he read the paper. He looked up at the old man sitting in front of him.

“What?” was all he managed to utter, and it came as a weak whisper. “Is this really true?” He asked the old man, who nodded, and had a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. The merry twinkle however, which once inhabited his eyes, was gone. It left two years ago, when one of his most promising students was found guilty of murder and sent to Azkaban.

“It is indeed, Sirius. In two days you will be cleared, and you will be able to live freely again.” He said.

The younger man sighed.“What does it matter? I have nothing to live for any longer.” He said bitterly. It was Albus Dumbledore’s turn to sigh. They had gone through this so many times, but Sirius just refused to accept it.

“Sirius,” he began. “He was found at the site. The jury found him guilty of murder, and he was sent to Azkaban. I know it is a horrible place, but he had to be locked up, and it is the only wizard-proof prison Britain has.”

“But he wasn’t guilty!” Sirius said forcefully. “The whole time he kept saying he was innocent, but no one believed him! And I couldn’t do anything! I should have saved him and taken him away! You honestly can’t believe he was guilty?”

“All evidence pointed towards him, Sirius.” Dumbledore argued.

“It was never proven! What if, despite what you believe, Harry really was innocent? Then you put a fifteen year old innocent boy into Azkaban!”

“Sirius, stop it!” Dumbledore said firmly. “Harry really did murder the child, nobody else could have done it. And if we’d let him go, he would have joined Voldemort. We couldn’t let that happen.” Sirius gave up. He knew that when the Headmaster spoke that way, it was useless to argue with him. But Sirius had long ago sworn to get Harry out of Azkaban and get him cleared. Harry had told him he hadn’t done it, and Harry wouldn’t lie to him, he knew that. Years on the run had taught him to know when people spoke the truth, and when they lied. But he just couldn’t understand why his former Headmaster refused to believe it; He had always been open to possibilities, but he simply refused to consider that Harry might be innocent. It confused Sirius beyond words.

~*~

Less than two hundred miles away, Christian Atos stood with the same paper in his hands, stroking his black owl absentmindedly. A small smile played on his lips.

“Finally,” he muttered to himself. Then, something else something caught his attention.

‘Job as Defence Against The Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts free. If you want to apply for the position, contact Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress.’

He smirked.

~*~

Two days later, in the Ministry’s Headquarters. A group of people were gathered, among them Arthur Weasley, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Minister Fudge, and a large black dog. They were in a large room with seats along the wall, and in the middle of the room stood two chairs. A short and plump man sat in one of them, which was charmed with an anti-transfiguration spell, as a note, left by the Golden Mask had told them that he was an illegal animagus, a rat to be exact. The other chair was empty. When everyone had settled, a man, about forty years old, in Auror uniform rose. He turned to Dumbledore.

“I thought you said Black would be here,” he said. But before Dumbledore could answer, a tall, black-haired man with blue eyes had stepped out of the shadows.

“I am here,” Sirius stated calmly. The man’s jaw dropped, but he closed it quickly again.

“Um- Very well, Mr. Black. Please sit.” The questioner watched as Sirius seated himself in the chair beside Pettigrew.

Sirius was questioned first, and told them about Peter being the Potters’ secret keeper, and what had happened since he had escaped. When he was finished, more than one was staring open-mouthed at him. But he had been under Veritaserum, the truth potion, so there was no doubt: Sirius Black had spent twelve years in prison, innocent of the crime he was framed for.

Then it was Pettigrew's turn. After the Veritaserum had been forced down his throat, he confirmed Sirius’s story. But then he said something which was going to shock the wizarding world. He was asked about his master’s further plans.

“He’s going to attack Azkaban, free the prisoners and get the Dementors over to our side. And he’s going to get Potter. His plan worked perfectly, and now he thinks Potter is ready to be ‘converted’.” Pettigrew anwered. At this Sirius jumped. He had been allowed to sit among the people along the wall, and now he jumped out of his seat and took three steps forward before he was stopped by two Aurors. He calmed down quickly.

“What plan?” he asked, with a forced calmness.

“His plan was to get Potter into Azkaban. A simple polyjuice potion and a faithful student to kill the kid, and then a mind potion for Potter, to assure that he was found at the murder site. It worked too, though it surprised my master that his friends turned against him so easily. My master thinks that by this time, Potter is either bitter as hell, or an insane lunatic. He can be used anyway.” Pettigrew smirked evilly, and hadn’t the Aurors held Sirius back, he would by then have been glued to the floor, and if looks could kill, Peter would have been dead, rotten, cremated and buried six feet under.

The room was silent as a grave. Then it erupted in shocked and angry yells, it was a chaos of voices. Only a few remained calm.

“Quiet!” roared Sirius. Everyone turned to look at him. “I think it is time to retrieve my godson from Azkaban, and maybe even ask him a few questions under the influence of Veritaserum,” he glared at the Minister who cowered backwards. “Then there will be no doubt that what has been revealed here today is true. Any objections?” He turned to Remus and Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. “I guess you now can believe in Harry’s innocence.” He said, bitterly, with a plagued look in his eyes. He knew Azkaban, and Harry wasn’t an animagus like him. He couldn’t ‘escape’ the Dementors like he’d done in his dog form. He was right. Harry could do something better.

~*~

Two hours later three Aurors and a young boy arrived at the Headquarters. He walked between the three Aurors, and his robes were tattered and dirty. He was thin and pale, and greasy black hair hung down in his face. He lifted a hand and shuffled it away, and they could all see the lightning shaped scar on his forehead. This was Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, after two years in Azkaban. Sirius’s knuckles whitened, and he had to restrain himself not to go and give his godson a bone-crushing hug. He was so young! He met Sirius’s gaze and a small smile graced his lips. He was led to one of the two chairs, and sat down.

“Mr. Potter, do you know why you’re here?” the questioner asked. Harry shook his head. “You are here, because today we have got proof of your innocence. We are going to ask you a few questions, and then we want you to join the wizarding world again, and start your seventh year at Hogwarts. Do you agree?”

“Why should I? You turned against me once, and you will do it again.” The boy stated calmly. The Auror sighed.

“We are sorry for what was done to you, and you will be pardoned. The Ministry will make sure that everyone gets to know. Besides, you are still underage, you have no choice.” He told the boy. The young wizard smiled lightly and stood.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

“Why?” the Auror asked.

“Because I’m not Harry Potter.” he stated calmly. Oh, no! Sirius thought. He’s gone insane! He could have cried.

Harry smiled at their faces. “Harry Potter never went to Azkaban, he has never been there, and isn’t planning to go there either.” He turned and walked right through the chair and back again. People stared, speechless. He walked up to the questioner, and right through him. Wide-eyed and completely lost, people could do nothing but stare. “Azkaban has, for two years, housed nothing but a mere illusion of Harry Potter.”

====================

2. Under A Blue Moon

Chapter Two: Under A Blue Moon

‘Harry’ totally ignored the people in the room, who struggled to take in the quite shocking information.

“You see,” he said, “Harry Potter is more intelligent than any of you can imagine. To be honest with you, he could have taken his OWLs with above perfect scores after his first year at Hogwarts. But Harry Potter is also a true Seer.” More shocked silence. ‘Harry’ decided to wait until someone got his or her voice back. They did, everyone at the same time.

“What?” “Impossible!” “Goddess, I have to sit down.” “You are sitting already.” “Oh, true.” “Anyone besides me who has got a headache?” “This is too much for me,” “This isn’t happening.” ‘Harry’ watched them with an amused expression. It took them ten minutes to calm down and get out of their shocked state. Dumbledore was the first to speak. He didn’t seem shocked at all, but his face had a weird expression, which no one could read.

“Is this true? Why didn’t you- he, tell me?” His voice showed no emotion whatsoever.

“It is true,” ‘Harry’ said. “And that he never told you comes partly out of instinct, and partly out of the fact that he could See the future. He can of course not See all of it, and even what he Sees doesn’t need to happen. A Seer always Sees many different outcomes of the future, and then he has to try to twist the present so the best of the possible outcomes is what becomes the past. You see, he knew about Hogwarts, and wizards and witches before he went there, but he had to pretend that he didn’t because then his gift would have been discovered, which was something he didn’t want to happen.”

“And why wouldn’t he let that happen?”

“Because if everybody knew, someone would have tried to use him, for bad or for good, and he didn’t want that to happen. Seers often See things that are not so far into the future, because the farther into the future they See, the less accurate is the prediction. But sometimes they See things which won't happen for years, and Harry Saw what could, and I emphasise could, happen if somebody got to know about his Sight. So he kept it secret, trying to do his best with this gift.

He Saw that Voldemort was after the Philosopher's Stone in his first year, but he didn’t know who helped him. Neither did he know how to get past the obstacles. He Saw the outcome in many different ways: in one, Voldemort got the stone; in another, he got the stone, and the stone corrupted him; in a third, he got the stone, but died; in a fourth, he got the stone and survived, while Voldemort fled and the stone was destroyed; in a fifth he joined Voldemort, and so on. He could do nothing but follow Quirrel, though he didn’t know it was him, to the stone, and hope it would end up as he wanted it to.

The same happened in his second year; he Saw different outcomes, and had to try to turn it the right way. In his third year, he had visions where Sirius was innocent, but he couldn’t be sure, because he had visions where he was guilty too.

In his fourth year he Saw his name come out of The Goblet Of Fire, but he could do nothing to stop it. However, he could easily win the tournament, but something in him forbade him to show his true magical potential, so he faked problems and such, helped by his gift as a Seer. However, fate and destiny hid the fact that the Cup was a portkey, and Cedric’s death.

And then came his fifth year.” ‘Harry’ smiled grimly. “I guess Peter Pettigrew told you about the mind-potion given to Harry, so he would end up at the site? However, it was too weak to overwhelm him, it just made him unable to See for a few hours. When he Saw the murder of Colin Creevey, it was already present. So he ran, hoping against hope that he would reach Colin in time. But when he reached the fourth floor, it was past. And as he was there at the site, he got the vision of himself being framed for the murder and sent to Azkaban. The vision was so strong, and it showed only one outcome, that he knew he couldn’t change the future this time.

And so it happened, he was framed and found guilty of the murder of Colin Creevey, and everyone, even his closest friends, turned against him, as he’d Seen they would. So, being the most powerful student Hogwarts had ever had, though no one knew that, he created me. For the first time Harry understood why something, he didn't know what, had restrained him from showing his true potential, because if everyone knew, they would know that he easily could get out of Azkaban. He escaped less than three hours after he was put into prison. Since the Dementors never check on their prisoners, it was easy for him to put up a simple illusion: Me. It was also easy to make me radiate feelings so the Dementors wouldn’t notice that he’d escaped.

However, two persons believed in his innocence. One was on the run from the Dementors, and the other was taken care of.” The illusion finished.

Sirius stared at him “Who was the one they ‘took care of’?" he asked.

“Albus Dumbledore,” came the answer. ‘Thud!’ Sirius fell off his chair.

“But he was one of the first who claimed that you did it!”

“Yes he did, I said he was taken care of.” By now, everybody in the room stared from ‘Harry’ to Dumbledore and back again.

“You see, Dumbledore would never accept that one of his students was a murderer without proof, and if Dumbledore believed in Harry’s innocence, most of the teachers at school would have done the same, and the students too, and the Ministry would have been forced to question him under Veritaserum.” Many shot a glance at Minister Fudge at this. He had in fact tried to stop them from getting ‘Harry’ away from Azkaban, despite what Pettigrew had told them. He had, thankfully, not much support in the Ministry any longer, because six months after ‘Harry’ was sent to Azkaban, Fudge was holding a speech for at least five hundred wizards and witches. Fudge had been trying to convince them that Voldemort hadn’t come back, when Voldemort and some Death Eaters turned up and killed half of them before disappearing. Since then, almost no one listened to Fudge.

“However, if Professor Dumbledore firmly denied that Harry was innocent, then half the wizarding world would do the same, and Voldemort knew that. So, he invented a Mind-controlling potion, which happened to end up in Dumbledore’s goblet. Under the influence of this potion, Professor Dumbledore would believe everything that was told him, without consideration. So, the first thing he heard when he arrived at the murder site was, of course: ‘Harry Potter murdered Colin Creevey!’ So therefore, he believed that, without consideration, and half of the Wizarding world with him.” ‘Harry’ looked at Dumbledore, who didn’t show any sign of having heard what he said. “Now, that I have confronted him with it, the effect should be totally gone in about 24 hours. But now I have to go, I’ve been here long enough.” And with that, ‘Harry’ started to fade, until there was nothing left of the illusion. You could have heard a pin drop, and no one noticed the small beetle in the shadows. In the end, the Minister stood.

“Nothing of this shall be mentioned outside these walls,” he stated firmly.

~*~

The seventeen-year-old boy was awakened by a tapping on the window. He yawned and stretched, and drew a hand through his black hair. It was a messy mop, but nothing he did could change it. He got out of bed and went over to the window. No less than three owls were waiting for him, one of them a proud eagle owl, the second a small tawny owl, while the last one was black as the night, a rare french mountain owl. The tawny owl had the Daily Prophet in its beak, and left as soon as it had got five knuts. The eagle owl bore a letter with the Hogwarts seal, and flew away as soon as it was freed from its burden. He quickly opened the letter and read it.

‘Dear Mr. Atos,

I have received your academic records, and they are very impressive. However, I must ask for a meeting in person with you, together with the Headmaster, before I can grant you the job as our Defence Against The Dark Arts Teacher. Please come to Hogwarts the tenth of July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’

He smiled and turned to the black owl, and frowned. The owl was black, but some white feathers were sticking out at its belly.

“Your disguise is wearing off, Hedwig. Stand still, I have to restore it.” With a wave of his hand, the black owl suddenly was a pure white snowy owl. Another wave, and the black owl was back, without the white feathers. The boy smiled, and opened the letter she had brought him.

‘Dear Christian,

How wonderful that you are applying for the Defence Against The Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. As my most brilliant student ever I believe you will do just fine. It’s a pity you stayed with us for just a year. However, you are quite young, so they may be hesitant to give the job to you, despite your records, so I have sent a letter to Albus where I strongly recommend you. Good luck,

Your former Headmistress,

Madam Maxime’

His smile widened, as he wrote a thankful note back, before he turned back to the newspaper, which he hadn’t read yet. His smile quickly became a wide grin as he read.

HARRY POTTER ESCAPED AZKABAN BEFORE HE EVEN WENT THERE!

‘When Peter Pettigrew was questioned yesterday, he said something about his master’s plan, and when he was asked what the plan was, he answered that You-Know-Who had planned how to get Harry Potter into Azkaban, and now he planned to go to Azkaban to convert the now probably insane Potter. When he said that, Sirius Black, (who seconds before had been proven innocent of the crime he sat twelve years in prison for) jumped up and yelled about him never believing in his godson's guilt, and that they had to retrieve Potter from Azkaban immediately. The man obviously took mental damage during his stay in Azkaban. However, the others in fact listened to him, and two hours later Potter had arrived. However, it turned out to be just an illusion of Potter, and no-one knows where Potter is now, where he is hiding or who is hiding him. His escape can do nothing but prove his guilt.’

The article went on like that for a while, and yes, at the bottom it stood: The Daily Prophet, 8th of July, by Rita Skeeter. He shook his head, but then someone knocked on the door. He quickly hid everything of his wizard stuff, before he closed his eyes and concentrated. Black, messy hair turned into dark brown, short hair, green eyes to blue, facial features changed and the lightning-bolt shaped scar disappeared without a trace, and the rest of the body became slightly broader and a bit taller. Christian Atos alias Harry Potter thanked his lucky stars for his Shapeshifter ability for the thousandth time, and went to open the door.

It was only the old lady who came to check if he had done something ‘inappropriate’ (like female visits) in the last few hours. Christian/Harry kept his laughter back out of sheer politeness. The old lady, Ms. Stenson, considered Christian as something of a great-grand child. He found it quite charming, and after assuring her he hadn’t done anything ‘inappropriate’, he told her he would be gone the next day, maybe more than one day, and he would move out before the first of September. She started ranting about ‘youngsters these days’, and how restless they were. Christian just smiled and shook his head.

~*~

Hermione Granger didn’t really know what to think. Yesterday it had been a large article about Harry, her former friend and now murderer, by Rita Skeeter, where she wrote about Harry’s escape from Azkaban, and that he was guilty and all. She also wrote that Sirius was a madman, but today it was a new article, by Marice Newman, which told a very different story, about Harry being innocent and Sirius freed, nothing about Sirius being mad, Harry as a Seer, and that he had created an illusion of himself which had been in Azkaban for two years now. Hey, what am I thinking? Believing in Rita Skeeter? Am I out of my mind? But yet, she couldn’t really believe that Harry was innocent, because Professor Dumbledore believed he was guilty, and he was always right, wasn’t he?

~*~

Ron Weasley was having some of the same thoughts as he read the last few days’ papers. He didn’t believe in anything the Skeeter woman wrote anymore, but Marice Newman was fairly truthful, one of the best reporters The Daily Prophet had. Could it really be true? Is it possible? Ron had spent much time thinking the last two years, and he had soon started to wonder if he had been wrong. Had it been his underlying jealousy of Harry that had caused him to believe in the charges against Harry? He didn’t know, he just knew he had a horrible feeling of guilt all the time.

He fingered the Head Boy badge he had received together with the School supplies letter. His mother had been so proud. He Head Boy, Hermione Head Girl. He sighed as he thought of Hermione. She fully believed in the charges, and he knew why. She had had this small- or should I say huge- crush on Harry, and she had felt so betrayed when he turned out to be a murderer. His own crush on Hermione had thankfully disappeared together with Harry; he doubted Hermione ever would fall for anyone again.

He threw the badge across the room. It was Harry’s, not his.

~*~

Christian approached Hogwarts’ main entrance. If he got the job, he would be able to help to defeat Voldemort without revealing the fact that he indeed was Harry Potter. Now, the whole wizarding world would be looking for him, and he was in fact quite pleased with the havoc his illusion had caused, and it was really funny to read about it in the papers. Even though Fudge had tried to keep it secret, he had not succeeded.

He approached the door and knocked three times, and after a while, Minerva McGonagall opened it.

“Who are you?” she asked, frowning.

“Christian Atos, I’m applying for the Defence Against The Dark Arts job.” He answered. A shocked expression passed quickly over her face.

“Oh. Well then, follow me please.”

Harry had to struggle not to reveal that he knew the ways around the castle, and when they came to the gargoyle he fought to keep a straight face. The password was ‘Canary Creams’, an invention by the Weasley twins.

McGonagall knocked on the door once and went in, Harry followed. How weird. In a month and a half he was supposed to start his seventh year here, but now he was applying for the position as a teacher! Being a colleague of his former teachers, and teaching his best friends. Former best friends, he reminded himself. However, it is difficult for a Seer to stay bitter and angry. It has something to do with being a Seer. Being able to See the future made him put things in another perspective than normal people would.

“Well, Mr. Atos, I’ll go straight to the point,” Dumbledore said, as soon as he’d seated himself. “You have applied for the Defence Against The Dark Arts position, and your academic records are quite impressive, having finished school at the age of fifteen. However, you are very young, being only seventeen you will be the youngest teacher Hogwarts has ever had. So I must ask you if you have any experience with these things.”

“I have no experiences in teaching,” Harry answered truthfully, “but I’d say I have quite a lot experience with defence against and also use of the dark arts.” Dumbledore frowned slightly.

“Care to elaborate?” Harry suppressed a smile, Dumbledore knew quite a lot of his experiences with the dark arts, however he faked a sigh, and made ready to tell the story he’d used the last two years.

“The first fifteen years of my life I was taught at home, by my parents, before I at fifteen ran away, and ended up at Beauxbatons.” He paused, while the Professors looked at him curiously. “I ran away because they were Death Eaters.” Then he added, before they could say anything, “and yes, Madam Maxime knows.”

==================

Note: Go me. Second chapter. All chapters are beta-read by the-dreamer. Go her.

3. Back To Hogwarts

Chapter Three: Back To Hogwarts

Ron and Hermione had trouble. Big trouble. They were supposed to take the Muggle bus from the Leaky Cauldron to King's Cross, but due to traffic, they had just figured they would never, ever make it. What a start for their seventh year, as Head Boy and Girl… Hermione was, to put it in polite terms, fuming, and even though it wasn’t Ron’s fault, he was the one who paid for it.

“I can’t believe it! Of all my years at Hogwarts, my last one has to be the one I miss the train!” Hermione almost screamed, as they still weren’t any closer to King's Cross, and the train would leave in 15 minutes. She kept on ranting about it, much to Ron’s desperation, for about five minutes, before she decided they had to send an owl to Professor Dumbledore, however embarrassing it might be. But just as Ron managed to get a frantic Pig out of his cage, a blue Mercedes stopped right beside them. A young man, 18 years old or so, was driving. He removed his sunglasses and looked at them with his pale blue eyes.

“Problems?” he asked, as Ron quickly stepped in front of Pig’s cage so he shouldn’t see him.

“Err… No.” He answered.

“I think you have. Heading for King's Cross, Platform 9 and ¾?” Ron’s mouth dropped open, and so did Hermione's. “As I thought,” he said, smiling slightly. “Well, jump in, you ain’t going to get there if you don’t hurry, and certainly not by foot.” Hermione looked at Ron. They knew they shouldn’t trust strangers these days, but they really had to catch that train. And besides, they were two, while he was just one. Ron shrugged, and quickly got their trunks and Pig’s cage into the car.

“I’m Christian Atos by the way,” the driver said as he started off. He was a damn good driver, and the car slid in and out between cars so easily that it could have been magic, which it probably was.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Ron Weasley.”

“Nice to meet you.” He said.

“Likewise,” they answered in unison, before they lapsed into silence.

“Excuse me,” Hermione said curiously breaking the awkward silence. “Are you going to Hogwarts? I don’t think I’ve seen you there before.” Christian smiled.

“No, you probably haven’t. I graduated from Beauxbatons a year ago.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Why are you going to Hogwarts then?”

“I’m the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. I had some stuff to get in Diagon Alley. If I hadn’t then you two would have missed the train.”

“But aren’t you a bit young? I don't mean to be rude, but you do look like a school boy.” Hermione said, a bit shocked. Then she mentally slapped herself. He was driving a car. To drive a car you had to be eighteen. If you were eighteen, you had graduated.

“Well, you could maybe say I am. I graduated from Beauxbatons at fifteen, a year ago or so. Based on a normal schedule I should start at my seventh year today,” he said as he drove into King's Cross, five minutes to eleven. He parked the car and ignored Ron's and Hermione’s shocked silence.

“You should hurry,” he said amused, “or you'll miss the train anyway.” He helped Ron and Hermione with their trunks, when something suddenly occurred to Hermione.

“But if you graduated two years ago, why didn’t you just apparate? I mean, you do have an apparation license?”

“Why, yes, but do you know how many apparation wards I have to get past before I reach Hogwarts? I would have to apparate to sixteen different spots before I would be able to get to Hogsmeade. It’s almost faster to go Muggle ways, and much simpler. So therefore I borrowed this car from a friend.” What he didn’t say, was that he wanted to take the train with the students, mainly because he wanted to see the two of them before school started.

“Oh.” Hermione scolded herself, couldn’t she come up with something more intelligent than an ‘Oh’? They passed through the barrier and he disappeared in the crowd, to Hermione's dismay. There was something about this guy that attracted her, and it was not only the fact that he was very handsome. She’d only met one guy she’d thought more handsome than him, and he wasn’t someone she liked to think about.

~*~

Christian sat at the Head Table, clad in dark blue robes, when the students entered. He saw Ron and Hermione glance quickly at him, and sent them a small smile, and noted, not very surprised that they were Head Boy and Girl. He paid little attention to the sorting, but looked around in the crowd at all the familiar faces, ignoring the small sting of pain he felt. Before he knew it, the sorting was finished, and Professor Dumbledore welcomed the students and the food appeared. It was now that most of the students first noticed him, and he saw them whisper and point. He ignored them and turned to his neighbour, Professor Snape. He had had a brief ‘first’ introduction, but wasn’t supposed to know that normal, sane people avoided him at all costs, especially at the start of term.

“Good evening, you are Professor Severus Snape, if I recall correctly?” A ‘humph’ was all he got as an answer. Christian didn’t let this stop him.

“Potions teacher?” Another ‘humph’.

“You know, potions was my favourite subject at school,” finally he got something more than a ‘humph’. Professor Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed? I thought Defence Against the Dark Arts was your subject.”

“I said favourite subject, not best subject.” Christian replied with a small twitch of his lips. From then on, their conversation turned to potions, and to Snape’s surprise and delight the boy was really good. The teachers who sat near them and could hear what they said, listened in surprise for a while, but then shrugged and went back to their meals. Before the meal was over, Snape had managed to get through a conversation without snapping or growling at the other part.

However, at last the meal was over, and Dumbledore rose. All chatter subsided as the students turned their attention to their Headmaster.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I hope you have spent your summer well, and have now returned with a nice and empty head, ready to be refilled. This year we have a new teacher with us, Mr. Christian Atos, who will teach Defence Against The Dark Arts.” People applauded, and curiously enough, the female part of the student body clapped the most. “I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is as forbidden as ever, and curfew is at eight, right after dinner. It is forbidden to leave the castle without a teacher, Prefect or Head Girl or Boy, and Quidditch has to be supervised by a teacher. Before you can go to bed, I will just say a few words: Courage. Friendship. Loyalty. Good night.” The students started to file out of the hall, though many of the older girls kept throwing glances at Christian, who had to fight to keep a straight face. The whole thing was starting to get amusing.

~*~

“You saw him?”

“Of course I did! Who didn’t?”

“He’s very young.”

“And really handsome…”

Giggling. The new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was the main conversation subject that night, and it annoyed Hermione to no end. Okay, he was handsome, she couldn’t deny that, but did they have to drool over every good-looking guy they met? Sighing, Hermione lit her wand and found the book she’d been reading over the holidays. She had borrowed it from the Hogwarts Library, Restricted Section before school ended last year, because she needed it for her homework. The title read: Magical History: Great Wizards And Witches and their power. It was quite a large volume, ten thousand pages. She’d had to shrink it and then use an enlargement charm on the letters so she could read. The way it worked was, when she read, one sentence would be enlarged so she could read, and when she was finished the next sentence would be enlarged, while the last one shrunk again. A nice little charm she’d picked up. However she hadn’t finished it yet, she’d just read what she needed for her history essay, so now she decided to start on what she called ‘light’ reading. She started to read at Chapter 342, which was about ‘The Citatio’. (Chi-tasio)

‘A Citatio is an extremely powerful wizard. They can do almost everything with magic, and also without magic. The full extent of a Citatio's Power is not known, because they occur so rarely. The last known Citatio was Godric Gryffindor, one of the Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is also said that Merlin was one, though this is not proven. It is said that a Citatio is born when the world is in great need, as when Godric Gryffindor was born. At that time the wizarding community was shattered and they fought against each other, they were in fact on the verge of extinction. However, Gryffindor solved this problem by building schools. Hogwarts was one of them, and now it’s the only one left of those he started. However, many other wizards and witches followed his example, and schools were founded in every country. Gryffindor was a true Seer, which is rare, even among Citatios, ‘Rare as a Blue Moon’, as it is said. However, a close friend of his, Rowena Ravenclaw, (later his wife), was a Pectal, (Read more about Pectals in chapter 343) and Trance Predictor. A Trance Predictor is a person who once in a while goes into a trance and makes a prediction. These predictions are often speaking of the distant future, and strangely accurate. She made a prediction about the next Citatio who would come, and said that it would be one of Gryffindor's descendants. He would come when the world was in great need.

How to recognise a Citatio:

-It’s always a male; their female counterpart is the Pectal.

-Their eyes; all Citatios have green eyes, not the green-greyish which is pretty common, but intense, emerald green. These eyes are always inherited from the Citatio's mother, who is always a powerful witch. She is never anything more than a witch though. However, not all green-eyed witches give birth to a Citatio, and not all emerald-eyed boys are Citatios.

-The Citatio is more intelligent than average wizards.

-The Citatio is very understanding and forgiving; however, if you get on their wrong side, they’re terrible enemies.

-When using their power, their eyes turn gold.

-A Citatio never willingly hurts another living being, unless it’s an evil creature.

Other facts: The Citatio often tries to hide his abilities, as it is an instinct. It is also almost impossible for a Citatio to marry, unless a Pectal is born in his lifetime, as Citatios can’t mate a normal human.’

Hermione was reading wide-eyed. Who did she know who had emerald green eyes? Could it really be possible? Was Harry a Citatio? Harry the murderer? But he couldn’t be! Then he couldn’t have murdered Colin. A Citatio never willingly hurts another living being, unless it’s an evil creature, that was what the book said. But Harry had. And he wasn’t above average in either power or intelligence. Or was he?

Hermione quickly skipped the part about possible Citatio abilities, and quickly turned to the next chapter. She had to read about Pectals. But, the other girls had finally stopped giggling over the new teacher it seemed, and a pillow hit the duvets that covered her bed.

“Hey, turn of the light! We want to sleep!” Hermione sighed and ‘turned’ off her wand with a soft ‘Nox’. She would have to read about Pectals later.

~*~

Christian sat at the Head Table when the students entered the next morning. Many of the girls shot glances in his direction, before giggling madly together with their friends. He sighed inwardly, but kept the small smile in place, ignoring it. He greeted McGonagall and Snape with a ‘good morning’, and got a grunt from Snape and a small smile from McGonagall in reply. Note to self; Snape is not a start-of-term person. Not a morning person either. But I knew that. He went back to his breakfast, but looked up as Ron and Hermione entered. Snape saw them too.

“Thank God I don’t have 7th year Slytherin and Gryffindor first lessons first day this year,” he muttered and glared at McGonagall.

“Oh?” Harry/Christian inquired, pretending not to know. “I have them first this year. Is that bad? Anyone I should watch out for?” Snape’s head snapped up and he shot a glance at McGonagall, who pretended not to notice.

“No, not at all,” he said, his lips twitching suspiciously, before returning to his breakfast. The other teachers looked at him sympathetically, and Christian pretended to be confused. A bit later he stood and left, claiming he had to make ready for his first lesson. When he’d left Snape turned to McGonagall.

“I know he’s young, and that you don’t trust he’s capable of the job, but seventh year Slytherin and Gryffindor first thing? If he manages that and still is in one piece… Let’s just say then I’ll trust him with my life.”

“I didn’t do that on propose!” McGonagall said indignantly.

“You’re a terrible liar, Minerva.”

~*~

The students started to fill in, the Slytherins settled in one half, the Gryffindors in another half. Christian sat at the desk and watched them arrive.

“Well,” he started off. “I’m your new Professor, Christian Atos. I thought we could start with you asking a few questions and get to know me a little, before we start on school stuff.”

Lavender Brown had her hand up.

“Miss Brown?” he asked. Lavender gaped, wondering how he knew her name.

“Um… Professor, how old are you?”

“Seventeen.” Gasps. “I graduated from Beauxbatons at fifteen, and have since then been doing different stuff before I decided to apply for this position.” Parvati Patil was next.

“Professor, where do you come from, since you don't have a French accent?”

“France, Miss Patil, though my parents were English. They taught me at home before I entered Beauxbatons at fifteen, where I graduated after a year.” Now Pansy Parkinson raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Parkinson?” The girl smirked slyly.

“Professor, do you have a girlfriend?” This was a pretty cunning question, because he, young as he was, not even a year older than themselves, he would probably flush and be embarrassed, and it would be Slytherin: one, Professor: zip. Professor Atos however, smirked slightly at the girl.

“And why, may I ask, should that concern you, Miss Parkinson?” he asked. Pansy had nothing to say to that. Professor: one, Slytherin: zip. And he didn’t even deduct points.

“Okay, enough chit-chat. This is your last year at Hogwarts, and you are going to take your NEWTs this year. This year in Defence Against the Dark Arts, first term at least, you are going to learn about the unforgivables, and forbidden potions and charms. I thought I should start with pain curses, such as the Cruciatus curse and the Mundo curse, and pleasure curses, such as the Servo curse and the Comfort curse.” Hermione raised a hand. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

“Is there such a thing as pleasure curses, Professor?” she asked.

“Ah, yes. In reality, they are charms, but used for a Dark purpose, they are named curses. These curses, or charms, are not forbidden, because they in themselves aren’t dangerous. Anyone who can tell me what a pleasure curse or charm is, and what it does?” Hesitantly a few boys got their hands up. Christian smirked inwardly, no surprise there, even though they should, supposedly, not know about those charms.

“Mr. Malfoy?”

“They give the person it is used on a feeling of pleasure,” he said, unwilling to go any further.

“Correct, two points to Slytherin. They can give a person pleasure, but there are different types of pleasure. One type gives the pleasure of comfort, like a hug from one of your parents can comfort you. Another type has the opposite effect of Dementors. While Dementors make you depressed, and make you remember all your bad memories, this type of pleasure charm makes you remember all good events of your life. And then there's the last type. This gives you the same feeling of pleasure as… ah…shall we say intimate relations with the opposite sex?” He said delicately, forcing back a laugh as all of his students turned slightly red.

“Now you can ask how these charms/curses can be used for Dark proposes. Let’s say a strong pleasure curse was used together with the Cruciatus. What would happen then?” He looked around in the classroom. “Yes, Mr. Longbottom?”

“Er… I guess they would go mad much faster than if only the Cruciatus were used?” he said, uncertainly.

“Correct! Five points to Gryffindor. The difference between pain curses and pleasure curses is so big; going from one to another very fast and repeatedly would cause the human mind to snap. You’ll get the same outcome if you use them both at the same time, only faster.”

“But Professor, why aren’t they forbidden then?”

“Good question, Mr. Weasley. The answer however, is a bit stupid. The minister won’t forbid them, because he would loose supporters. Especially among the male part of the population. The young male part.” Ron’s ears turned bright red. It was true, Christian didn’t think too many in this classroom had used them, at least not those he knew, but they were widely used, and mostly among young, hormone-ridden males, and of course among the females too. Well, it wasn’t his job to preach to his students about this, even though he found it not a little pathetic.

“However, you are going to learn the counter curse. These pleasure curses are possible to counter wandlessly, because they aren’t very strong, though the effect is. I’m going to cast a pleasure charm at you, and then you shall fight it. And no, I’m not going to use the most extreme. But first, you have to learn how to block it. It’s a matter of mindfocus. Pleasure curses are not real, you just think you feel what you feel. All you have to do is to concentrate and try to sense the magic that manipulates your brain, and then you must push it away. Before we start to push away this curse, we'll do some exercises to teach you to sense the magic. Pair up two and two, one of you cast the blinding spell on your eyes, while the other casts a colouring charm on your blind partner, before taking it off again. Repeat this a few times. The one who is blindfolded, try to tell if you are coloured or not.”

The students scrambled around to find their partners, however there were an odd number, so Hermione was left alone, as Ron paired with Dean.

“Miss Granger,”

“Yes Professor?”

“You’ll pair with me. Blindfold yourself.” Christian said. She did as she was told. He cast the charm, it was excellent for this use, as you didn’t have to say anything, if you did it would be fairly easy to know if you were coloured or not. Hermione immediately turned dark blue.

“Erm… Am I painted now, Professor?” she asked.

“You think so?” he asked.

“Yes, I have this weird feeling, like I have something on my skin, like… it’s difficult to explain.”

“As if you are wrapped in plastic, like an extra layer of skin?” he said, and quickly removed the colour.

“Yes!” she said excitedly. “Precisely. Hey! There it disappeared!”

“Very good, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. You can remove the blinding charm now.” She did, and looked excitedly at him, like he’d seen her so many times. He turned to the other students, who obviously didn’t have any luck yet.

“Class,” he said, raising his voice slightly to get their attention. They immediately fell into silence. “Have any of you had any luck?” Shaking of heads. “Well then, it's as I suspected. It will probably take some time before you will feel anything, as you aren’t used to this. You have the rest of the class to practice.” Sighing, they turned back to their colourings. Christian turned back to Hermione.

“Miss Granger, you showed an extraordinary good sense for magic just now. I’d like to try a pleasure charm on you. Do you permit me to do so?”

“Of course, Professor,” she answered, excited to learn something new, as always.

“Okay, when I hit you with the curse, you will probably feel something which doesn’t belong, which isn’t a part of you, plus a warming and comforting sensation. Try to push it away with you mind. If you manage that, the warming and comforting sensation will disappear as well. I’d like you to sit down first. Ready?” She sat down.

“Ready.”

“Comfortio,” he muttered under his breath. Hermione's eyes unfocused and her brow furrowed, however a small smile rested on her lips. After two minutes the smile left her lips, and the frown deepened. She swallowed slightly.

“I think I made it,” she said uncertainly looking up at him. He smiled.

“You did. I felt the charm fade away. Another ten points to Gryffindor.” He made her practise to counter it the rest of the lesson, and by the end of it she managed to counter his charm within ten seconds. To Hermione the lesson passed all too quickly. She left in high spirits and didn’t notice her teacher looking at her, brow furrowed and seemingly deep in thought.

Had her eyes gleamed silver the first time she countered the charm?

~*~

Ron was pissed. Just as Harry leaves, probably never to return, another guy steps into his life, screwing it up. Though Harry had been splendidly oblivious to the fact that half the girls at school were drooling over him, Ron had noticed, and it had annoyed him to no end. Harry always got the best, he always was the lucky person. And now, when he was gone, and Ron was Head Boy and many of the girls had started to look his way, this ‘Professor Christian Atos’ turns up, and next second every female is drooling over him. A bloody know-it-all too it seemed, or maybe he’d sucked his way through school, who could know? Even Hermione thought he was cute, though she’d never admit it. Ron clenched his fists angrily. Curse this new professor! What kind of name was Atos by the way? Stupid name, really.

Everything he’d ever thought about Harry being innocent and all a month ago was forgotten. Ron reminded himself of why he’d befriended Harry at all, something he’d almost forgotten more than once. The last two weeks he’d spent remembering. He remembered his thought on the train before his first year at Hogwarts.

‘So this is Harry Potter. Could be useful. Naïve little boy, he knows nothing of our world. Won’t be a problem to trash when I’m finished with him…’

He couldn’t forget that.

====================

Disclaimer: Duh…

Again, go me. Beta-read by the dreamer, edited numerous times by myself. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, I simply love you all. I tend to go and re-read my reviews, as it gives me this warm, pleasant feeling inside. *giggles*

4. The Pectal

Chapter Four: The Pectal

The rest of the day went fast. Christian had the seventh year and third year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors before lunch, and 6th year Slytherins and Ravenclaws after lunch. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Hermione. He was sure her eyes had turned silver when she countered the pleasure charm the first time. When he thought about it, everything fitted so perfectly. He had to talk to the Headmaster, before something happened to Hermione.

Right after his last lesson for the day, he found his way up to the Headmaster's office. He knew he would probably be there at this time of the day. However, he wasn’t alone. When Christian entered the office he found Professor McGonagall there.

“Ah, Christian. May I ask how your first day as a teacher was?” Professor Dumbledore asked, eyes twinkling.

Christian smiled. “Very good, Headmaster, I must say, though best with the seventh years. Never met any students so willing to learn. Now, I haven’t met very many of them as a teacher yet…” he added as an afterthought. Professor Dumbledore chuckled, and Professor McGonagall looked at him approvingly.

“Very well, Christian, but I doubt you came here to chat about lessons. What is bothering you?” Dumbledore asked and silently dismissed McGonagall with a nod.

Christian stopped her. “No, wait. This concerns both of you.” McGonagall looked at him curiously, and Dumbledore waited expectedly. “It is about Miss Hermione Granger of your House, Minerva,” he said, remembering to call her by her first name. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “I suspect that she is a Pectal,” he continued.

Minerva stood so fast that she overturned her chair. “What!” she gasped.

Harry had never seen her that surprised. “A Pectal, Minerva,” he repeated.

“A Pectal, you say?” Dumbledore asked. “What makes you believe that?”

“We are working on pleasure curses, and she showed an extraordinary sense for magic. She did it on first try. None of the others managed that,” the young Professor said.

“But that could be explained simply, as Miss Granger always has been the top student at Hogwarts.” McGonagall argued.

Christian nodded. “Yes, I know, Minerva, but when I saw this I decided to try a comfort curse on her. She pushed it away within two minutes, and I’m sure her eyes turned silver for a second or so.”

McGonagall was utterly baffled, while Dumbledore looked thoughtful. “Indeed, Christian, if she is, she’ll need training, and I’m afraid I have very limited knowledge on this subject.”

“I can tell her all there is to know about Pectals,” Christian said. “After graduating I spent a year researching about Pectals and Citatios. Didn’t really count on meeting one, but I found it very interesting. I can tell Miss Granger everything that is known about them, though it’s not much. And we have to be sure first anyway.” Christian frowned. “However, training will be a problem. A normal wizard or witch can only give advice; it must a Citatio to properly train her. Even though a Citatio can train himself, a Pectal cannot reach the full extent of her power by self-training. At least that is what is said.” Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore raised an eyebrow each. “We cannot trust the scripts fully, because they’re so old, but I wonder if she isn’t the Pectal the prophecy spoke of,” Christian continued, as if speaking to himself.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “The prophecy, Christian?” she asked.

Christian snapped out of his thoughts. “What? Oh. The prophecy. It’s an old prophecy I found in a very old book in a library in France. It speaks about a prophecy told by Rowena Ravenclaw. It is mentioned in other books as well, but in this book the entire prophecy was written. Ravenclaw was a Pectal and Trance Predictor, and she was married to Godric Gryffindor, who was a Citatio. It sounded like this:

'Darkness of World shall rise,

Two Children of Power shall stand.

One shall be of Eagle and Lion blood,

The other of the Snake,

With their strength they must fight,

The Darkness of World shall fall’

‘But Danger is ahead,

As Power hate Power,

As Power distrust Power

As He and She are betrayed

But Children of Power must stand by trust.’”

Christian paused. “I think it was like that. Two Children of Power is a Pectal and a Citatio. Both words means ‘Power’ in an ancient language, which is not spoken among humans any longer. And the prophecy mentions a ‘he’ and a ‘she’, so it must be one Pectal and one Citatio. ‘Darkness of World’ must be Voldemort.” McGonagall flinched, but Christian didn’t notice. “But I don’t know about ‘Power hate Power’, and ‘Power distrust Power’, or ‘betrayed’. Does Miss Granger have anyone she hates or distrusts? Or has someone betrayed her? If she is the Pectal the prophecy is talking about, there is a Citatio too somewhere, who is important in this fight. If the prophecy is correct, Miss Granger needs him in this fight against the ‘Darkness’.”

Both Dumbledore and McGonagall looked thoughtful. Finally Dumbledore spoke up. “We need to find out if she really is a Pectal. Do you know how to do that?”

“Yes, I do, at least I think so. All we need is a crystal ball.” Christian said. And then he added, muttering under his breath: “I hope.”

“Very well. I’d like you to bring Miss Granger up here tonight after dinner. Minerva and I will be here then.” Dumbledore said.

“Okay,” Christian answered and turned to go.

“And Christian?”

“Yes?”

“Call me Albus.”

Christian smiled. “Right, Albus.”

~*~

When Christian had left, the two sat in silence, thinking. Finally McGonagall spoke.

“Albus, if she is a Pectal, and if she is the Pectal, then she’ll have to fight You-Know-Who.”

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, Minerva, she must, and almost all alone, if we cannot find the Citatio.”

McGonagall looked at him suspiciously. “I think you know more about this Citatio than you say you do,” she said.

Dumbledore merely smiled. “Well, Minerva, you were about to tell me something when young Christian came?” Dumbledore said, ignoring what she’d said.

Minerva sighed. “I came to report Remus and Sirius’s movements. There is nothing new about either You-Know-Who-”

“Call him Voldemort, Minerva, or Tom Riddle.”

“Well, nothing new about him, or about the Golden Mask. He turns up when Death Eaters attack, and disappears as soon as it is over. The only thing we know is that he is very powerful. In fact, we can’t be sure that it is a male even. We’ve got reports of what he’s done, and it’s really impressive. He calls lightning from the sky, shots curses from his palm or his sword, sometimes his wand, he can stun at least ten with one Stupefy, etcetera. He’s never even hurt. But the point is that no one has ever spoken to him, except a small boy he saved when he captured Pettigrew. The Aurors would give anything to know who he is.”

Dumbledore looked highly amused. “Well, Minerva, I suspect that we know both what he is, and who he is.” McGonagall looked both confused and surprised at this, and Dumbledore continued. “I do believe that The Golden Mask is the Citatio the prophecy spoke of.”

“Oh.”

Dumbledore chuckled as he found the Deputy Headmistress lost for words. “You see, Minerva, when Rowena Ravenclaw made her prediction -yes, Minerva, I knew about it- a man named Slandrin Slytherin, brother of Salazar Slytherin, became jealous, as it was obvious that one of them would be of Rowena and Godric's blood, One shall be of Eagle and Lion blood. Slandrin then cast a curse over Ravenclaw, a curse that made it impossible for any of her children to be either Pectal or Citatio. However, Salazar Slytherin then turned against his brother. Though it is true that Slytherin thought pure-bloods were better than muggle-borns, it was Slandrin who thought this, and not Salazar. It was also Slandrin who caused the split among the founders.

Indeed, Hogwarts don’t have four founders, but five. However, Salazar was furious with his brother, and tried to undo the curse. Unfortunately he didn’t manage to undo it completely, only weaken it. So only when one of Slandrin's descendants declared their love to one of Rowena and Godric’s descendants, the curse would be broken.

Years went on, and one of Slandrin’s descendants, a girl, was married to a man named Draco Malfoy, one of Mr. Malfoys ancestors, his great, great, great, great, great grandfather I think. Already then the Malfoys were intolerant of muggle-borns, and when their youngest son turned out to be a squib, he was disowned and placed with a muggle family, not knowing who he really was.”

“Does this have anything to do with the Citatio?" Minerva inquired.

“Indeed, Minerva.” Dumbledore answered. “The muggles who adopted him were named Lanarin and Fredrich Evans.”

McGonagall gaped. It seemed like she tried to say something, but not a word came out. “W-w-what? E-evans? Not- not like in Lily Evans?” She finally managed to say.

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, André Malfoy, or André Evans as he was called his whole life, was Lily Evans’s, later Potter, great, great, great, great grandfather. Seventh year Draco Malfoy here at Hogwarts is Lily’s sixth cousin removed once.

However, James Potter was one of Godric's descendants, so when Lily and James married, Slandrin and Rowena’s blood was united in Harry Potter, and the curse was broken. I think the Golden Mask, as he is called, is a Citatio, and that this Citatio indeed is Harry Potter. I also believe Miss Granger really is the mentioned Pectal, as she is a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, as also one of his descendants turned out as a squib. The other of the Snake, the prophecy said, something Slandrin ignored. I think it is talking about Salazar as the snake, as Slandrin had a falcon as his house animal. His house was removed from both Hogwarts and history books; Salazar made sure of that,” the Headmaster said.

If McGonagall had been shocked before, it was nothing compared to now. If she had been standing, she’d probably have fainted, but fortunately, she was sitting safely in a chair.

Dumbledore chuckled at her expression. “And therefore it is so important that we find Harry. It is possible that the boy has forgiven me, because of the potion I was given, but I don’t think I can ever forgive myself. How betrayed he must have felt, when his Headmaster, who had always supported him suddenly believed he was a murderer?” Dumbledore shook his head sadly. “I hope that I someday can say it to him, face to face at least.”

He fixed his twinkling eyes on McGonagall. The usual twinkle, which had been gone the last two years, was slowly returning. “We have to tell Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger the truth. I believe Miss Granger hates Harry for what she believes he did; with Mr. Weasley I don’t know. There have been so many different stories about this in the newspapers, that I don’t think they know what to believe. The only one who has been close to the truth is Marice Newman,” he said, his eyes twinkling even more.

McGonagall managed a dazed: “Yes, Albus,” before she left the office and decided to go to her rooms to sort out the last few minutes' information, and get out of her shocked state.

~*~

Christian smiled and removed the listening spell he’d placed on the Headmasters office. So he’d figured it out. Well, he wouldn’t find Harry before Harry decided to be found. However, he had to be careful. Dumbledore was a very intelligent and observant man, and as long as he hadn’t taken any mind-potions Harry would trust him with his life, but for the time being he preferred to be in hiding. If ‘Christian’ did anything suspicious, Dumbledore might start to suspect something, and investigate. As Christian he could be close to Dumbledore and The Order of Phoenix, where Dumbledore was the leader, and watch their movements, and he was free to do almost whatever he wanted.

Dumbledore and Sirius were the only ones he trusted, and even though he and Hermione were destined to fight Voldemort, he didn’t trust her. He could maybe, with a bit time, forgive her and Ron and all the others, but never trust them again. And though he respected both Remus and McGonagall, he’d learned an important lesson; also the Hogwarts professors were humans, and humans make mistakes. He remembered his trial, if you could call it a trial, that is and though he’d been saying again and again that he was innocent, no one believed him, except Sirius. Not even Dumbledore had believed him, and at the time he was the one he hated the most. It was later he finally found out what had happened, and had of course forgiven him instantly. After a while the hate he felt for the others had dissolved too, but some bitterness and anger would always be there. But he knew better than to hate. Hate eats at you from the inside, until it destroys you. He’d soon learned that hating people is a waster of time and energy.

It had been a good idea to eavesdrop; now he knew about that curse, which he hadn’t known about before. Very interesting, he thought. Especially the last bit… Yes, that was interesting indeed. Malfoy was a distant cousin… Harry snickered.

Malfoy would drop dead to the ground if he ever heard that…

~*~

Hermione sat at the Gryffindor table and listened to the other girls, who chattered about boys, the new professor, homework, the new professor, their families and the new professor. It was quite annoying. However, though she wasn’t talking about him, she was thinking about him. There was something about him…something… weird. She couldn’t explain it. She sighed as Lavender launched into telling how sexy he was when he was sitting propped on his desk, with that gorgeous smile, that hair and those eyes. Honestly! The girl couldn’t talk about anything but boys! The next second Lavender turned dark blue. The other girls went silent a moment, before bursting into laughter. Lavender sat totally clueless, until she discovered her new appearance. She shrieked loudly.

“Who did this?” she screamed. The whole hall then noticed and started laughing. Lavender started searching for the prankster, but that wasn’t easy; it could be anyone. Even Hermione had to smile. Lavender was currently throwing a huge temper tantrum, when Professor Atos came up behind her. He cleared his throat, and the whole hall immediately went silent, it was like magic; not even Dumbledore could manage that.

“Why don't you all go back to your meal?” he asked. “As far as I know it is usually very tasty.” In the next second the hall was back to normal.

Lavender turned to the Professor. “Professor, look what someone did to me!”

Professor Atos managed to suppress a smile out of sheer politeness. “I’ve noticed,” he said and removed the colour with a flick of his wand. “However, Miss Brown, there is not much I can do, besides ask everyone in here who did it, and I doubt anyone would admit it.”

Hermione smiled, as it was obvious to her that the whole thing amused him, though no one else noticed that.

“Miss Granger,” he said, and she turned to look at him. “Would you please come with me? The Headmaster wants to speak with you.” What could that be about? She thought, but followed him out of the Hall, not noticing the envious glares she got from the other girls.

~*~

In the Headmaster's office Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were waiting for her. Professor Atos closed the door behind them. Hermione looked around, confused. Why should three professors want to talk to her?

“Please sit down Miss Granger, we have something to tell you.” Professor Dumbledore said. As she sat down, Dumbledore leaned forward and looked her directly into her eyes. “What we are going to tell you now might change your life forever, Miss Granger, maybe for the worse. However, we must know.” Now Hermione was utterly confused. Know what? “Your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor suspects that you are a Pectal,” the Headmaster said. Hermione arched her eyebrows. “Do you know what a Pectal is, Miss Granger?” he asked.

“N-no, not really sir. I’ve read about Citatios, and it told about the Pectal being the Citatio's female counter-part. I don’t know what that means, though,” she answered.

Dumbledore nodded. “Well then, I’ll ask Professor Atos to explain this to you.”

Professor Atos stepped forward, holding a small crystal ball in his hand. “Miss Granger, when I tried the pleasure curse on you earlier today, you managed to counter it within two minutes the first time, which is very impressive. But not only that, your eyes turned silver, and instead of creating a shield around your mind so the curse would just bounce off, you absorbed it. I felt the connection between you and my wand disappear. It was just… gone.” Hermione looked at him shocked. She hadn’t realised she’d done that! “You also absorbed the colour charm I cast at you, and stored it inside of you, however not all of it, as I had to remove it afterwards. You painted Miss Brown fairly nice down there.” His lips twitched.

“It was me? I did that?”

He grinned. “You did, and I guess that sooner or later someone will feel the effect of the Comfort curse too.” His face turned serious again. “If you indeed are a Pectal, Miss Granger, you are extremely powerful. They are, as you mentioned, the Citatios' female counter-parts, and every time a Citatio is born, a Pectal is born too, or the other way around. However, little is known about them. There exist writings of the Citatios' Powers, of what they might be able to do, but no such thing is written about the Pectals. History has almost ignored them and centred the attention on the Citatio. The only thing we know for sure, is that the Pectal's eyes turn silver when they use their power, just as the Citatio's eyes turn gold.”

Hermione nodded. “But why isn’t there anything written about Pectals?” she asked.

Professor Atos shrugged. “Honestly I don’t know. Sexism maybe.” He saw Hermione's eyes narrow. “You must remember that the last Pectal and Citatio lived a thousand years ago. Females didn’t have the same respect as males, or the same social status, and therefore were mostly ignored when the history books were written.” He looked thoughtful a minute. “We have to test if you really are a Pectal, and if the books I’ve read are right, I know how to do it.” He showed her the crystal he held. It was completely white. “Inside this ball I’ve stored a stunning curse. If you are a Pectal, you should be able to withdraw the curse from the ball without your wand, store it inside of you, and then send it out again.” He held the ball up. “You have to trust your instincts.”

Hesitantly Hermione reached out a hand and took the ball, and instantly she felt the magic inside it. What should I do now? She thought. She tried to reach out with her mind, tried to recall what she’d done earlier that day, and suddenly she felt it. Like a small knot. As if the curse was a thin, thin thread, with a knot at the end. She tried to take it, but couldn’t. Then she understood it. The knot was what held the curse inside of the ball, and she had to untie it, or maybe cut it. Carefully she imagined that the knot untied itself, willed it to untie. And it did. A sudden flash, and she stood there with a small ball of glass, no longer white, but see-through. She looked up and saw a grinning Professor Atos, a surprised Professor McGonagall, and an amused Professor Dumbledore. When he saw her confusion, Professor Atos laughed and conjured up a mirror. Hermione gasped and dropped the ball to the floor. It shattered.

Her eyes were gleaming. The pupils and the irises were silvery, and small silver threads were spreading over the rest of the eyeballs.

“Now, Miss Granger, try to release the curse,” Professor Atos’s voice reached through her dazed mind. Yeah, right. Release the curse. “Just try to push it away like you did earlier.” Push? Push. She pushed against the invisible orb, which was the curse, willed it to get out. Slowly it ‘moved’, if you could call it that inside a person's mind, and just before the curse reached the ‘surface’ of her mind, the border between mind and not mind, -her subconscious mind- took over, and the curse was directed through her arm and out. Unfortunately, as the curse shot through her palm, she raised her arm and directed it against Professor Atos. The white light hit him and sent him flying backwards, hitting a bookcase and crumpling to the floor. As if from far away, Hermione heard Professor McGonagall gasp, as Professor Dumbledore rushed forward to check on his now unconscious Professor. Hermione sank back into the chair; she hadn’t even realised she’d been standing. As she slowly returned to normal mode, she realised what she’d done. She heard Professor Dumbledore mutter an ‘enervate’, before helping the dazed Professor Atos to his feet, and then repairing his bookcase. Professor Atos stumbled forward when the Headmaster let go of his grip, and just barely managed to grab onto a chair before he fell.

He groaned. “Did anyone get the number of that bulldozer?” he muttered drowsily while rubbing the back of his head.

“I’m so sorry, Professor!” Hermione said, almost hysterically. “I-I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s quite all right, Miss Granger, I asked you to do it, but could you and your twin-sister please stop screaming? It gives me a terrible headache,” he said, and it took a couple seconds before Hermione realised what he meant with ‘twin-sister’. He was seeing double.

Professor McGonagall now was in her right place. She quickly helped the poor Professor to sit down, and then ordered briskly that he should go to the Hospital Wing.

Professor Atos took a deep breath. “Minerva, I’m fine. Honestly, I’ll be okay in an hour or so.” Then his eyes unfocused a second, before he smiled at Hermione. “Why thank you, Miss Granger, but you didn’t need to do that,” he said, and Hermione realised she’d used the already stored Comfort curse… err, charm at him. Then he again had to assure McGonagall that he was fine. Unfortunately, McGonagall hadn’t been Head of Gryffindor House for years and years for nothing.

“Christian, the strength in that curse was ten times what is normal. No stunning curse I’ve seen has sent the victim flying into the wall. You need to go to see Poppy.” She said.

His objections hit the wall, and before you could say ‘Stupefy’, he was on his way out of the door and down to the Hospital Wing, muttering angrily under his breath, leaving Hermione giggling hysterically, partly due to the strain she’d been through, and partly because her Professor just had been ordered around like a small child by another of her Professors. Even Dumbledore was chuckling. Finally Hermione managed to get out of her hysterics, though she was still smiling widely. She turned to Professor Dumbledore again. She didn’t really know what to do now. However, Dumbledore had his plans ready.

“Miss Granger,” he began. “As you see, you are a very powerful witch. You understand that you have to train your powers, and that it has to be kept secret?” She nodded. “Not even Mr. Weasley must know.” She nodded again. “I need you to read some material on Pectals. It is a book in the Restricted Section, which contains a few paragraphs on Pectals and Citatios. It is called Magical History: Great Wizards And Witches and their Power.”

“I have that in my dorm, Professor,” she said.

Dumbledore smiled. “Very well. Read what you find about Pectals there, and then come to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on Saturday, at four o’ clock. We’ll be there, and then we’ll start your training, though there isn’t much we can do for you, I’m afraid, you must do most of it yourself.” Hermione nodded. Dumbledore sighed; now came the worst part: Getting Hermione to believe in Harry’s innocence. If she believed and told Ron, he’d believe it to, Dumbledore thought.

“Miss Granger, I will now tell you something which is a highly classified Ministry secret.” Hermione's eyes widened. “I believe you’ve read the Daily Prophet during the summer?” Without waiting for an answer, Dumbledore continued. “I want to tell you the truth about Harry Potter. The absolute truth.”

Hermione went deadly pale.

~*~

That night Hermione couldn’t sleep. She lay tossing and turning, thinking about her being a Pectal, and Harry. It didn’t really sink in. So Harry was innocent, he really was. She wanted to deny it, but knew that she would end up believing it.

Deep down she knew why she tried to deny it. She was ashamed. Ashamed that she could accuse Harry of such a thing, ashamed that she had hated him the last two years because of what he’d done. What she’d thought he’d done. And it wasn’t just that. Finally, after two long years, she dared to admit to herself that she’d had feelings for her best friend of four years. She’d felt so betrayed, so utterly betrayed. And now she’d hated him for two years because she’d made a mistake. It was terrible; she’d even wanted him dead.

Hermione cried herself to sleep that night, and she dreamed of Harry.

She dreamed that he smiled at her, and drew his hand through his messy hair and was just drop dead gorgeous, and that he laid his arms around her, and kissed her passionately, and Hermione wished it would never end. But just as he kissed her, Hermione woke up.

When she realised it was only a dream, she began to cry again. She’d give anything to get Harry to forgive her, if they ever met again. But it was hopeless, and she knew it. She fell into an uneasy sleep again, and when she woke up the next morning, the dream was just a vague memory.

====================

5. Training

Chapter Five: Training

Hermione told Ron about Harry being innocent the next day. He took it calmly, and Hermione couldn’t quite read his expression. Inside Ron however, was chaos of confused feelings; he couldn’t even understand them himself. Sometimes he wished that Harry was innocent (now he knew he was), and that everything was like before, but other times hatred and envy would come over him, and he would wish Harry dead and what was worse. He’d always known he’d been cynical, though no one else knew that, but now he could do something for one of his classmates and not want anything in return, something that was very unlike him. It was like one part of him wished to get rid of this cynicism, but another part grabbed it desperately. It was Harry’s fault, that was for sure. Harry had changed him a lot in the few years they’d known each other, and he’d gone from being extremely cynical to be almost… normal at times. And now Ron didn’t know if he should be grateful for it, or hate him for it. Life was so complicated at times!

~*~

Hermione hurried down the corridor. It was Saturday and she was two minutes late to her first training session. She struggled with the large book, and shifted it from one hand to another. Finally she stood outside the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom, took a deep breath, and lifted her hand to knock, but…

“Come in.”

Her eyes widened. Professor Atos seemed to have the same ability to see through doors and walls as Professor Dumbledore. She went in and greeted the three Professors.

Professor Atos beamed at her. “I see you have the book. I hope it wasn’t difficult to find, I’ve seen the library here.”

Hermione smiled. “I had it in my dorm, Professor.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A bit of ‘light’ reading, I suppose?” Hermione blushed; she’d often been teased for her love of books. Professor Atos chuckled. “I used to do that too, at Beauxbatons. It made my friends look at me as a bit weird, but…” he trailed of. Neither Hermione nor Christian noticed that McGonagall and Dumbledore traded looks when they saw how easy the two were with each other.

The chairs and desks were lined up along the wall, so they had a nice training area in the middle of the classroom, but it didn’t seem like they were going to start with the concrete training today. Professor Atos told Hermione to ask questions, and he’d try to answer the best he could.

“Miss Granger,” he said, “I guess you have a few questions, and I’ll try to answer them, but be aware that much of my knowledge is based on what is known about Citatios. I don’t believe the difference between them is big, but it is a difference. The biggest one is that while Citatios discover their abilities at a young age, and are able to train themselves in every thinkable and unthinkable art without any tutoring, the Pectal's power rarely is discovered before she is twenty years old, and she has to be trained by a Citatio. And don’t ask me why that is, ‘cause I don’t know, it’s just the way it is.”

Hermione nodded. “Oh, I see. But I’m not twenty yet.”

“No, you aren’t, and it can mean two things: One, you’re very powerful and the effects of this is starting to show now. I mean that the power tries to force its way out of you. Or two; you are weaker than the other Pectals the history has told about, and that you didn’t need twenty years to grow into a body and mind able to control your power.” Christian paused. “I believe in the last explanation.” He flashed her a bright smile.

“However, what you have to learn is to use your power and abilities. Now you can only absorb the spells, though you must remember there are some spells you cannot absorb, like the killing curse. It would kill you if you tried. You have to learn to use your inner energy, so that you don’t have to absorb the spells before you can use them. And then there are the aforementioned special abilities”

“Oh.” Why did she use ‘oh’ so often when he was around? “Okay. But what kind of ‘abilities’ do I have?”

“We have yet to find out. I guess you can have the same abilities as a Citatio, like Mind-reading, Empathy, Telekinesis, Beast-speaking, Languages, Soul-searching, Shapeshifting, Element-Manipulation, Persuading, Voice, Healing and Telepathy.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Yes, and I knew what all of that meant.” She said sarcastically. He laughed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain as we learn what kind of abilities you have. It's a lot of information, so we better not take everything at once.” he said.

“Okay, Professor. I have a question for you: What are Pectal powers really? What can I do?”

He took a deep breath. “The Power allows the Pectal to do things a normal witch can’t do. You can use normal wand magic, but it will always be stronger than any others'. That is because a wand strengthens the magic in a normal witch, but it controls and lessens the magic in a Pectal. And since a Pectal is much, much stronger than an average witch, your lessened power is still stronger than the normal strengthened power of another magician.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “So I have never used the full extent of my power, just a bit of it? That’s why I never have any problems with spells?”

“Most likely,” he answered. “so you will be able to use your wand, though then you have to say the words. If you use your Power it will be much stronger and you don't have to say anything, just think it instead. And you can shoot it through your palm, but you will get a better aim if you use, for example, a stick or a knife or even a sword.”

Hermione thought of that for a second. “So I kind of have two different ‘powers’, one as a Pectal and one as a witch?”

Professor Atos nodded. “You can say that, but I’d say you have three. One as Pectal, one as witch, and one as a Multiple Talent.”

Hermione looked at him questioningly. “What? Multiple Talent?”

“Yes, that is your special abilities.” He said, “Those I talked about. You will not have every one of them, but you will certainly have more than one. Also a normal witch or wizard can have one of those abilities, and those who have are called a Talent. You will be a Multiple Talent because you’re a Pectal.”

The rest of the lesson was spent asking and answering questions, and making arrangements for future lessons. It was decided that Professor Atos should be her main tutor, as he knew the most about Pectals, but Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall would also help. Hermione was ordered to not tell anyone, as that could be dangerous. As she was about to leave, Hermione asked the question that had bugged her.

“Professor, you said that when a Citatio is born, there is always a Pectal born within his lifetime, or the other way around. You also said that the Citatio was supposed to be the Pectal’s trainer. Where is my trainer? And is there something more than training between the Pectal and the Citatio? I mean, as they are always born at the same time?”

“I don’t know, Miss Granger. Your trainer is probably looking for you, and if these hadn't been such dark times we’d have published the news about a Pectal at Hogwarts, so he could find you. But that would be too dangerous for you.” He looked at her. “As for your second questions… Maybe. Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw married, and you cannot marry a normal wizard. You have to marry the Citatio, or not marry at all.” He chuckled. “Shortens the list quite a bit, doesn’t it?” He saw Hermione shift uncomfortably. “Don’t worry Miss Granger. When we find the Citatio I think you’ll know if he’s the one or not.”

Hermione hesitated a bit. Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore had left already. “Professor?”

He looked up from the papers he was reading. Probably preparing for the next lessons. “Yes?” he answered.

“If- If he’s the one, what would it be like? I mean, would it be like I fell in love with him, or would I just know that ‘it’s him’?”

He looked genuinely surprised. Then he sighed. “I don’t know. There is so much I don’t know. But I know one thing. You will not be able to fall in love with anyone else.” He studied her with his blue eyes. She nodded and hurriedly left. She’d said too much anyway.

~*~

Harry couldn’t sleep that night. He thought about Hermione. She’d grown a lot the last two years, and not only in height. She was a beautiful girl. Her hair had lost most of it’s fluffiness, and had a brown colour with a goldish tinge. Now it hung in gentle waves down her back. A wonder she has no boyfriend yet, he thought, she certainly is very beautiful. I wish… he broke of. Hey Harry boy. She believed you were a murderer. You shall help her as well as you can, and the two of you shall save the world. Hopefully. But you shall not trust her or fall for her. Understood? Fine. Go to sleep.

~*~

Hermione struggled with her own feelings. He said I cannot fall in love with anyone but the Citatio. If I even can fall in love. But I am in love. I love Harry. But he’s gone. The more she thought about it, the more sure she became. She had feelings for Harry. Which meant he had to be the Citatio. Her real tutor. Maybe even her life mate. He had to be the Citatio. She’d suspected it when she read about Citatios, but now she was sure. But whom could she tell? ‘Hey, Professor, I know who the Citatio is. His name is Harry Potter. How do I know? Oh, you see, I’m in love with him. But he doesn’t know, and he probably hates me because I believed he was a murderer.’ She couldn’t say that.

~*~

It was November. The lessons were going on as usual, and Hermione was on top of her class, as usual. No one found it weird that she disappeared every Saturday afternoon, as she’d told them she had ‘extra lessons’ in Healing, as she wanted to be a nurse after school. It was kind of true, as Professor Atos had figured she had a special Talent for Healing. Her powers developed, and so far she’d learned that she was a Healer and an Empath, which meant she could read peoples feelings. When she’d first discovered that, she’d almost gone mad before she learned how to ‘shut’ off. She’d read every little feeling everyone had for two whole days. However, she had no Mind-reading abilities whatsoever. She also had a very small amount of Talent in Voice. This had been easy to learn, as Professor Atos had this Talent too. If you had Voice as a Talent, you could silence a crowd in a second and turn everyone’s attention towards yourself. You could also turn the attention away from yourself. Hermione had seen him use it in the Great Hall when she’d painted Lavender blue. Lavender still didn’t know this, and it annoyed her to no end, as people now had started to call her ‘Blue’.

Professor Atos was currently trying to find out if she was able to Manipulate an Element. When he’d mentioned this she’d been shocked, cause she thought that was impossible.

~~~~~~Flashback~~~~~~

“Element-Manipulation is often called Element-Mani. You will maybe be able to control one or two elements.”

Hermione's eyes had gone wide. In every generation there were born four Elemental Guardians, one for Fire, one for Earth, one for Water and one for Air. None others could have an Elemental Talent.

“What?” Hermione said, shocked. “But I thought only Elements could-”

He interrupted her. “Wrong, Miss Granger,” he said, “True, only Elements can Talk to their Element, Travel with it or Ask it about a favour or something, but I was talking about Element Manipulation. Elements rely on the good will of their Element. Of course, an Element has never refused its guardian anything yet, but they cannot control it. You can. That is, if you have an element.”

~~~~~~End Flashback~~~~~~

And now he was trying to find if she had any Talent with Fire. She’d tried to light the candle for an hour now, and was very bored. They had been training for two hours, and she was tired. In the end she’d had enough.

“That’s enough, I obviously have no Talent for Fire Manipulation.” She said firmly. Professor Atos refused to take the hint, and gave her a small twig from a young birch and told her to try to get it to grow leaves. She sent him an I’m-tired-and-I-want-to-end-the-training-session-right-now, look. He ignored it. She sighed and went to work. After a few minutes with no luck, she gave up. She was tired and irritated, and any reasonable young man would know better than to cross her path. Obviously, Professor Atos didn’t know that. He saw that Hermione had stopped to even try to Manipulate the twig.

“Miss Granger, didn’t I tell you to try to Manipulate the Element of Earth?” he asked softly.

“You did, but I didn't manage it,” she said shortly.

He smiled slightly at her. “You must remember to trust your instincts, Miss Gran-” Hermione exploded.

“REMEMBER TO TRUST MY INSTINCTS! THAT’S EVERYTHING YOU SAY! YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DIFFICULT IT IS? TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS, TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS! CAN’T YOU COME UP WITH ANYTHING BETTER? IT’S NOT EASY!”

Every other man would have tried to run and hide when Hermione lost her temper that way. And any Professor would certainly have taken a lot of points. Professor Atos however, did neither. He smiled and looked at the twig she held in her hand.

“Very well, Miss Granger. It seems like you have a Talent with Earth,” he said. Hermione looked at the twig. And true, two small, green leaves had suddenly decided to pop out.

“Oh.” Hermione said, sheepishly, remembering it wasn’t that smart to yell at a professor. He grinned, as she turned red in embarrassment.

“I think it’s time to end this lesson. You’re tired, so I suggest you get some sleep. Next week well test your abilities with Water and Air,” Professor Atos said, smiling. Hermione muttered a ‘goodnight’ and quietly slipped out of the door.

~*~

Ron had done a lot of thinking the last few months, but he couldn’t decide what to do. One thing he knew was that he didn’t have any future here in England, with Harry always looming over him as the ‘Perfect Boy-Who-Lived’. If he wanted to get what he wanted, he had to be cynical, and that was something he was good at. He wouldn’t see his seven year old plans being ruined. He’d always been a good actor, and now he had to play better than ever. Parvati Patil’s father was an Auror, and using Parvati he could get a good job after graduating. Then he could make his way easily from there. Before long everyone should know his name. The Famous Ron Weasly. Sounded good. Making a career of capturing Death Eaters. Not bad. With his little contact in the Death Eater ranks it shouldn’t be that difficult. But Ron had started to look at ‘Bad or Good’, not only ‘Successful or Unsuccessful’. And he knew that was bad.

~*~

Harry sat grading the fourth year's last test after Hermione left. It had been a difficult few months, as he had to appear as the Golden Mask at times, and still be at Hogwarts as Christian. More than once he’d had to use an advanced version of his Azkaban illusion. This one couldn’t walk through objects, and could appear as a real human if you touched it, but it wasn’t so good at behaving like a human. It was also exhausting to keep it going, as using pure Pectal or Citatio powers drained you. You had to train yourself over the years, so that after a few years you could keep it going for a while. Therefore he used much wand-magic when he fought as the Golden Mask, as it didn’t drain any of his energy. Only problem was that it was less effective.

Another problem was what to teach Hermione. She’d progressed far beyond his expectations, but she wasn’t Hogwarts top student for nothing, and he’d used his Telepathic Talent to plant ideas and information in her head, without her noticing of course. But this meant that he couldn’t teach her Telepathy, because then she would guess it at once. Voice he could teach her because she believed he was one of the magicians who had one of the Talents. If she’d known he was her real tutor, he could tell her much more than he’d done. For example he already knew that she was a Beast-speaker, but he couldn’t really say it to her. ‘Hey, Hermione, you’re a Beast-speaker. Oh, I know because I’m the Citatio, and I have the ability to see some of your Talents’. That just wouldn’t work, especially because Hermione knew that Harry Potter was the Citatio. He’d read her mind to find out what she knew, and if she suspected something. She didn’t suspect Christian, but he’d found out she knew that Harry was the Citatio. And he’d only tried to read once. No more. Honestly, he had ethics! But he thanked his lucky stars that she wasn’t a Mind-reader, he’d problems enough with keeping his shields against her Empathy, and it would be even more difficult when she found out that she was a Soul-Searcher, which meant that she could read memories. And he had to let something slip through, cause if she found out that he could shield his feelings and memories from her she would guess it. Curse it! Why couldn’t the Pectal be someone less intelligent and more ignorant than Hermione?

Harry sighed and put the quill down. He could sense another incoming attack, at a small town in North-East Wales. He’d put down small ‘keyholes’, as he called them, all over England, and these allowed him to know where and when they attacked. There had only been a few attacks this autumn, Voldemort was obviously planning something, and when they attacked, they usually did it at night. That was fortunate, because it would be difficult if they attacked in full daylight; He couldn’t just disappear in the middle of the day, ‘cause everyone would notice.

He quickly conjured up his Christian clone, and apparated. Next thing, he stood under the eaves of a forest, clad in scarlet robes with a golden mask covering his face.

~*~

Harry silently cursed his own thoughtlessness in several different languages. The attack had been an ambush to get him, and why he hadn’t thought of that possibility was one of the unsolved mysteries on earth. If it had done any good, he would have started banging his head against the wall. But that would just give him an awful headache. It had been dark when he’d arrived, and the Death Eaters were, as usual, hunting and torturing people. They had started to portkey unconscious prisoners away to God-knows-where. He’d done his best to wipe them out, and used his Air Element to control the weather and call lightning from the sky as he’d done before. It was more difficult now, cause he didn’t have the advantage of surprise as he’d had the first few times. The last few times they expected him to be there, something which caused trouble for him. He usually left as soon as the Aurors started to apparate in and got thing under control.

But just as the Aurors started to show up, more Death Eaters came. They’d just waited for him to grow tired with taking out the first ones. They’d come up behind him and he’d got a Cruciatus in the back, and a cutting curse had cut a large gash in his side. Eventually he’d got rid of enough of them, so it was safe to leave them to the Aurors, but he’d been utterly drained, and couldn’t apparate past the Hogwarts wards. He’d had to apparate as close up to them as possible, and from there it was a ten-minute ride on a broomstick. With the after-effects of a Cruciatus and a bleeding cut, that was pure torture. He didn’t even have the energy to make an invisibility charm, so he had to pray that no one saw him enter. How he wished he had his father’s invisibility cloak. But that had been taken from him before he was sent to Azkaban, together with his other belongings.

Silent as a shadow, or at least as silent as a bleeding shadow, he sneaked up to his rooms. Suddenly he felt a presence in his mind, and froze. Someone was nearby. He reached out and tried to read the person's mind, to find out who it was, but he or she was too far away. But the person had seen him, and when he stopped and tensed he or she obviously thought he’d heard him or her, because he heard someone walk quickly in the opposite direction, against the Slytherin dungeons. Damn! But he probably wasn’t recognised, it was too dark, and he’d been careful to disguise himself, or at least he’d tried to. In his state he couldn’t know if it worked or not. He couldn’t investigate either; the blood-stopping spell on his wound was wearing off. Thank God next day was Sunday, so he had a day to heal and recover.

Still cursing himself he started to treat his wound. He had been blind, deaf and half unconscious not to foresee such a thing. He could use his Seer ability as an excuse; he’d relied on it too much and believed it would warn him, but he knew it was wrong, as it rarely told him anything useful. He knew all too well that he couldn’t trust it to warn him every time he was in trouble. He had just been extremely stupid and thickheaded. Illegally stupid and thickheaded.

~*~

A week before the Christmas break Professor Atos held Hermione back after the lesson.

“Miss Granger, are you going to stay for the holidays?” he asked.

“Yes, why?” she replied. He scratched his head and Hermione found herself studying his face. She found him very attractive, and she liked his easygoing personality. However, she didn’t consider the possibility of liking him ‘that’ way, as she had those feelings for Harry only, and she knew she couldn’t fall for anyone but him, as he was the Citatio. Or, she thought she couldn’t. McGonagall kept reporting ‘nothing new’ all the time. Hermione still knew nothing about the prophecy or Dumbledore believing that Harry was the Golden Mask. Hermione didn’t read the Daily Prophet any longer, cause the only decent writer the Daily Prophet had ever had was Marice Newman, and she had fled to Asia a month ago, so now Rita Skeeter wrote most of it, and everything was rubbish. A few months in a bottle hadn’t helped, it seemed. If she’d read it she’d probably have connected Harry and the Golden Mask immediately.

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts at her professor’s voice. “So we can use the holidays to train. You don’t have any problems with your cover story, do you?”

“No, everyone believes it. No one suspects anything either,” she answered.

“Good, and let it stay that way. No one must know that you are a Pectal.” He sighed. “That was all. Dismissed.” Hermione looked wonderingly at him. The last few weeks he’d seemed tired and worn out, and not his cheery and friendly self. Probably stress. I bet he’s looking forward to the holidays too. Hermione left the classroom and headed for her next lesson. Neither the Professor nor Hermione noticed a certain blond-haired Slytherin in the shadows.

====================

Disclaimer: Duh…

Ha! The plot thickens! *Rachel is sooo proud of herself*

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, go you. Thanks to the-dreamer, my beta, and thanks to myself for coming up with this absolutely brilliant plot-line… haha.

Just kidding.

Review!

6. Attack

Chapter Six: Attack

Lucius Malfoy wondered why his son so suddenly had decided to come home for the holidays. Draco himself said being at Hogwarts was a perfect opportunity to spy on Dumbledore and his little order. ‘Little’ referred to the number only. The amount of havoc they had managed to cause until now sent Voldemort into fits of anger. He didn’t rage around like a maniac; patience was something his Lord had a big amount of, but his cold, controlled anger was scary. And for the one who didn’t please Voldemort when he had one of his controlled temper tantrums…Well, Lucius had pity on the guy, and that said something. However, the Golden Mask was what irritated Voldemort right now. The man was very powerful, though not yet so powerful as Voldemort himself, but powerful enough to give him a lot worries. Lucius suspected that Voldemort knew more about him than he told his Inner circle.

But right now he was waiting for his son, Draco. He’d sent an owl telling him that he would come home for the holidays, and that he had something to tell him, something which was difficult to tell per owl, and Lucius wondered what it could be.

The fire turned green and warned about Draco coming. And yes, in the next second he stepped out of the fireplace.

“Good evening father,” he said, his face wearing the usual sneer.

“Good evening Draco,” Lucius greeted. “I hope you have something very important to tell me, and that it goes fast. I have an urgent meeting to attend to.” The ‘urgent meeting’ was urgent because if he didn’t get there on time he would regret it. The Dark Lord didn’t like late-comers.

Draco looked thoughtful a moment, and hesitated. “I don’t know how important it is, but Professor Atos, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher seemed to think it was important that it was keep secret.” He paused. “Father, what is a Pectal?” he asked.

Lucius dropped his wand and grabbed his son by the collar. “Where have you heard that boy?” he asked, his eyes blazing.

His son looked at him coolly. “I’ll tell you if you let me go,” he said. Lucius took a deep breath, got control of himself and let go of his son. Draco brushed himself. “It was Professor Atos who mentioned it. I overheard a conversation between him and that mudblood Granger,” he said with as much disgust as he could manage in the words ‘mudblood’ and ‘Granger’. “He said that ‘no one must know that you are a Pectal’. And then he said something about training.” Draco looked curiously at his father, who sat down in a chair and turned even paler than he used to be.

“Did he say something else?” he asked after a while.

Draco thought about it. “Something about a cover-story. I believe it is about Granger’s extra lessons in healing. She claims that she wants to become a nurse, and takes extra lessons with Madam Pomfrey every Saturday.”

Lucius nodded. “Tell me more about this… Professor Atos,” he said softly.

“Well, he’s a good teacher, knows his stuff. He says he graduated from Beauxbatons at fifteen, after one year as a student. His parents had tutored him at home until then. Other than that, I don’t know.” Draco answered.

Lucius nodded again. “Have you seen anything suspicious? Other things I mean?”

“No,” Draco said, but then he remembered. “I mean yes. A month ago someone sneaked in at Hogwarts in the middle of the night. A male I think. I couldn’t see who it was, but he was hurt. He walked unsteadily and clutched his side. But I think he noticed me, so I had to retreat.”

Lucius listened intensively. “When was this you say?” Voldemort had long suspected that the Golden Mask had a connection to the Order of Phoenix.

Draco racked his brain. “Err… The 15th of November I think,” he said, hesitantly. Lucius sighed. Damn, it wasn’t him then. “No, wait,” Draco corrected himself, “It was the day we had to deliver an History essay. The 16th.”

Lucius’s eyes widened. It fit! This was some news! “Where was he heading?” he asked eagerly.

“Towards the teachers quarters.” Draco answered.

“Good boy Draco. This is worthy news. I’m proud of you.” Lucius said and stood. He was late for the meeting with Voldemort, but he’d probably be excused when Voldemort heard the news. A Pectal at Hogwarts. And probably the Golden Mask too. One of the teachers. Lucius would bet his entire fortune that this new Professor was their man. He smiled deviously.

~*~

Harry was very pleased with Hermione. In just four months she’d reached a level it had taken him years to reach. Okay, he hadn’t known what had happened to him, and had had to use the ‘try and fail’ method. Of course, when he came to Hogwarts he’d found out about Citatios, and at last he realised that he was one. And since then he’d trained himself as good as he could manage. It had taken a lot of time, but it seemed like some kind of instinct told him what to do and how to do it, so slowly but surely he progressed. Hermione didn’t seem to have this instinct, so she often made mistakes, and he had to use his Telepathic abilities and act as her ‘instinct’. Tough, Hermione could have progressed a lot faster if she’d had the Citatio who could tell her everything he knew and show her different methods and such, so she could just imitate him. Anyway, her progress was impressive to Harry, who had only himself to compare with.

Harry knew he had to tell her the truth about ‘Christian’ sooner or later, but he wouldn’t do it yet. And besides, if he became her Citatio trainer, she might become more powerful than he was, and he didn’t trust her that much.

However, it was important to find out what Talents she had. A small vision had told him that she probably would discover her Beast-speaker ability soon, which would be useful for them both. They had discovered that she had Telekinesis, which was the most common Talent, Empathy, the ability to Manipulate Earth, a small portion of Voice, and also that she had no Talent for Persuasion. Soul-Searching was one of the more difficult and uncommon Talents, so hopefully it wouldn’t come to her soon, though she had it. The only problem was that it was difficult for him to teach her the Talents he didn’t have himself, like Earth Manipulation. He himself had Fire and Air, plus he could control Water to a very small degree, but he would have great problems with teaching her Earth, even though he used his Telepathic Talent to ‘tell’ her how to do it.

They almost seemed to be opposites. Where he had Language, which is the ability to be able to understand, speak and write all kind of languages, she had Beast-speech, which is the ability to speak with beasts. (He had parseltounge though, but that had nothing to do with Talent, and he’d got it from Voldemort.)

Where he had Fire and Air, she had Earth, and he also suspected that she had Water, as he did, though his control over Water was small. They both had Telekinesis, Telepathy and Voice, though her gift with Voice was small. She had Healing, he had Shapeshifting, and where he had Mind-reading, she had Soul-searching. It was really frustrating.

Now however, he was trying to show Hermione that she wasn’t an Air Manipulator. He already knew that, something he had discovered in his first year at Hogwarts, but he couldn’t just tell her, because Christian wasn’t supposed to know what she did in her first year. However, it was very easy to prove. They were at the Quidditch pitch, and he’d told Hermione to mount a broom and fly two times around the pitch at top speed. She managed the first round, though she flew at an really unimpressive speed. She sped up a bit on her second round, but when she should have stopped the broom and dismounted, she fell. He was there and caught her quickly. She blushed at her own clumsiness, but Christian just smiled sweetly.

“It’s settled then. You are not an Air Manipulator.”

~*~

“Hmmm…”

Lucius shuddered. Voldemort always spoke with a kind of ‘hiss’, as if he had been together with snakes for too long. Which he probably had. Lucius also knew that his well-being rested on how important his news was; he had been ten minutes late for the meeting, and if it wasn’t important enough for the Dark Lord, Lucius would be punished.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Dark Lord spoke up. “Lucius.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do you know why I tried to kill that Potter boy?” he asked.

“No my Lord.” Lucius answred.

Voldemort ‘Hmmmed’ again. “Far back in time, when Hogwarts was founded,” the Dark Lord started, “a man called Slandrin Slytherin cast a curse on Rowena Ravenclaw and her decendants, which also means Godric Gryffindor’s decendants, so no Citatio or Pectal could be born from that line, as it was predicted should happen.”

Lucius wondered silently what this had with him to do, but knew better than to voice his thoughts.

“Slandrin was one of Hogwarts founders, together with Salazar, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but everything he was, and everything he did was removed from history books, and his house, Quidelfas, named after his mother’s last name, was removed from Hogwarts. He’s your ancestor.”

Lucius’s eyes widened, but he managed to stay silent. The Dark Lord continued.

“The prediction made by Ravenclaw says that one of Power should come of the Eagle and Lion, which pointed at Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, while the other should come of the Snake, which points at my ancestor, Salazar.” Voldemort made a hissing sound, which might have been laughter. “One of Power means a Citatio or a Pectal, and for a while I thought I was the predicted Citatio, and that the Pectal would be born of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw’s blood. So I waited, and knew nothing of the curse Slandrin had put on Ravenclaw, so no Pectal or Citatio could be born. And when I finally found it, I searched for more information, and found that Salazar Slytherin doesn't deserve the reputation he has. He tried to remove the curse his brother had cast, and he was the one, with help from Gryffindor, who chased Slandrin out of Hogwarts.

However, he didn’t manage to lift the curse, only lighten it, so that when Slandrin and Ravenclaw’s blood were united in a child, the one of Power would be born.” Voldemort paused a second. “This happened when James Potter and Lily Evans married. Yes indeed, Lily Evans is of Malfoy blood, which also means Slandrin’s blood, through a squib who was disowned and put in care of a muggle couple. So I, who still thought I was the Citatio, awaited a girl, a Pectal, who I could train, and she could stand by my side, as a powerful mistress.

But they had a boy, and then I knew that I wasn’t the Citatio. So, I had to kill the boy. But his mother's love protected him, and I was defeated, and left powerless, by a mere baby.” Voldemort paused while watching Lucius, who quickly snapped back into his expressionless mask.

“My Lord?” he asked, “I have a question.”

“Ask.”

Lucius braced himself. “Do you know where Potter is now?”

Voldemort smirked.

“Ahh, yes. Your news. This Pectal, the mudblood descendant of Slytherin, must be taken care of. But that wasn’t what you asked about. You suspect that this Golden Mask, this annoying, powerful wizard who shows up everywhere, indeed is Christian Atos, the DADA Professor at Hogwarts. Let’s hope you are right, Lucius, because I suspect that this ‘Golden Mask’, indeed is Harry Potter, and this time, neither he nor the mudblood will be able to stop me, ‘Children of Power’ or not.”

~*~

“Anything to report?”

“No, nothing. I’m not very high up, and don't get to know anything before it happens.” The first voice was confident and belonged to a male, while the other was shaking nervously, and obviously was from a female.

“You have to know something!” The male said, obviously irritated.

The female gulped. “But I don’t!” she retorted desperately. “He’s furious because of his Azkaban mistake, the Aurors and the Order of Phoenix managed to prevent half of the Dementors from joining him, and he didn’t get any of the prisoners freed either. He’d hoped that Potter-“ she was cut of.

“Don’t mention Potter so I can hear it!” the male growled.

The female took two steps backwards. “Sorry.”

“Well then. Tell me what you know.”

The female shifted. “I-I think He’s planning something. And he got some news from Malfoy. It must have been important, because Malfoy was ten minutes late for the meeting, but wasn’t punished for it. That’s what I heard, at least.”

The male was silent for a while. Then he spoke. “Okay, I believe you. But come with something valuable soon, or I’ll turn you in, and nothing you can say can save you. That’s clear?” his voice was a mere hiss.

The female shivered. “T-That’s clear.”

The male turned and went out the door. The female sank to the floor, crying. “Why,” she muttered to herself, “did I tell him? I should have known he wouldn’t help me out of it. But he seemed so noble, so kind. But he’s not, he’s just a bloody bastard.” She dried her tears away. “Then why girl, why do you still love him?”

“Professor?” What? “Professor?” Oh.

“Erm… Excuse me, Miss Granger, I was deep in thought. Did you say something?” Harry sighed inwardly. These visions was horribly annoying, and dangerous when they came when other people was present. He’d seen different variations of that one, and it was always a male and a female, but he couldn’t figure who they were. He never got any clear picture of them. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall looked curiously at him, as did Hermione.

“Professor, you said we should test if I could Manipulate Water today. How are we going to do that?” she asked.

“That’s very simple, Miss Granger,” he answered. “We drop you in the lake and makes sure you sink to the bottom.”

Hermione raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Veeery funny,” she said.

Christian raised an eyebrow too. “Not at all, Miss Granger, If you cannot Manipulate Water, you will drown. If you can Manipulate Water, you will not drown, because you can breathe water as easily as air. Neither will you feel the cold, even though the water is freezing.” Hermione’s jaw dropped, as did McGonagall’s. Dumbledore had to keep himself from chuckling.

“Are you serious, sir?” Hermione asked faintly.

“Of course.” Christian couldn’t keep it back any longer, and a wide grin spread over his face. “No worries, Miss, We will be there, just in case you shouldn’t be able to control Water. Shall we go?”

~*~

Hermione gulped. In front of her she had a four metres wide hole in the ice, and she could see the dark water in the lake. It was freezing cold water, and Hermione shuddered. Professor Atos had charmed her so she would sink straight to the bottom of the lake, and was now busy with performing a bubble-charm and a heating charm on himself, so he could follow her down. He would hold on to her and sink together with her. On the way down she would have the bubble-charm and the warming charm too, so she could breathe, but once they were down there, the Professor would remove the charms, and she had to go on from there. If it turned out that she couldn’t Manipulate Water, the Professor would send up a beam of light, and Dumbledore and McGonagall would then come to help, if he couldn’t handle it himself. Despite all this, Hermione didn’t like the idea at all.

Professor Atos broke into her thoughts.

“Miss Granger, are you ready?” he asked. Hermione glared at him; as if she would ever be ready for such a thing! But she nodded nonetheless. Professor Atos grabbed her arm, and they both jumped into the freezing water.

It was a shock. Hermione felt the cold water envelope her body. She felt the pressure from all sides, and she couldn’t see a thing. Everywhere it was dark, dark water. The circle of light above her became smaller and smaller, until she couldn’t see it. After what seemed like an eternity, her back hit something solid. They had reached the bottom, and without noticing, Hermione and Christian had been turned almost upside down on their journey downwards. Hermione quickly grasped her Earth Element. With it she could navigate, and soon she knew where north, east, south and west were, and what was up, and what was down. She reached out and seconds later she had a clear picture of what it looked like around her. They were at the bottom at some kind of ‘underwater valley’.

Suddenly, a light behind her. She could see a few metres around her, and when she turned she could see that Professor Atos had lit his wand. He pointed his wand at her, and she could see his lips moving, though she couldn’t hear him. Suddenly, the bubble that held her air supply disappeared.

Hermione gasped for air, but all she got was water. Her vision went blurry because of the water that filled her eyes, and she couldn’t see a thing! Hermione panicked. It wasn’t possible to breathe water! She was going to drown! She tried to swim, her instinct told her to swim. She needed air! Up, up, up! Air, air, air! She would never make it!

Then, suddenly, when she felt that her lungs were going to collapse from lack of air…she blinked. She could see. She could see the bottom of the lake stretching out around her, big sea-plants and such growing here and there, and various water-animals swimming and crawling around. Her brain started working again, and she could feel her lungs breathe again. But how could she breathe water? It was impossible for her lungs to do such a thing. She had swallowed a lot of water, and now it was seeping out of her body. It seemed like the water she ‘breathed’ was freed for its oxygen and then sent out through her very skin. It was a weird feeling.

Then she noticed she could sense the various underwater streams and ‘see’ how the water moved. She also noticed that the water wasn’t cold any longer, but quite… comfortable. She looked around and spotted Professor Atos. He smiled at her, though his face seemed weirdly twisted when she saw it through the bubble. He gave her thumbs up, and then pointed upwards. Hermione nodded. Something, like a small voice in the back of her head told her how to do this. She reached out with her Element, and Manipulated the water to push them upwards, against the hole in the ice. Five minutes later they banged their heads in solid ice. Professor Atos’s bubble charm was broken, but a new one immediately formed itself around his head. He looked at Hermione. Again, she reached out with the Element, and she could, through the ice, sense where the hole was, and she dragged the Professor in that direction. Thirty seconds later, she could breathe fresh air.

~*~

Christmas was over, and the students returned, ready for a new term, with assignments, tests and what was worse. Christian had used the break to think up new ways to torment his students, and he gave each class a difficult test on their first day back. As it turned out, every question had been a fake, with no possible answer, but not all the students realised this, and came up with the most weird explanations on how a dragon can shoot water in the same way as they shoot fire. It was most hilarious for Christian, who had to grade them.

Students however, weren't Christian’s greatest problem. He had visions of an attack, where people were hurt and killed, but he didn’t know where it was, and as the date of the attack drew nearer, the visions came more often. He often had to use a potion he had invented to prevent himself from getting visions during lessons or staff meetings. The potion was very similar to the mind potion he was given in his fifth year, to ensure he would end up by the dead body of Colin.

Right now, Christian was desperately hoping that this current staff meeting would end soon. He felt the tickling sensation in his mind that always came with strong visions. Despite the potion he had taken, there was no way to prevent himself from going into the slightly dazed state this time, and if he didn’t get out of here soon, it was possible that the other teachers would notice. The reason why the meeting took longer than usual, was that Snape hadn’t shown up yet. All the other teachers were members of the Order of Phoenix and knew that he was a spy, but Christian had to pretend that he didn’t know, since he wasn’t supposed to know. So, not to wake his ‘suspicion’, they explained it with a ‘he slept in’. Yeah, right. 12 o’ clock, Saturday morning? Christian felt the tickling grow stronger, and he couldn’t resist the vision anymore. Swearing inwardly, he relaxed and slipped into the darkness, praying that no one would notice. Dumbledore did, however, and wondered why Christian so suddenly seemed to almost fall asleep.

Darkness. Darkness all around him. Then… A voice.

“The girl. Kill her or take her. It is time to show that we are the strongest. I want the girl, she’s too dangerous. She must die” Murmurs. Christian could feel the presence of many beings, some humans and some not humans.

Suddenly his vision changed, and he looked up at a great castle. A banner stood proudly in the wind. A serpent, a lion, an eagle, a badger, an H.

Hogwarts.

Christian snapped out of his trance, eyes wide with fear. They was going to attack Hogwarts! And they knew about Hermione! He jumped out of his chair before he had the time to think. He regretted the movement instantly, for two reasons. Firstly, the others mustn’t know that he was a Seer and a Citatio, and secondly, because of the wound he had in his side. He didn’t have any Healing Talent, so he had to use normal healing charms and potions to heal himself, and it hadn’t worked properly, so now he had a nasty, half-healed, two-months old wound, with an infection. And that hurt.

Fortunately, no one noticed his actions. Snape had returned during his little mind-trip, and he had news. Bad news apparently. All the teachers were standing, and frightened chatter filled the room, before Dumbledore silenced them. The twinkle was replaced by cold fury. The chatter died down, and Dumbledore turned back to Snape.

“Did he say why?”

“No. We just got a message, with orders to turn up, and when I got ‘there’, I was told about the attack, and sent back to Hogwarts. I’m supposed to wait here and fall on your back when they attack. I came as fast as I could to warn you, he’s going to attack very soon,” Snape answered.

Christian had managed to return to his oblivious, clueless and confused state.

“This could mean that he doesn’t trust you, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “How are they planning to get in?”

“Draco Malfoy,” was the grim answer. The other teachers looked at him in horror, not wanting to believe that a student could do such a thing. Snape looked at them irritably. “He’s not the only one, though the only one I know of. He was picked because he was willing to blow his cover. Lucius didn’t want to, but he didn’t have any choice, and it is possible that he’s going to be able to get away. You know: ‘I didn’t know! He’s not my son anymore!’ Etc, etc.” Harry was frantically searching for a way to tell Dumbledore that Voldemort knew about the Pectal. But how could he do that without revealing the fact that he was a Seer? Next second Dumbledore tensed. Then he spoke.

“They’re through the shields, and approaching the school. It is indeed Mr. Malfoy who has invited them,” he said grimly, regretting that he’d never done something with those shields. No student could ‘invite’ anyone to the castle without the permission of a Professor, but it was possible to get past that. And an intelligent student like Draco Malfoy could manage it. All the teachers exclaimed in fright, and several ran towards the door. Dumbledore stopped them. “We have ten minutes, get the students assembled in the Great Hall, and-“ he was interrupted by Snape.

“Wait, I don’t know if this is important, but there have been rumours about a Pectal. I highly doubt the validity of these rumours, but I thoug-“ he stopped as Christian, who until then had stayed calm, thinking furiously, took his chance.

“Miss Granger!” he exclaimed, letting his fright touch his words, and then, before McGonagall and Dumbledore could react, he bolted through the door, towards the Gryffindor tower.

~*~

Christian turned around the last corner and stood in front of the portrait of the fat lady. He didn’t bother with any password, he simply used his Persuasion Talent and told her to let him in. Many of the Gryffindors were assembled in the common room, as it was Saturday and not Hogsmeade weekend. The Gryffindor students stared at him as he stood there, slightly breathless. He gathered himself, and forced himself not to clutch his hurt side, and speak with a steady voice.

“I need to speak with Miss Granger. It is urgent.” He couldn’t see her in the common room. “Is she in her dorm?” he asked, but Lavender shook her head. “Does anybody know where she is?” More shaking of heads.

“ALL STUDENTS ASSEMBLE IN THE GREAT HALL IMMEDIATELY!” McGonagall’s enchanted voice rang through the castle. Christian gritted his teeth. Where was she? He mentally smacked his forehead. The library! She had to be there. McGonagall’s message rang throughout the castle again, and Christian turned on his heel as the now frightened Gryffindors started to run towards the portrait and the Great Hall. He disappeared into the shadows and apparated to the library. It had been too risky to apparate up to the Gryffindor common room, but on Saturday only Hermione could think of going to the library. It would be almost deserted. As soon as he got there, he reached out with his Air Element and searched for her ‘scent’. It wasn’t there.

He cursed silently before he headed towards the Great Hall, ignoring the increasing pain in the gash, searching in the Air for her. Where was she? Had one of the Death Eater students tricked her outside and killed her? No, he wouldn’t even think of it. Damn! Why hadn’t he thought of this? If Hermione died it would be his fault! He was careful not to run when he reached the Great Hall, not to scare the students more than they already were. Almost all the teachers were there, Dumbledore too, but no Hermione. Christian quickly walked over to Dumbledore.

“I cannot find her!” he whispered desperately in his ear. In the same moment Snape came over and reported that four of his students, a fifth year, a sixth year and two seventh years, not counting Malfoy, were missing. Professor Sprout missed a sixth year and a fourth year, Flitwick a fifth and a sixth year, and McGonagall missed Hermione, plus her Quidditch team, who had practice, something the teachers had completely forgotten in the rush. Dumbledore had given orders to stay in the Great Hall until the rest of the Order of Phoenix plus the Aurors came, but they couldn’t wait. Through the magical binding he had with the wards, he could sense that they came closer. Harry suspected that the missing students from the other houses were Death Eaters, at least some of them, maybe even some of the Gryffindors were. While Dumbledore ordered McGonagall, himself, Flitwick and Vector to follow him, he secretly reached out with Air again, to the Quidditch pitch. He barely restrained himself from groaning in terror. The Quidditch pitch were swarming with fighting students, and he could scent sweat, fear, anger and confusion. They ran all the way to the pitch, and Christian was sure his wound had re-opened when he judged by the pain. But it wasn’t the right time to think about that now.

Their eyes widened in horror at the sight that met them at the Quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor Quidditch team, plus Hermione, who apparently had decided to watch their practice, were defending themselves from the ‘missing’ students. Two of the team-members were lying unconscious or dead in the snow, and one, a sixth year Gryffindor, had sided with the Death Eater students, so they were five against eight. Despite this, they fought bravely, and they had the advantage of their brooms. However, more Death Eaters were approaching, coming out of the Forbidden Forest. The teachers hesitated, and for a couple of seconds they just stood, staring. Then, a particularly strong stunning spell from Hermione crushed the Death Eaters shield, an opportunity the teachers used well, and seconds later all eight were down. The other students sighed in relief, except Hermione. She had, as the teachers had, noticed the Death Eaters coming out of the Forbidden Forest.

~*~

Hermione was confused. Really confused. Here, she thought that she was in love with Harry, though knowing that something between them would never happen. Yet, she had started to have feelings towards Christian Atos, her professor, something that was considered impossible as she was a Pectal. But she felt so comfortable with him, the way they could talk, the way he behaved. She considered him more as a friend than a professor, and she needed friends. Harry and Ron had been her only friends, but she and Ron had slipped apart the last few years, and Harry… Well, he wasn’t there.

Many times, after she had admitted to herself that she had feelings for Harry, somewhat about two years too late, she’d dreamt about him. Sometimes, in her dreams, they had kissed, but other times, he had just been there for her, comforting her. She always woke up feeling safe and confident after those dreams. Christian had the same effect on her. Though he didn’t take her in his arms and hug her or kiss her, he could place a hand on her shoulder when he saw she was frightened, and with a few comforting words have her back to her old self. She needed that. She knew that with her Powers she would have to be active in the fight against Voldemort. She could not run away when she was that strong, strong enough to provide protection and shelter. She knew that, and it scared her.

But the confusing thing was that Harry had -in her dreams- started to turn into her professor, something that made her embarrassed. He always ended out as Harry, but if she had one of those dreams where they kissed, and she suddenly looked up into a couple of blue eyes, or finding her fingers playing with dark brown hair, she always yelped in shock, before she woke up, thoroughly embarrassed. Was it normal to have such fantasies, about two different boys? Especially when she, theoretically, could only fall in love with one person? Hermione decided he had to get her mind onto something else, and therefore she decided to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team as they practised. Ron was the captain now, and chaser, while Ginny was the seeker. She wasn’t as good as Harry had been, though.

It was a nice day, it was cold though the sun was shining, almost blinding them when reflected in the snow. Hermione watched as they zoomed around, but it was cold outside, so after a while she decided to go back to the castle. As she rose, and started walking back, she saw seven other students approaching the Quidditch pitch. Hermione couldn't hear McGonagall, when she told the students to assemble in the Great Hall, so she couldn’t know that everything wasn’t as it was supposed to be. She soon discovered it though.

They hadn’t seen her, but she saw one of them, a Hufflepuff, raise his wand and fire a stunning curse. A second year Gryffindor, one of the new chasers, fell off his broom and hit the snow with a ‘flop’. Hopefully, the snow prevented him from being killed in the fall. Hermione and the other Gryffindors stared in shock. Then a new ‘flop’ could be heard. A sixth year Gryffindor, Samuel Johnson, had stunned the Gryffindor keeper, and they saw him aiming at Ron. Now, the Gryffindors may be described as ‘stupid, impulsive, goody-two-shoes’ by the Slytherins, but no one can say they are slow. Startled and confused, Ron managed to dodge the curse by inches. Hermione froze when she realised it had been the Avada Kedavra curse. But, being the brave Gryffindor she was, she quickly charmed her eyes so they would look brown even though she used her Pectal powers, and had a stick, an aiming stick, as Professor Atos had told her to make, ready. She could now use her Pectal powers, and no one would suspect anything, as the aiming stick looked exactly as her wand. Don’t use your Powers too much, Hermione. She reminded herself. You’ll just tire yourself. Then she flung herself into the fight.

To Hermione it felt like hours, but it was only minutes. Neither of the sides intended to give in, and the attackers had put up powerful shields, which they couldn’t get through, and Hermione didn’t dare to use her Powers if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But when their attackers started using the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse instead of the Stunning Curse or other not-so-dangerous curses, Hermione decided she had to do something. Without anyone noticing, she switched her wand for her AS (Aiming Stick), and concentrated. A blast of power later, and their shield was down. It was then the teachers decided to make their appearance.

Soon, they were all down, but just as Hermione was about to cheer, she felt the presence of something evil, and it was not the students who had attacked them who was the source. She turned, and behind her, out of the Forbidden Forest, came at least fifty Death Eaters. Hermione gasped. They had no chances of reaching the castle! Hermione froze in fear. She was to young to die! She hadn’t yet graduated!

Then, Professor Atos was there. Hermione’s mind snapped out of panic. She took a deep breath, and fired a stunning curse through the stick. It hit one of them square in his chest, and flung him and two others to the ground. Professor Atos smiled approvingly but stiffly, concentrating on his own fight. Hermione was amazed at her own powers; she had never used them in a fight before. She also noticed that her Professor knew quite a number of curses she didn’t, so she started to imitate him, using some of the curses she saw him use. She focused on her task, and barely noticed the other teachers and students, who also were fighting around them.

Yet, the attackers were too many, and the defenders too few. Hermione guessed that they had orders not to kill, cause no one was dead yet, at least she didn’t think anyone was, but that made her even more terrified. What if they had orders to take everyone as prisoners! She would rather be dead than captured by Death Eaters! She sensed someone behind her back, turned quickly and disarmed two Death Eaters who was about to stun her or kill her. She heard somebody yell, and the same words were repeated over and over again.

“Get the girl! If we cannot catch her, then we’ll kill her!”

It dawned for her. They knew! They knew about her! They were here to take her! Dead or alive! Everyone went for her! Terrified she looked around. Only Dumbledore, Atos, McGonagall, Ron and Ginny were standing. We’re losing, Hermione thought terrified. They’re too many, and we’re too few. We’re going to die.

A sudden movement. One of the Death Eaters raised his wand and pointed at her. They had decided that she was better dead than alive.

“Avada Kedavra!” he shouted. As in a trance, Hermione saw the green light come closer. And closer. And closer.

Then…

“Hermione!” In slow motion, she saw Professor Atos throw himself in between her and the curse. It hit him on the left side of his head, and he was thrown backwards, over her head and landed in the snow behind her.

Hermione screamed.

Just then, about 80 Aurors could be seen, on brooms heading towards them. The Death Eater sneered, and again he directed his wand at Hermione.

====================

7. Trust Your Instincts

Chapter Seven: Trust Your Instincts

“Avada Ke-“

He never finished.

“Expelliarmus!” someone shouted. The Death Eater’s wand flew out of his hand. “Shetark!*” the same voice cried. The Death Eater fell, like if someone had given him a really hard knock on his head.

Time stopped. Everybody turned, Death Eater, student and teacher. Behind Hermione stood Professor Atos, on his one knee, pale as a ghost, arm outstretched and wand pointing at the Death Eaters, shivering slightly. His other arm embraced his stomach where you could see blood slowly and silently seeping out and dripping in small drops onto the snow, colouring it in a crimson colour.

Professor McGonagall’s jaw dropped, and Ginny fell off her broom, as everyone stared at Christian, forgetting about the great peril they were in. Fortunately, the Death Eaters now noticed the approaching Aurors, and seeing as these people apparently had found a way to shield the Killing Curse, they decided that they would rather face a furious Voldemort, than a furious Auror squadron. So therefore, they fled. They transfigured whatever they found into broomsticks or something similar, and mounted as they fired curses against the Aurors. If they had managed to stay calm they could in fact have defeated them, as the Aurors had split up and half of them went to help the defenders of the Great Hall, which also was under attack. But the Death Eaters panicked and fled, running and flying here and there, and made themselves easy targets for the Aurors, who soon had the situation under control. Only a few could return to their Lord that day. As most of the Aurors were running around catching Death Eaters, their leader and a few others, Hermione, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Ron and Ginny gathered around Christian, most of them in shock, not believing what they had seen. Though, if Dumbledore was surprised, he didn’t show it. Professor Atos struggled to his feet, and stood swaying a couple of seconds. Then he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Dumbledore was at his side in an instant and turned him over, so he lay face up. His eyes were closed, but he was breathing, though forcefully.

Quickly, Dumbledore got Christian onto a stretcher he conjured up, and the same thing was done to the other unconscious students and teachers who were wounded, not only stunned. Professor Flitwick was one of them; as he was a skilled dueller he had disabled quite a few of the Death Eaters, and in the end one of them had managed to hit his wand-hand with a cutting curse. One could only hope he ever would be able to use it properly again.

Carefully they approached the Great Hall, in case the Death Eaters had managed to take it. To their great relief, the Aurors and the Order of Phoenix had everything under control, and no students, except those who had been on the Quidditch pitch, had been involved in the fight. They had been lucky. Hurriedly, the injured were brought up to the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey already had her hands full. As she started fussing over Professor Atos, Hermione asked the question everybody (who had seen it) thought of.

“Professor, how could he survive the Killing Curse?” she asked, bewildered, worried and scared.

Professor Dumbledore shook his head. “I don’t know, Miss Granger. We’ll have to ask him when he wakes up.” Then, as an afterthought, he added: “If he wakes up.”

~*~

“Poppy, how is he?” Dumbledore asked.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “Not good, Albus. I don’t think he’ll live.” She shook her head sadly. “And such a fine young man he is, too.”

“Yes, he is.” Dumbledore said, thoughtfully. “Is it the Avada Kedavra which is killing him, Poppy? Or is it something else?”

“It is not the Killing Curse. I can find no sign of this curse on him, but you say he was hit by it, so I have to believe you. Mind you, Headmaster, if it hadn’t been you who told me this, I would never believe it. But it isn’t the curse, it is his wounds. One of them I could heal pretty easily, as it was caused by a simple cutting curse. It’s the other one which worries me. I’ve never seen anything like it. It seems like someone has cast a curse which not only cut the victim, but also ages the wound and gives it an infection. I would say it’s a two month old wound with an infection, but it couldn’t possibly be that, as he must have got it in the fight today. So I guess it must be a newly invented curse, and I cannot heal it. I fear if I try it will kill him.” Madam Pomfrey looked distressed at the thought of not being able to heal a person, and she hurriedly left as one of her other patients needed her expertise, or ‘fussing’ as so many students had called it. Not so she could hear it of course. Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. If not everybody had been in such a complete shock after the attack on Hogwarts, someone might have noticed that he was uncommonly thoughtful, even for him.

When Madam Pomfrey had finished her check on Professor Flitwick’s damaged wrist, and announced to a happy Professor that his wrist was healing well, and would be completely as before again, Dumbledore quietly told her to move Professor Atos over to a private room. He knew one who could help.

~*~

“But what if I do it wrong? What if he dies?” Hermione asked, her voice shivering slightly.

“Don’t worry, Miss Granger. No matter what you do, you can’t do any worse than it already is. He’s dying.” Hermione gasped as Professor Dumbledore confirmed what she already suspected. As a Healer she could sense if someone was dead or just sleeping, and though this part of her gift hadn’t developed much yet, she could almost feel the grip death had on her Professor. He saved your life. You owe him this. You have to try at least, her inner voice told her. She took a deep breath and walked over to the chair beside the bed. Madam Pomfrey looked somewhat confused, though Dumbledore had told her that Hermione had a Healing Talent. Hermione couldn’t blame her.

Hermione forced herself to relax, and started her ‘search’. All she had to do was to touch his shoulder lightly. She sent small silver threads into him, searching for damaged parts. She knew she could heal him, if she only could find the wound’s core. Her magic would then help his cells to heal faster. She concentrated so hard on her task that she didn’t hear Madam Pomfrey’s amazed gasp when she saw Hermiones’ silver eyes. Her first tries to use her Powers had only caused her pupils and irises to turn silver, but now, the whole eyeball was silver. And this was the difference between the Healing Talent, the Shapeshifting Talent and the other Talents. You didn’t need to have Pectal or Citatio Powers for any of the Talents, except this Healing and Shapeshifting, but yet, not every Pectal and Citatio had the gift. It was a Talent among the Citatios and Pectals, and no average witch or wizard could have it. Hermione didn’t know if Citatios could have it either. Maybe it was a Talent only Pectals could have. Hermione suspected that it wasn’t the only ‘special’ Talent, the ‘others’ just hadn’t been discovered yet. After all, it was a thousand years since the last Pectal and Citatio lived.

As she ‘searched’ deeper she could feel his magic, the magic which is in everyone, even muggles. The difference between muggles and magicians are that the magic in muggles cannot be released, but muggles have magic. They just can’t use it.

As she ‘searched’ his magic, she noticed that he was a strong wizard. She could sense the ‘threads’ of magic in him, and he was currently using a bit. He had two ‘knots’ on the ‘threads’, one big one, and one smaller one. Pectals and Citatios was able to ‘analyse’ magic, and the small one had to be a charm or something, though it couldn’t possibly be something taking much power, as the remaining ‘threads’ showed him so powerful. She decided she wouldn’t touch it, as she didn’t know what it was. Probably an easy wandless spell, which every wizard or witch could do. Later, she would discover that this small knot was the magic which held the ‘Christian-form’ in place, and that it took pretty much of his power. If she had removed it, she would have been able to see the full extent of his power. He would also transform back to Harry.

The bigger knot however, was made with a wand. It was an advanced spell, but it was ‘dead’. It wasn’t functioning anymore. It was a kind of ‘use-and-trash’ spell. She quickly un-tied it, and for a second his body glowed blue. Hermione frowned, but she couldn’t find that anything had happened, except that the big knot was gone.

She ignored the smaller ‘knot’ and followed the magical ‘streams’ in Christian’s body. If a wizard -or muggle- is hurt, his or her magic will automatically try to heal him; it is called the ‘healing process’. But without steering it will not heal properly, and only Pectals/Citatios with Healing Talent can steer and strenghten it, though medi-wizard and –witches’s healing potions and charms, and muggle medecine can help it a great deal.

Now all Hermione had to do, was to find the place where his magic centred, and she would find the place where she should start her healing process.

She almost gasped when she found it. Injured and destroyed cells, many of them infected. The sickness had not yet reached any organs, but it would have in a day or two. Quickly she began the healing, and her magic joined his magic in the process. She took the control and together their magic was stronger than the infection. Cell upon cell was rebuilt, infection upon infection was defeated. It was almost like a battle-ground, where she didn’t lose a centimetre, but gained ground every second.

Finally nothing was left to heal. Slowly but surely she withdrew. Her magic had been so long in his body that he needed a few seconds to get used to his own magic again. At least she was out. She managed to notice that it was dark outside; she’d been there for hours. Then she fainted of exhaustion.

~*~

The exhausted Hermione was placed in a bed in a private room. Madam Pomfrey had checked her and found nothing but total exhaustion. Fortunately for Hermione, her cover-story had been ‘lessons with Madam Pomfrey’, so no one would get suspicious when she didn’t return to the Gryffindor common room at once. They would only assume that she was helping the injured. Dumbledore returned to his office, where he had a long conversation with the leader of the Auror squadron, Jonathan Storm. He was a young, sympathetic man, and he could tell Dumbledore that his commanders did everything they could to get Fudge removed. Though the man had admitted that You-Know-Who had returned, Fudge was doing his best to make Storm’s job as difficult as possible. He refused to let anyone be trained as Aurors, and he still refused to let out the truth about Harry Potter.

“Quote: ‘Such information will set our world in an uproar. We don’t know if it’s true either; this ‘illusion’ could be a trick from Potter.’ Unquote.” The brown haired man sighed. “And he won’t even listen! Mr. Potter is both powerful and smart when he’s able to escape Azkaban and keep us fooled with an illusion for two years! How old was he at the time? Sixteen?”

“Fifteen,” Dumbledore answered.

“Oh. Well, it cannot be a hoax. And not one of our spies among the Death Eaters has told anything about him, so he isn’t trying to join You-Know-Who either.” Jonathan said, dejected. “But will Fudge listen? Noooo.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “An election is planned, and will take place in a month or so. I do not believe that Cornelius will be re-elected. We must also make sure that Lucius Malfoy is not elected, something that can happen, as he has many supporters.”

“But that’s easy!” Jonathan exclaimed. “You say his son was the one who invited them in. That should be enough.”

“I’m afraid not, Jonathan. My binding to the shields and Hogwarts herself can tell me who invited them, and where they are when they are on Hogwarts' ground, but there is no way I can prove it,” Dumbledore replied.

Jonathan sighed. “And we won’t get anything out of those we captured, as they don’t know anything. Then how are we going to kick Malfoy’s ass?” Then he blushed, as he realised what he’d said, in front of the one wizard Voldemort feared.

Dumbledore smiled amusedly. “Ah, how are we going to do that?” he asked no one in particularly. Jonathan sat up eagerly; he’d worked a bit together with the Headmaster, though he was almost a century older than him, and knew this look.

“What do you have in mind?” he asked. The Headmaster was planning something, that much was obvious.

“A niece of Professor McGonagall will help us.” When Dumbledore saw the confused look at the younger man’s face, he continued. “Marice Newman. She didn’t flee to Asia as many believed.” The confused expression on Jonathan’s face turned to one of delight.

“How excellent! She will be able to get people to distrust Malfoy!” Then he raised an eyebrow at the Headmaster. “Honestly Albus, how did you end up in Gryffindor?” Dumbledore chose to ignore the question.

“And we need a valid candidate. One who will take the problem seriously, and then we need Marice to ‘recommend’ him.” Dumbledore said, and Jonathan grinned. The man had a plan for everything! “Do you have anyone who would be fitting for the position?” Dumbledore then asked.

Jonathan frowned. “I’d like to have someone close to the Aurors and The Order of Phoenix. Preferably a secret Order of Phoenix member working at the Ministry.”

“You and I have the same person in mind then?”

“If you are thinking Arthur Weasley; yes,” Jonathan answered.

“Indeed.” Dumbledore said. “Marice will do what she can. But now, to more urgent matters.” Dumbledore turned serious. “It worries me that they managed to attack Hogwarts. We need more protection. Frankly speaking I didn’t believe that Voldemort” –Jonathan flinched- “would attack the school so soon. I didn’t think he was strong enough.”

“That will be taken care of. I have orders to leave twenty of my men here at Hogwarts, and powerful spellcasters will be sent to put up additional wards,” the Auror said. “Of course, we cannot provide absolute protection, but no one can in these days.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I understand.”

They sat in silence a while, both men in deep thought. Jonathan spoke first. “I’m astounded, I didn’t know anyone could survive the Avada Kedavra curse.”

“Indeed, I have only heard of it once. And then Lily Potter provided it.” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “He’s still unconscious in the Hospital wing. We have to wait until he awakes before we can question him.”

“I’d like to know more about him; he’s a better dueller than my best men. He must be very powerful.” Jonathan said.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore answered. “He’s a very good Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor too. His parents were Death Eaters. He escaped from them and came to Beauxbatons.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows went up. “Death Eaters you say? Do you know their names?”

“Ahh, yes. Let me think…Anderson. Eric and Michelle Anderson. He changed his name to Atos when he came to Beauxbatons, not to be recognised.” Dumbledore said, and Jonathan frowned again.

“Anderson? I just…”

Dumbledore looked at him curiously. “Something wrong?”

Jonathan shook his head. “No, I just didn’t know they had a son. Of course, the Eric Anderson I’ve heard of doesn’t have to be Mr. Atos father.” He paused. “You don’t mind if I do some research on him?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “Not at all.”

Jonathan nodded thoughtfully, not noticing he’d sent Dumbledore deeper into thought. After a while Dumbledore broke out of his thoughts, and into Jonathan’s.

“Now, I think that was all. When do you leave?” the Headmaster asked.

“Tomorrow I guess, after I’ve spoken to Mr. Atos.” Jonathan replied pointedly, emphasising that there was no way the Headmaster could stop him.

“Very well,” Dumbledore answered, somewhat amused. “We’ll talk then. Good night.”

“Good night,” Jonathan said, and left the Headmaster to his own thoughts.

~*~

Darkness. Pain. But what was that smell? Then he recognised it. The all too familiar ‘Hospital Wing’ smell. He groaned. Not again!

Harry stirred and tried to open his eyes. He shut them immediately, as he found the light painfully bright. He groaned again, and tried to move, but stopped, as pain shot through his body. What happened? He opened his eyes again, more cautiously. He could see the blurred form of the Headmaster. What a surprise. Isn’t he always here when I decide to get myself killed?

“Harry?” Dumbledore said. “Can you hear me?”

Harry grunted. “Yes, I can hear yo-“ Memories came flooding back, Christian, The Golden Mask, Azkaban, Voldemort, the fight. “Shit.” Noooo! How could I be so stupid!!! Harry did his best to resist the temptation it was to jump out of the window. Dumbledore didn’t seem to hear his cursing.

“Indeed,” he said. “To think you’ve been here all term, and I didn’t find out. I’m getting old.”

Harry continued to curse himself in his head. Damn! Damn! DAMN!

“No need to be so angry,” Dumbledore continued. “I haven’t told anyone. In fact you only just confirmed my suspicions.”

I’m gonna hang myself. No, scratch that; jump off a cliff.

“And now I’m curious. Are you really the Citatio?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry groaned. Despite the pain he drew himself up in a sitting position, and managed to get Dumbledore into focus. He glared at the Headmaster, who seemed overly amused.

“You know I could blast you from here to the South Pole without much effort?” he asked.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Harry groaned again and laid his head in his hands. It was no use remaining in this ‘Christian’ form any longer, and he sensed powerful silencing and locking charms on the whole room. He then noticed that it wasn’t the Hospital Wing. Oh, great. I’ve got my own room. Does Madam Pomfrey think I’m going to make this a habit?

He searched inside himself and froze. His hand went to the infected wound. It wasn’t there. His eyes widened in fear, and he searched frantically for the small disturbance or ‘knot’ in his magic which held ‘Christian’ in place. Then he sighed. It was still there, un-changed. Hermione hadn’t touched it when she healed him. She’d only removed the remainder of the Avada Kedavra block. What if she suddenly had found herself healing her Professor in one second, and then him the next? Catastrophe was an understatement. He removed it.

“My, my, Harry, you have changed.” Dumbledore said, eyeing the youth in front of him. And he had. The scrawny little boy he’d had as a student two years ago was gone. He was still lean and slender, but now tall, muscled and well-proportioned. His emerald-green eyes shone with a special and intense light, and his unruly black hair was as unruly as ever, though shorter.

“Two years is a long time,” Harry answered calmly. “Especially when you are alone.” Dumbledore sighed when he heard the bitterness in his voice. It wasn’t much, but it was there. It hurt to know that he had been one of those who caused it.

“Harry, I have, for the whole year wanted to apologise for what I did.” Harry was silent. There was no need for the Headmaster to apologise, as he had forgiven him long ago, but he sensed that it was important to him, if not only for his own sake. “I know it cannot change what happened, and I know it is stupid to go around and feel guilty, as I told you numerous times after your fourth year. And despite the potion I was given, I feel like I should have known better. So I’m sorry.”

Harry smiled slightly.“Thank you, Professor. I have already forgiven you. And as you said, nothing can change the past. But now I want to know how you figured it.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Ahh. I didn’t start to suspect you before you started the training with Ms. Granger. You seemed to know what she felt and thought, like you had been friends for a long time. I also suspected that you –though I didn’t know it was you then- were the Citatio, and you knew very much about them, being the seventeen year old you are. Later, I noticed that you were very familiar with the castle; you didn’t come too late to one staff-meeting with the excuse ‘I got lost’, you knew about the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry-“

“What!” Harry exclaimed. “I tried to hide that fact!”

“You also managed it. To everybody except me. You also seemed overly amused when conversing with Severus, as if you knew something he didn’t.” Dumbledore said.

Harry grinned. It had been very funny playing with Snape. He could only hope he never found out. Dumbledore continued. “The final piece snapped into place when I told Jonathan Storm that you’d said you were the son of Eric and Michelle Anderson. He didn’t seem to think that the couple had a son.”

Harry nodded. “I know, it was the only flaw in my plan. But to my defence I have to say that I didn’t have much time. I had to get into Beauxbatons as fast as possible and get my graduation papers, so I had a background-story.”

“Indeed. But you graduated after only a year. Where were you the following year?” The Headmaster inquired, and Harry sighed. It was no use in keeping secrets from him, he could might as well tell him.

“Oxford,” he said. “I took some muggle courses. That’s how I found out how to block the Avada Kedavra.”

“You aren’t the only wizard who has taken muggle courses, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“No, but I’m the most brilliant so far. I think, only Hermione could do it better than me.” He said it in a normal tone, not bragging.

“Yes, indeed.” Dumbledore said. “She refused to skip sixth year and go directly to seventh. Wouldn’t be an outsider, she said.”

Harry smiled slightly. That was Hermione all right. Beautiful, loving, sweet Hermione. He sighed. He couldn’t disregard it anymore; he had admitted for himself that he had feelings for her. Not as a Professor, not as a friend, but as something more. He’d even come so far that he felt he could trust her. But he wouldn’t let himself trust her. He had to tell her, soon, and then it would be difficult to keep the professional distance he needed. She was growing stronger, and he feared the day when she would discover her Soul-Searching. If she didn’t know about him then, she would find out by reading his memories, as no mental shield could stand against Soul-Searching when not controlled, and that was why everyone who was discovered to have this Talent were ‘stilled’, as it was called. A block was placed in his or her mind, so the person wasn’t able to read memories unless another person used the special ‘Memory Block’ charm to remove it. Only a few persons knew this charm, everyone were questioners for the court, and when they stepped down their memory were modified. This were done to persons who had the Mind-readinga Talent too. However Harry wouldn’t allow this to happen to Hermione; it was to valuable in the fight against Voldemort. The only problem was that other persons with Soul-Searching Talent could sense other Soul-Searchers, even though they were stilled, and the same went for the other Talents. He knew that they sent such persons to Hogwarts regularly to check on the students, and he’d had lot of trouble hiding from them when he was a student.

But the main problem was that the same thing as when she discovered her Empathy would happen; she would read everybodys’ memories until she figured how to control it. He had to tell her before that happened, because if he didn’t, he doubted she would ever trust him. He shook it off. They didn’t need trust, only co-operation. And whether she liked it or not, they would soon be forced to co-operate. He didn’t like it in the least- He cursed himself again. His head had probably not recovered properly from the Avada Kedavra.

“Hermione!” he suddenly exclaimed, shocked that he had forgotten to ask about her. “How is she?”

“Exhausted and sleeping, but fine. Still in shock I believe. She was the one they were after; they knew she was a Pectal.” Dumbledore answered.

Harry sighed in relief. “Yes, they did. I had a vision about it at the staff meeting.”

“Ahh, so it was a vision. I thought so,” Dumbledore said.

Harry’s eyebrows arched into his hairline. “Does anything go by without you noticing?” he asked incredulously.

“Not much,” Dumbledore chuckled. Then he turned serious. “You should tell her.”

Harry bowed his head. “I-I know.” He’d wanted to tell her more than once, when he saw her struggle with a task he’d given her, wanting to please him, but not making it; or when she was close to fainting from exhaustion; or close to tears of frustration or pain. It was difficult being a Citatio or a Pectal, and sometimes he so dearly wanted to scoop her into his arms and tell her that he was Harry, and that he was the Citatio. It would have made it so much easier for her. But he never did. And he hated himself for it. It was cowardly, he knew. He didn’t dare to trust her out of fear of getting hurt, and he caused her pain in the process. That much for a Gryffindor.

Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. “I’m going to bring Jonathan in here. He is very curious on how you managed to reflect the Killing curse. I hope, for your secrecy’s sake, that it doesn’t require Citatio Powers, because that could be difficult to explain.” Harry nodded and as Dumbledore stood, he changed back to Christian.

“And Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes?”

“Remember: Always trust your instincts,” the Headmaster advised.

It took a couple seconds before Harry realised what he meant. ‘Trust your instinct’ was something he’d told Hermione hundreds upon hundreds of times. Dumbledore said he should trust his instincts concerning Hermione. He sat dumb-struck, a slight blush creeping onto his face. He’s a Mind-reader or something? No, then I would know. He’d didn’t often try to read anybody’s mind, but he could sense other Mind-readers when they were around.

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore chuckled. “No, Harry, I’m not a Mind-reader. I’m an Empath.” Oh. That makes sense. Explains a lot. Dumbledore removed the silencing charms and locking charms and slipped out of the room. Christian laid back on his pillow. But how did he manage to hide that from Hermione? As an Empath she should be able to sense other Empaths. I’m never going to understand the man. Harry sighed. And note to self: Never let your shields down, especially not in his presence…

~*~

“Professor Atos?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at the man who had entered his private ‘Hospital Wing’. “Yes, Mr. Storm? Anything I can help you with?”

“Yes, I think there is,” the man answered. “Firstly, you have managed something the wizarding world has tried to accomplish for years; blocking the killing curse. Secondly, I do believe you are hiding something. I know about a –now dead- Death Eater couple, named Eric and Michelle Anderson, who you say you are the son of. As far as I know, they never had any children. Please explain this, Professor.”

Harry smiled wryly. “I’ll do that, Mr. Storm,” he said, and waited until Jonathan met his gaze. “Mr. Jonathan Storm. I’m going to tell you about the killing curse. But the matter concerning Eric and Michelle Anderson and me, you shall ignore. It doesn’t matter to you. When you leave this room, you will be content with the answer you got, and ask no more,” he said, and Jonathan Storm’s eyes glazed over as Harry used his Persuasion Talent on him. Three seconds later he snapped out of it, looking confused for a couple of seconds.

“Ahh, yes. I’d like to know how you managed to block the killing curse, Mr. Atos,” he said. “If my Aurors could block it, we would get an advantage on the Death Eaters.”

“Yes, Mr. Storm, that’s an interesting question,” Harry said. “I figured it when I studied at Oxford. Oxford is a Muggle University,” he added when he saw Jonathan didn’t recognise it. “You see, when a human dies, all the cells in his or her body stop working. So when hit by the Avada Kedavra, this curse kill every cell in your body. However, I figured it is possible to fool it. What if you make an exact copy of every cell, and then lower the temperature in your real cells?”

Jonathan’s eyes lit up. “The Avada Kedavra will ‘think’ the copy is you, and that you are a dead thing. It cannot hurt a dead thing, so it will kill the copy, but not you. Brilliant, Mr. Atos!”

Harry smiled. “Yes, but making an exact copy of yourself is a bit difficult, and a bit visible. So, I tried to make some kind of shield that the curse could mistake for me, and that was invisible. Therefore, I made a copy of my skin-cells, and made it invisible. Once used, it must be renewed. I hadn’t tested it on humans before. But I guess it worked, didn’t it?” He asked dryly.

Jonathan grinned. “Still needs some work, as you were unconscious for a whole night and day. Better than dead, though.” You bet. I would have managed quite fine if it hadn’t been for that damn wound.

~*~

“You did that on purpose!” The male said, furious. The girl squirmed. “So you couldn’t join their attack. You know that means you have no useful information for me either?” the girl squirmed again at the threatening tone in the male’s voice. “Next time, don’t fake a fall off your broom to end up in the Hospital Wing before a big attock or something equally important, or you’ll regret it!” The girl tried to get loose from the grip he had on her shoulder. “Promise me that,” he hissed.

“I-I promise,” she gasped, frightened, before jerking her arm away, and running down the corridor, towards the dungeons. The red-haired male followed her as she ran, a scowl on his face. But then it changed. The scowl disappeared, and was replaced with an expression of confusion, anger, hatred and regret. But it wasn’t directed at the girl.

“What am I doing?” he muttered to himself. “What am I doing?”

Harry’s eyes flew open. He was in the Hospital Wing, and it was dark outside.

“Oh, Ron, what are you doing?”

~*~

It was weird. Ron didn’t really know what to do. He was getting to Parvati, and he had an established, private spy among the Death Eaters. All he needed now, was to graduate and accomplish Auror training. He should be content. Yet he wasn’t. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it had something with this…’feeling’, in his stomach. He didn’t have any word for it, nor a way to describe it. But it was there. It wasn’t unfamiliar; he’d felt the same in his first year, when they tried to get the Stone before Quirrell, and in his second year, when Harry and Ginny were trapped in the Chamber of Secrets. Both times, Harry ran off with the honour. He’d also felt it in his fourth year, when Harry and Diggory were taken away by the portkey. He had in fact almost ruined everything with his jealousy, and almost destroyed his ‘friendship’ with Harry. The boy had been so naïve, he had believed him when he told him he was sorry. Yet he didn’t deserve what he’d got.

He’d had the same feeling this summer, when rumours said Harry was innocent. Later, Hermione had confirmed it, and told that Harry had escaped from Azkaban two years prior. Yet, he’d felt guilty because of that with Harry. Indeed, guilty. Can you believe that? He hadn’t been anything more than a tool to him anyway.

But then again, it was this ‘feeling’. It came every time she was out on a meeting or an assignment given by the ‘Lord’. Every time, it felt like someone had hit him in his stomach. Maybe he was sick or something.

_______________________

* Shetark: A curse that makes a person lose conciousness completely for at least ten minutes. Cast with more force, the victim will be unconcious for a longer amount of time.

====================

8. Pure Power

Chapter Eight: Pure Power

Sirius sighed. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The man just showed up, saved a number of lives, and disappeared. To sum it up, they had very little information on him:

One: He always wore crimson robes and a red cloak with golden rims. He always had his hood up, and this blasted golden mask, so they could see neither his hair colour nor his face.

Two: He was a man. That much was sure now, as one of the Aurors had been close enough to see that he was certainly not a woman. He had the height and body of a human, but one could never know. They assumed he was a human however.

Three: He was extremely powerful, though not invincible; they knew almost for sure that he had been hurt during one of his battles, and he hadn’t appeared out of nowhere for a while after that. Sirius was sure that this man was even more powerful than Dumbledore himself.

Four: He certainly wasn’t on the Dark side, though some of the Ministry seemed to think otherwise. Sirius had had enough of the Ministry anyway, so he refused to think about it, as it would only anger him.

Five: He had appeared for the first time last summer, almost seven month ago.

Six: Err… Well, there was no “Six”.

That was why Sirius and Remus had spent the last few months in disguise (except under the full moon, that is), searching for information among the criminals, low-ranking Death Eaters and normal people. This meant you had to spend the better part of the night sitting in a pub or something, and other times waiting in the darkness for an informant. Yet, they had found nothing. Sirius would rather search for his godson, but Dumbledore said no. If Harry didn’t want to be found, then they shouldn’t search for him. Sirius slumped onto his bed in the small wizarding inn, groaning. It had been many years since he was able to stay up the whole night and not show any sign of it the next day. Now he couldn’t really recall how he had done it, or how youths did it today. But right now he just wanted to sleep. Was it age or Azkaban that had reduced him to a sleepy old wizard? Sirius didn’t really care at the time; he was sound asleep before his head hit the pillow.

~*~

“Go away!” Sirius muttered, and used his hand to push away the ‘someone’ who dared to interrupt his sleep. He hit nothing but air. There was a flapping of wings, then a hoot. Sirius turned over in his half-sleep, intending to go back to sleep, though hadn’t actually woken up. But sadly, this bed wasn’t as big as the one he’d managed to get used to after he was pardoned. With a ‘thud’, he fell out of the bed.

“Ooof!” he exclaimed, before he noticed the owl, which had caused his rather uncomfortable awakening. He glared angrily at the owl, which seemed completely unfazed. He got up from the floor, and freed the owl from its burden, though not very kindly. The owl took off into the morning with a look that clearly said: ‘Really!’ Sirius rolled his eyes and unfolded the letter.

Sirius, Remus,

Return to Hogwarts immediately.

Albus.

Sirius frowned. Why were they so suddenly ordered back to Hogwarts? Could something have happened? Nah, then Dumbledore would have mentioned it. But wasn’t he very keen on finding the Golden Mask? After all, he had ordered them out on this mission. Oh, well, Sirius thought. He probably wants to tell us something that cannot be told by owl because an owl could be intercepted. But what could that be? The attack? But that’s four days ago already. He would have owled sooner if it was that. Wouldn’t he?

“Remus?” he called, knocking on the door leading into his friend’s room. “We’re going back.”

~*~

“Why so nervous, Christian?” Dumbledore asked jovially. Harry scowled at him. Dumbledore chuckled. “Remember, you got yourself into this all alone. You could have told him two years ago.” Harry groaned. This was going to be more difficult than he thought. Honestly, he could use some sympathy!

“Take it easy, Harry, he’s not going to kill you, you know.”

“Oh? You’re so sure about that?” Harry muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, Dumbledore heard him, and was clearly amused by it. As he heard someone on the stairs that led up to the Headmaster’s office, Harry groaned again, before pulling himself together and putting on the emotionless expression of Christian Atos, the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor. Someone knocked on the door, and Dumbledore called: “Come in,”

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin entered, both looking tired and worn out, but they smiled and shook hands with the old Headmaster. They then noticed Christian (Harry), and frowned slightly, as if wondering why he was there. Harry inwardly grimaced as he was introduced to his godfather and Remus as ‘Professor Christian Atos, our Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor’. Help! This was going to be worse than he thought. Dumbledore seemed awfully amused.

“Ahh,” Dumbledore said when they were finished with the shaking of hands. “What do you have to report? Found anything?” Again, the two men shot suspicious glances at Christian.

“Nothing Albus.” Sirius said. “The man appears and disappears without a trace. People have begun to give him a new nick-name: ‘The Crimson Shadow’.”

“He comes and goes and no one knows who he is.” Remus added.

“Indeed, indeed.” Dumbledore said. “But I believe I have news about this ‘Golden Mask/Crimson Shadow’,” he said, which made Sirius and Remus jump in their chairs.

“Oh?” Remus said.

“What?” Sirius exclaimed.

“Yes, indeed. He is sitting right there,” Dumbledore said (still awfully amused), and nodded towards Christian, who was now wearing the red and gold outfit of the Golden Mask. Remus and Sirius spent the next few minutes as fish on dry land. Harry/Christian/The Golden Mask sighed, as they didn’t seem like they planned to find their tongues again very soon.

“As a matter of fact, Christian Atos is not his true identity either, but that you may have guessed already,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling merrily. Harry glared at the Headmaster, who was thoroughly amused, dropped both disguises, and stood there as just plain Harry. Well, there wasn’t much plain about him though.

Next moment, Harry found himself being strangled.

“S-Sirius,” he managed to choke out. “I-I n-need to bre-athe!” Sirius released him from the bear hug, only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him violently.

“Where have you been?” Sirius shouted. “I’ve been so worried! Why didn’t you come to me? I would have hidden you those years you were supposed to be in Azkaban! And afterwards too!”

“Sirius,” Harry said calmly.

“I never believed you were guilty, Harry, you know that.”

“Sirius,”

“You are a free man now Harry, no, a free boy. I’m your godfather, and I have promised to take care of you. Why didn’t you come to me?”

“Sirius!” Harry shouted. Sirius stopped abruptly. “It was easiest that way,” he said softly.

“How? What do you mean? Easier?” But despite the question, Sirius understood. He’d been charged with murder himself, and he knew how hard it was to trust anyone after that.

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long day. And night.

~*~

“So Hermione is a Pectal, you’re a Citatio, and this prophecy claims that the two of you are those who shall cause the downfall of Voldemort?”

“Yes, Remus. We cannot be entirely sure, of course, but that is probably it.” Harry answered patiently. Sirius and Remus nodded thoughtfully.

“Does Hermione know?” Sirius asked after a while.

Harry grimaced. “She knows she’s a Pectal. She doesn’t know about the prophecy or me yet. She has to know soon however.”

Sirius frowned at Harry’s grimace. "And you’re not happy with it,” he said, half question, half statement.

“No. How do you think she will react? First she believed me to be a murderer for two years, and now I’ve tricked her for half a year with this ‘Christian Atos’ disguise. Do you think she will take that easily?” Harry said grimly, and Remus shook his head. He’d been their teacher for a year, and knew Hermione pretty well.

“She’ll feel betrayed, as she will understand you did it because you didn’t trust her. She won’t like it one bit. It’s one heck of a mess you’ve got yourself into, Harry,’ Remus said.

Harry grimaced again. “Maybe I should have told her from the beginning, that would’ve made things so much easier,” he said, and Sirius nodded solemnly. “What a support you are,” Harry said, scowling at his godfather.

Sirius grinned. “Harry, are you frightened of her?” he asked, teasingly. Harry raised an eyebrow, but before he could retort, Dumbledore interrupted.

“Not of Hermione, but of her reaction,” he said mysteriously, and no one but Harry understood. He didn’t want Hermione to be hurt because of what he did, something she probably would be. He wanted her to… He wanted to trust her, and he wanted her to trust him. In more ways than one. Dumbledore’s knowledge of his feelings was quite disturbing and embarrassing, and Harry felt a small blush reach his checks. Luckily, Sirius didn’t notice, as he was trying to decipher what Dumbledore had said, but Remus did. As realisation hit him, he couldn’t help smiling a bit, but managed to hide it before Harry looked his way.

“Well, I think that’s enough for tonight. You know where your quarters are, you will sleep there tonight, and will be able to question Harry more tomorrow.” Dumbledore said, saving Harry from more pestering, something he was quite thankful for. As he was about to leave, he turned back to the Headmaster.

“Albus, I’d like to test Hermione’s animagi abilities next Saturday. As she isn’t a Shapeshifter like I am, she probably has potential to be Multiple Animagus,” he said and Dumbledore nodded.

“Yes, I’ll tell Minerva to bring the mirror.” Harry changed back to Christian, and walked out of the office together with Remus and his godfather, who gaped at him.

“Multiple Animagus? But such a person hasn’t existed for at least two thousand years!” Sirius said, astonished, as the gargoyle jumped aside and allowed them out.

“No, and that’s simply because both Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor were Shapeshifters. A Shapeshifter has no Animagus ability whatsoever, because he or she can change into whatever he or she wants to change into. Thankfully, no one but a Citatio or a Pectal can be a Shapeshifter. Or, that is, I don’t think so. I have to make research on that one. However, as I guess you already know, Sirius, the ability to become an animagus depends on how powerful you are. My father was magically more powerful than you, and therefore, his form was bigger than yours, while you are more powerful than Wormtail was –he must have been close to a squib by the way- as he is a very small one. If you are powerful enough you will be able to turn into a magical animal. It depends on the size of course; a dog is no magical animal, but yet you must be more powerful to be a dog than a moke. As Hermione is very powerful she will probably be able to be more than one animal and probably some of them will be magical too,” Harry explained.

“Oh, cool!” Sirius said, excited. He apparently didn’t know, Harry mused.

“That means that I’m more powerful than Professor McGonagall, as she’s just a cat,” Sirius grinned.

“No, Sirius, you aren’t, as her form is not a cat, but part kneazle. They are magical.” Harry corrected. Sirius grin disappeared, and his face fell. Harry chuckled at his expression. “Don’t be so sad, Sirius; you aren’t far behind her, as her form isn’t even half kneazle, only one fourth, and you could have been a one fourth kneazle too, if only it had fitted your personality. Which it doesn’t.”

Sirius grin came back. “Where did you learn all these things, Harry? You haven’t turned into a book-worm, have you?”

Harry groaned. “One eighth, I’m sure of it. Kneazles are smart.”

“He said you were stupider than a kneazle, Sirius,” Remus kindly offered, as Sirius didn’t get it at once.

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed, mock-offended. Both Remus and Harry laughed.

“By the way, Harry, when are you going to tell Ron and Hermione?” Remus asked.

Harry sighed. “I’m going to tell Hermione soon, I just have to find the right moment.” He said, and Remus nodded understanding. “As for Ron…” Harry smiled grimly. “I’m a Mind-reader, Remus. I probably know Ron better than he knows himself.”

~*~

During the next few days, the Daily Prophet was doing big business. Articles about Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley were popping up every day, and headlines like: CAN LUCIUS MALFOY BE TRUSTED AS OUR MINISTER?, ARTHUR WEASLEY, OUR NEXT MINISTER?, could be seen. They were all written by Marice Newman, a popular young witch with a good reputation, and she claimed that she got what she wrote from an anonymous person, and that she tried to check if it was the truth or not. However, she said, when someone asked, she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure what she wrote was right, but the wizarding world had to know. What if it was true? Could they risk getting a Minister who supported Voldemort, like half of the wizarding world believed Malfoy did? People had to decide for themselves. Not surprisingly, Lucius Malfoy was fuming, and so was Lord Voldemort, because much of what Marice had written was indeed true, and if Malfoy now had ruined his chances to become Minister… Well, Voldemort wasn’t happy.

Ron was one of those who read the papers with great interest. If his father became the Minister, he wouldn’t have to get to Parvati. He could just go through his father. But Parvati confused him. At first he’d been determined to get to her, -only as one of his tools, of course- but now it was different. It was like he couldn’t get himself to act foolishly in love with her. He’d been able to do that before, but now it didn’t work. Not that it mattered, if his father became the Minister. Ron felt a rush of excitement at the thought; he was closer to success than he’d ever been. Without Hermione hanging over him as the know-it-all, -as since Harry was imprisoned, she had withdrawn into herself and concentrated on her studies only- or Harry being there with the bloody Boy-Who-Lived title, he could become something big. Fame awaited him. He just had to kill Voldemort first, and the whole world would be his. And she was the key to his success. His stomach flipped, as it always did when he thought about her, and he frowned. Why did he do that every time he thought about her? Oh, well. Probably just excitement. After all, she was the key.

~*~

“Miss Granger,” Professor McGonagall said. “Do you know what this is?” Hermione stared blankly at her and the mirror McGonagall had placed in front of her.

“No, Professor,” she answered truthfully, however somewhat reluctantly, as she didn’t like the prospect of being clueless.

“It is called an ‘Animagus Mirror’. When you look into this mirror, you will see what kind of animagus form you have. You don’t know anything about this, because the dangers of becoming an animagus are so great that we don’t want to tell the students about this. What if they should stumble across a mirror and try for themselves, without supervision?” McGonagall said, and shot Sirius a glare. Sirius in his turn looked as innocent as ever. Hermione saw Professor Atos raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Well,” McGonagall continued, “all you have to do is to place yourself in front of the mirror, and the reflection will show your animal.” Hermione nodded, and McGonagall enlarged the mirror with a flick of her wand, so she could see all of herself. She noticed a small rustle, and saw Professor Atos coming up beside her so he could look into the mirror together with her, though not so close that he came into view in the mirror. He held his wand over a piece of parchment, and Hermione briefly wondered what he would do with it, but not for long, as her reflection started to change.

It didn’t exactly grow, because then it would have grown out of the mirror. She became brown all over, the same colour as her hair. Her eyes stayed brown, as her reflection bent forwards. It obviously had more than two legs. Her neck stretched, her arms stretched, her legs stretched. A long brown tail suddenly sprouted out of her spine, slightly darker than the rest of her.

She was a horse. A brown, tall, proud and beautiful horse. Hermione guessed it was an Arabian Horse. She noticed that Professor Atos’s wand was scribbling like mad. A description perhaps. She looked back at herself, awed by the beautiful creature she was capable of turning into. Suddenly she started, as the picture changed again. She saw that her reflection was shrinking. It got feathers. Dark brown and white feathers, and seconds later a peregrine falcon stood where the horse had been moments ago. Hermione’s jaw dropped. Was it possible to have more than one shape? Professor Atos’s wand was still scribbling furiously.

“Professor?” she asked bewildered, not knowing what to do, but Professor Atos was concentrating on his wand.

She turned to McGonagall, who smiled proudly at her. “Just stand there, Miss Granger. It will be explained later,” she said, and Hermione raised an eyebrow, but complied. The reflection changed again, this time into a kneazle, brown with darker spots, and a beautiful whisk of a tale. Hermione was amazed and excited; she loved animals, and the prospect of being able to be one fascinated her and awed her.

From kneazle it changed into an abraxan, (Hermione gasped when she saw the beautiful winged horse) from abraxan to a wolf, from a wolf to a unicorn, from a unicorn to a tawny owl, from owl to dragon, (Sirius fainted, McGonagall had to sit down, Christian fought the urge to snicker at the two others, while scribbling furiously, Hermione had a déjà vu from her first year, as she remembered Norbert.) from dragon to fox, from fox to tiger, from tiger to graphorn, and from graphorn to dragonfly. Then it changed back into her ‘real’ reflection, which was practically bouncing up and down out of excitement. Twelve shapes! She looked at McGonagall, who was now gaping; she probably hadn’t expected twelve. Much less that one of them was a dragon! Sirius was obviously torn between awe and amazement. (he managed to express both pretty well, and yes, he had recovered from his black-out) Professor Atos’s wand was still scribbling like a mad-wand on the paper. Finally he looked up from his scribbling.

“Very well, Miss Granger. Twelve shapes are amazing. Especially the dragon, the unicorn, the abraxan and the graphorn. Indeed, I think I read somewhere that people who can change into a winged horse also can vary which breed they want to change into. Which means that you probably can change into an aethonan, a granian and a thestral too. So that is fifteen shapes.”

He chuckled at the three’s amazement. “But of course, the abraxan will always be the easiest one to transform to of the four, and you will have to complete that before even thinking about any of the other winged horses. It isn’t even certain you can do it. I hope you can though. I have always been interested in the thestral; a beautiful creature.” He seemed lost in thought for a minute, before he snapped back to reality. “But anyway, I’ve written a description of all of your shapes here on this paper.” Ah-ha! That was what he was doing! Hermione thought to herself. “You have to read it carefully. It is fortunate that you have two experts with you; Minerva and Mr. Black,” he smiled at her, and Hermione barely managed to hide that her knees were about to fold. Luckily he turned back to examine the paper. “Indeed, this is very impressive. We have just proven that you’re very powerful.” He shook his head slightly.

“Okay. Professor McGonagall and Mr. Black are going to help you; they will explain everything to you. I trust you to do your best.” He said, before he handed McGonagall what he’d written, and left, claiming that he had assignments to grade. Hermione spent the rest of the evening with Sirius and McGonagall, and eagerly listened to everything they told her. It was a great evening, despite the fact that being in the same room as Sirius, Harry’s godfather, was a bit disturbing.

~*~

Harry was smiling to himself, and hardly grading anything at all. Hermione had practically been bouncing up and down, and it was a long time since he’d seen her that happy. He shook his head, still smiling. He was happy too, because he’d been a lot of different animals, and every time it was just as amazing. He especially loved being a bird, or some animal with wings, and if it was a fire animal with wings, it was even better. Being a tree or a plant wasn’t so bad either, and it was great for spying.

His thoughts travelled back to Hermione. She was indeed powerful, and though she still hadn’t reached his level, and wouldn’t reach it for a long time yet, she’d accomplished much in only a few months. However, she hadn’t yet managed to invent something, or do something different. Until now she’d just copied spells, charms, curses and jinxes, and she still had to learn illusions and transfiguration. However, he couldn’t exactly blame her, as it had taken him five years to figure out illusions, and he hadn’t started to get the hang of transfiguration until the end of his first year at Hogwarts.

He sighed. If he’d revealed himself to her in the beginning, she would have accomplished more. If they had worked as the Pectal and the Citatio, she would probably have been working on transfiguration now. It was not that it required much power, it was just that Hermione didn’t know how to do it. He did, and he could have showed her, if he only had the courage to tell her. For he realised now, it was only a matter of courage.

It was his belief, that the Citatio was born with the full extent of his power inside of him, so he could use the years until he found the Pectal to train himself, and learn how to use the powers. That way, only one had to go through the difficult process of self-training, as the Citatio could teach the Pectal. The Pectal was also born with the Power, though not all of it. It grew throughout her whole childhood, and then, when it reached the full extent, or when it grew to such strength that it couldn’t be hidden anymore, the Pectal would ‘awaken’, like Hermione did. Harry didn’t know why the Citatio was born with full Powers, and not the Pectal, but he suspected that it was because men are physically stronger than women. It wasn’t sexism, but a fact, and perhaps, because of this, nature thought a man would be more capable of controlling the Power at a young age.

It was the way it was, and nothing could be done with that, and Harry was painfully aware that he made Hermione’s training more painful –both emotionally, physically and mentally- and more difficult than it had to be. And he hated himself for it. Maybe the Pectal and the Citatio weren’t destined to be together; maybe they just became so close during the training that they never could think about living without each other, and therefore always ended up as a couple. Well, Harry thought mournfully, as he went back to grade the tests. Then I’ve ruined my chances pretty nicely.

~*~

Hermione had to work hard to conceal her excitement that evening, when she came back to the Gryffindor Common Room. She couldn’t remember being that high since before Harry left, and she and Ron started to slide apart. It seemed like it was Harry who kept them together. But she refused to think about that now, as Professor McGonagall had told her that because of her powers she would probably manage to complete two or three of her forms before she graduated. Usually it took three to four months to complete a form, because so much could go wrong during the process. But yet, Professor McGonagall meant that she could manage two or three forms by the time ‘normal’ people managed one. Of course, ‘normal’ people didn’t have more than one form, anyway …

Hermione lay awake for the better part of the night, excited as she was. As she stared out of the window, she could see a white winged horse. No, two winged horses, and one of them was black. A thestral. That was an omen of bad luck, wasn’t it? And what were two winged horses doing at Hogwarts? Then the black one became Professor Atos, but that was ridiculous. And he had golden eyes. How weird, Hermione thought, and suddenly he had black hair and green eyes, but how could she see that, when everything was hidden by a golden mask?

Hermione slept.

~*~

“I just cannot understand it. Why doesn’t he tell her? Today would’ve been a perfect opportunity.” Sirius was back in the room where he slept when he visited Hogwarts, and shared his frustrations with Remus. Remus sighed. Why couldn’t Sirius stop being so dense! He obviously hadn’t seen the way ‘Christian’ looked at Hermione when he saw her. Of course, he was very good at hiding it, but Remus had had a suspicion already when he revealed himself to them in Dumbledore’s office, and since then he had almost followed his every step, trying to find out if he was right or not. And it had paid off. He noticed that every time ‘Christian’ looked at the girl, his eyes misted over, his mouth curled into a slight smile for a second, before he frowned, sighed and went back to whatever he was supposed to do. The boy was helplessly falling for a girl he was sure he couldn’t get, and Remus didn’t think Hermione would forgive him for having tricked her.

“Sirius, listen to me,” he said. It was time to tell Sirius what he didn’t see. “Your godson is afraid of telling her. It has nothing to do with ‘the right moment’.”

Sirius looked curiously at him. “Afraid? Why?” God, he was completely clueless. Well, he couldn’t be blamed, really, as he’d just found his godson again, and was busy trying to be his ‘father’, as he was supposed to do.

“He likes her.” Remus said.

Sirius’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Oh? Is that all you have to say?” Remus raised his eyebrows. “Your godson is falling for a girl who doesn’t know who he is, he’s firm in the belief that she will hate him when he reveals himself to her, and the chances of her returning his feelings are about one in a hundred. And you say ‘oh’? He’s miserable because of her, and you, as his godfather haven’t even noticed.”

Sirius rubbed his temples. “You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive.”

“The boy’s in deep shit.” Sirius said, sighing.

Remus slumped into a chair. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

~*~

“Good morning,” Christian said jovially as he entered the classroom. It was Monday morning, two weeks and two days after the attack, and he had sixth year Gryffindor and Ravenclaw first thing. He was in a good mood, as today’s paper, written by Marice Newman, had revealed different bad secrets about Lucius Malfoy, and complimented Arthur Weasley in every way. He didn’t care if it was true or not, as long as Malfoy didn’t become the Minister. This time it had been about his son, Draco Malfoy, who had disappeared after the attack. Lucius had managed to cover this quite well, but Marice managed to blow it up with a single headline. There had been an article about Lucius being sacked as a school governor too, earlier this week, something that satisfied Harry greatly. Somehow, he suspected that Dumbledore had a part in this, because he and McGonagall seemed so self-satisfied when it was brought up during the last staff meeting.

Snape could report that Voldemort had been positively livid with them (he hadn’t been there himself, something Harry was extremely grateful for) and more than one had suffered under the Cruciatus. Snape had escaped together with the rest of the Death Eaters when the Aurors arrived, and no one had questioned his loyalty yet, though it was obvious that Voldemort didn’t trust him, as he hadn’t used him to get into Hogwarts, but Draco. Snape was terrified at what would happen if he were discovered. Spies didn’t live for long.

The Death Eater students had been taken care of, though no one would be sent to Azkaban, as half of the Dementors had joined Voldemort, and the other half had been destroyed. The prisoners had been sent to a new prison, built by the giants, and enchanted by some of the most powerful spellcasters, including Dumbledore. The guards were humans and some giants who had joined the light side, and the youths would be sent there. The youngest was only fourteen years old, a Hufflepuff, and the teachers were horrified. Four Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs, two Ravenclaws, and one Gryffindor had been arrested, and Malfoy was missing. Who knew if any of the other students were Death Eaters as well?

But the thing that worried him the most, was that the whole staff now knew that Hermione was a Pectal, and that was not good. If some of the other students were Death Eaters, they probably knew too.

Christian shook himself out of his thoughts and turned to the class. He’d decided to teach them the Patronus charm today, and for that he’d brought a boggart, as his boggart was a Dementor, so the students could practice on this. He remembered his lessons with Remus, and had to smile at the memory.

“Today class, you’ll learn to fend off a Dementor. Does someone know how to do this?” he said, and raised an eyebrow when no hands came up. “No one knows?” Still no hands.

“Well, as you all know, a Dementor makes you remember all of your worst memories; when someone close to you died; the fight you had with your girlfriend or boyfriend; the howler you got from your mum, and so on. But that is not the only thing they do, because if they get the chance, they will suck your soul out, and leave your body as an empty shell.” He talked about Dementors for a good five minutes, before he came to how to defend yourself against it.

“There is one charm that can drive off a Dementor, and it is called the Patronus charm. All you have to do, is to focus on a good memory, and speak the incantation, which is Expecto Patronum.” He turned to the trunk he’d brought. “This is a boggart, and I’m going to demonstrate a Patronus for you,” he said, and Ginny’s hand shot up. “Ms Weasley?”

“Professor, why are you going to demonstrate on a boggart?”

“Because my boggart is a Dementor,” he told her, and with a flick of his wand the trunk sprung open, and a black-clad Dementor stood in front of him. He heard his parents screams in his head, he heard Voldemort laugh, he saw Cedric, and heard his voice. “Wands out, you reckon?” Then it was Colin, in a pool of blood. And Hermione. “He killed him. Harry killed him. Dumbledore. “I’m afraid he did, Miss Granger. But now you must leave. Mr. Potter will be taken to Azkaban.”

“Expecto Patronum!” He yelled, and a bright silver creature sprang out of his wand. Quickly he used his Citatio Powers and with an illusion disguised his stag as a lion. He had charmed his eyes beforehand of course, so the students wouldn’t see when they turned gold. To let his students know that his Patronus was a stag was equal to going and telling Hermione and Ron that he was Harry Potter. Telling his students that he had a Dementor as a boggart was dangerous too, but he took that chance. The students needed the practice, and the best thing to practice on was a Dementor.

The ‘lion’ charged at the Dementor, who cowered backwards. Another flick of his wand, and the boggart was back in the trunk. He turned back to the class, made them go two and two together and practise the spell. You didn’t have to have a Dementor to practise it, but he planned to have them practise on one, when they had learnt it.

Suddenly, he stumbled. He managed to restrain himself from clutching his head, but had to grip the table to remain standing. He gasped. Why now, of all times! Unfortunately, the class noticed.

“Professor,” a Ravenclaw asked. “Are you okay?” Christian gritted his teeth, and managed to straighten up.

“Not exactly, Mr. Levard. It must be some after effects of what happened two weeks ago. I’m afraid I cannot continue this lesson. Class dismissed, please go to your common rooms and stay there until next lesson.” With that, he slipped out of the door, and his class got busy gathering their stuff. He knew the classroom next door was empty, and managed to get in there. He faded into unconsciousness as the pain in his scar (or where the scar used to be when he was Harry) threatened to split his skull open.

~*~*~

“Crucio!”

Someone screamed. Loudly. Then, the screaming subsided. A voice spoke.

“One little girl. One little boy. And you didn’t manage. You’ve lost half of the trainees who attend Hogwarts.” The voice was low and dangerous. Crimson red eyes gleamed in the darkness. There was a pause. “Anyway, we’ll soon be strong enough to attack even more openly. First goes the Ministry. You should be glad, Luciusss, that you’ve ruined your chances to get that particular position as the Minister…” Voldemort purred softly. Lucius Malfoy shivered. “And this Atos.” He spat the name out. “I want him dead. I’ve waited too long for you, Harry Potter. When I take Hogwarts, you will be the first to die.” An evil cackle. “No, wait. The last to die is more appropriate. Yesss. That shall be the bessst moment of my lifffe! And Nagini will find a way. Yes, she will…”

~*~*~

=====================

Disclaimer: Duh…

Now, many of my reviewers have asked why I have only seven (now eight) chapters at portkey.org, while I have ten on fanfiction.net. The answer is simple: I already had nine chapters at fanfiction.net when I started to post at portkey, and then I decided it would be a good time to go through all my chapters, correct mistakes and make the whole thing easier to read. This takes a bit time, especially as I’ve currently completed my eleventh chapter (I just sent it off to my beta) and man! That was sooo difficult to write!!! So getting the chapters up at portkey wasn’t (until recently) very high on my to-do list. Sorry about that, I promise they will all be up in a day or two, and chapter eleven will come out on both pages on the same day. I hope that explains it.

All the animals are ‘real’. The magical animals I mentioned is in the Harry Potter Lexicon, and probably in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them too.

Horses, Winged:

Abraxan: powerful, giant Palominos (probably what pulled the Beauxbatons carriage) – Aethonan: chestnut, popular in Britain and Ireland – Granian: grey, fast – Thestral: black, can become invisible, considered unlucky.

(The Harry Potter Lexicon, horses, winged)

Graphorn:

A large, grayish-purple creature which lives in the mountains of Europe. Graphorns have two extremely sharp horns. They are extremely dangerous animals. Graphorn horns are useful for potions and Graphorn hide is even tougher than dragons’ and also repels spells.

(The Harry Potter Lexicon, Graphorn.)

Kneazle:

Cat-like creature, very intelligent. The Kneazle can detect unsavoury or suspicious persons very well and will react badly to them. However, if it takes a liking to a Witch or Wizard, it makes an excellent pet. The Kneazle has spotted fur, large ears, and a lion-like tail.

(The Harry Potter Lexicon, Kneazle.)

Dragon:

Dragons, large flying reptiles which breath fire, are some of the most awe-inspiring and dangerous of all magical beasts. There are ten varieties of dragons today: Antipodean Opaleye, Chinese Fireball, Common Welsh Green, Hungarian Horntail, Norwegian Ridgeback, Peruvian Vipertooth, Romanian Longhorn, Swedish Short-Snout, Ukrainian Ironbelly, Hebridian Black.

(The Harry Potter Lexicon, Dragon.)

9. Untold Truths

Chapter Nine: Untold Truths

His head ached. He tried to open his eyes, and moaned in pain. For a second, he wondered where he was, before the memories came flooding back. He groaned again. Blasted Voldemort! He was planning something, that much was sure. And he couldn’t count on his foresight. Can I ever? He thought morosely. He managed to get up into a sitting position, and glanced at his clock. He’d been out for ten minutes, so it wasn’t likely that anyone had noticed his absence. And if someone had, he could only tell them that he’d felt like he was going to pass out, and didn’t like the idea of doing it in front of the whole class, so he’d found an empty classroom. And currently he was on very good terms with the Aurors, as he was the one who had found out how to block the killing curse, so the ones who were guarding the castle probably wouldn’t bother him much. Except if they wanted to ask him –for the thousandth time- if he had a block for the Cruciatus too. Which he had, of course, since he as a Citatio could absorb it and send it back out again. It wasn’t so powerful that this was impossible, unless it was cast by Dumbledore or Voldemort. Or Hermione. But he couldn’t tell the Aurors that.

Cursing Voldemort in different terms, and showing off quite a colourful language, he decided he had to talk to Dumbledore. Voldemort most likely had a plan, as he after all had waited sixteen years, and the last failed attack would probably not rock his plans in the slightest. He had a suspicion that this attack had been an impulse, an almost desperate attempt to get Hermione. Unfortunately, it was the ever-present 'almost'. However, the worst thing was that he knew where Harry was, and who he was pretending to be, as well as knowing about Hermione. Well, he probably won't tell it to the press, so there I’m safe. It is more likely that he’s going to hatch a plan to get ‘Christian’ in a bad light. Maybe get him charged for murder. Harry thought sarcastically, and was in fact thankful that Dumbledore had discovered who he was, as he no longer was alone in it. He didn’t have to go carrying his sinister secrets alone anymore. He could count on Sirius and Remus’s help too, though Sirius was busy with helping Hermione with her animagus forms, and he was excited as a child about her progress. Yesterday, he’d been talking constantly about how quickly she learned, until Harry dryly commented that he’d make a great teacher. Then he’d shut up quickly, leaving Harry and Remus snickering.

He didn’t really know what Remus had thought about him being charged, as he hadn’t been in England when it happened. He had probably, though maybe not at the bottom of his heart, believed in the charges. Frankly, Harry didn’t care. He wanted to trust the werewolf, and what he didn’t know, couldn’t kill him. Well, okay, it could, but that was beside the point.

After the attack they’d increased the number of Hermione’s lessons, so now she had training sessions on Saturday, Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. It was tiresome, but Harry knew she could manage. However, he was worried because of her progress. Even though she progressed quickly, she didn’t progress quickly enough. It was weird really. He’d been worried that she might become more powerful than he was because he saw her progressing so fast. Now he was worried because she didn’t progress fast enough.

If only he knew more! He was probably the person on earth who knew most about Pectals and Citatios, but yet he didn’t know much. Not as much as he needed. He didn’t know if Hermione’s progress was normal or not. By the way, of course it wasn’t, as she was supposed to be trained by a Citatio, and not a wizard. He didn’t know how to tell how powerful she was, or how powerful he was, or if either of them was more powerful than the other. The first few months he’d been worried that she would be the more powerful one, which would give her an advantage, but he wasn’t so sure any longer. After all, he hadn’t known half of the things he’d told Hermione, when they had first met. In fact, he hadn’t known what he was until his second year at Hogwarts. But however it was, advantage or not, it didn’t bother him anymore.

Startled, he suddenly noticed that he stood in front of the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. He’d been so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t realised that his legs were carrying him here. He sighed and spoke the password. I’m too young for this.

~*~

Hermione had had some weird dreams lately, all of them containing Harry or Professor Atos, though only a few were of the embarrassing kind she’d experienced earlier. She didn’t know if she should be relieved or not, because the new dreams were just confusing. She also had dreams about things that had happened. She had dreamt about when she discovered her Water-Manipulation, about her first lesson with Professor Atos, etc. etc. And then of course; the embarrassing, fluffy ones. And yet, she always felt rested when she woke up, even if the dream had been a scary nightmare. It was so confusing!

Hermione sighed, and focused on her Telekinesis Talent, and the sheet of paper came flying towards her. She was becoming quite good at it now. The sheet was something Professor Atos had found for her, and on top of the page you could read: The Pectal. It was less than one page. Christian had been honest when he said there existed very little information on Pectals.

‘The Pectal (Pek-tal)

The Pectal is always a female. Just like the Citatio she always has blue eyes, and she is very powerful, though her husband, who always is a Citatio is more powerful. Her eyes shine silver when she uses her power, while the Citatio’s shine gold.

It is uncertain whether or not a Pectal is born about the same time as a Citatio, or if there can be more than one Citatio or Pectal at the same time. However, the Pectal needs the Citatio to survive, so it is likely that a Pectal cannot be born without a Citatio being born within a few years before or after.’

Hermione gritted her teeth. The whole text, which was ridiculously short, oozed of sexism, and was wrong in more than one place. ‘She always has blue eyes.’ Yeah, right, Hermione thought to herself. Just like the Citatio? She growled. The scripts were so confusing, and didn’t agree with each other. One said the Citatio had green eyes, another one red, while this one said blue. Harry’s eyes were green. He was the Citatio, she was sure of it. And her eyes were brown, dammit! Not blue! And the sentence: ‘Her husband, who always is a Citatio is more powerful’, sent Hermione into a fit of anger. How could the author of this piece of crap, whoever it was, know that?

And that rubbish about the Pectal being unable to survive without a Citatio. She was still alive, wasn’t she? But yet, she hadn’t yet managed to make any illusions, or charm anything with her Power. The only things she managed so far, were curses, hexes, shields and jinxes. Professor Atos said she’d come a long way, but there was still so far to go! Hermione couldn’t see the end of it, and right now she was tired, pissed off and bored. So therefore, she went back to her favourite hobby: reading. As long as it wasn’t something as confusing and mind-boggling as the Pectal stuff, she’d manage. Besides, she had a history essay to write.

~*~

‘Ancient History’, by Frank O’Shea. Hermione picked it out of the shelves. ‘Old Prophecies’, by Cecilia Nensh. Hermione snorted. Divination wasn’t something she believed in. She’d searched the shelves for hours, trying to find something to write about. They were supposed to choose a time-period and write about important happenings in that time. Yet, Hermione hadn’t found anything useful. She sighed. The essay was due in a week, so she had to get started. Should she try the restricted section? As Head-Girl, she had free entrance. Well, she’d nothing to lose.

Three hours later, and Hermione still had found nothing. She was as far into the restricted section as she could go, covered in dust and spiders’ webs. Thank God Ron isn’t here. She thought. He’d go nuts. She was about to give up, when a small, thin book caught her attention. Unlike many of the other books in this section, it had a title. The title was in giantish runes, but they had covered those last year, in Ancient Runes, so Hermione had no problems understanding it. ‘The Era Of The Chiantesh’alfh’, it read. Hermione frowned. ’Chiantesh’alfh'? That sounded familiar, but she couldn’t pin-point it. And why was half the title English, and the other half something absolutely not English?

She reached up to take the book out of the shelf. It wouldn’t budge. She tried again. The book stood still. She removed the books on either side, and tried again, but it stood as still as ever. Hermione sighed.

A small ‘click’. The book disappeared into the back of the shelf. Hermione jumped. The whole shelf slid to the right, into the wall, and revealed a small compartment. Hesitantly, she stuck her hand in, and grabbed onto something. She withdrew her hand, together with a big, black box. She reached in to check if there was anything else in there. There was not. She took a step back, and the shelf slid back. The book: ‘The Era Of The Chiantesh’alfh, was gone.

~*~

“Alohomora!” Hermione growled. It was the tenth time she’d tried the unlocking charm, and it had annoyingly little effect, which meant it had no effect at all. She decided to give up the unlocking charm, and try other charms instead. There had to be some more powerful unlocking charms somewhere. But, alas, after three hours of research, she had found nothing that could help her. Of course, she’d found at least ten different unlocking charms, but none of them were able to unlock the box. Then it hit her. She could try to open it with her Powers! Sometimes it was difficult to remember that she was a Pectal. She focused on the lock. It was a simple lock, with a keyhole, but no key. Silvery threads started to form out of thin air, into something that resembled a key. Carefully, Hermione moved the threads into the hole, and she allowed the threads to fill the empty spaces, before she froze them. Excitedly, she turned the now stiff key, and with a small ‘click’, the lid sprung open.

An old, dusty smell emitted from the box, as Hermione tried to find out what it contained. It turned out to be two leather-bound books, and though they had to be very old, they were very well preserved. Preserving charms, Hermione guessed. She could also sense them, and to her astonishment she noticed that they were several centuries old. The charms had been cast at least nine hundred years ago. But the bad thing was, that the two books were written in an alphabet and language she couldn’t decipher. Oh, well. She could try to find out what language it was tomorrow. Right now she had to work on her charms essay, that she had to finish before she went to bed. She was planning to turn in early, because she was very tired, because of her lesson with Sirius and McGonagall yesterday. She was starting to get the hang of the Arabian Horse. (She had of course done research, and figured that it really was an Arabian Horse.) Professor McGonagall had decided this form probably would be the easiest, as it was the first that had appeared in the mirror. All she had left now, was to completely transform into the horse, and Hermione had, together with her teachers, been amazed, as she would manage to complete this form within two weeks. McGonagall, Dumbledore and Christian Atos were all extremely pleased, and so was Hermione.

~*~

Harry. But yet it wasn’t Harry. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but he wasn’t the Harry she had betrayed two years ago. Yet he was Harry. He smiled at her, and suddenly, she was in his arms. She didn’t mind. He bent down to kiss her, but just before their lips met, he staggered backwards. He was Christian again, and her Professor was clutching his forehead, gasping in pain.

A black horse ran through the forest. A green-eyed Professor Atos glared angrily at her. Voldemort smirked. Sirius, Remus and Dumbledore looked concerned. It was Harry they looked at. No. It was her. No. It was Professor Atos.

Harry looked sad. Guilty

~*~

Hermione jerked awake. She needed a few seconds before she realised where she was; in her own bed at Hogwarts. She’d fallen asleep while reading her charms book. She glanced at her watch, and gasped. It was ten PM, she’d been asleep for almost three hours! It was then the images from the dream started to resurface, making her even more confused than she’d ever been. It seemed like her dreams thought Professor Atos and Harry were the same person. And on occasion, the Golden Mask too. She’d only read about him in the Daily Prophet, and knew that he was powerful. But why should she dream about him?

She looked back to her charms book, and stiffened. It was opened on page 132, and the title was ‘The Bubble-Head Charm’. Something tickled at the edge of her memory. Something she should remember…

‘The Bubble-Head charm allows a human to breathe underwater. It creates a bubble of air around the caster's head. Unfortunately, it is not very solid, and the smallest touch can destroy it. If you are underwater, you then need to re-cast the charm quickly. It is quite a difficult charm, and needs concentration…’

The book continued on about some of the smaller details. Something was wrong. But what? Suddenly, a memory came back to Hermione. A memory she’d dreamt about.

~*~

Five minutes later they banged their heads on solid ice. Professor Atos’s bubble charm was broken, but a new one immediately formed itself around his head. He looked at Hermione. Again, she reached out with the Element, and she could, through the ice, sense where the hole was, and she dragged the Professor in that direction. Thirty seconds later, she could breathe fresh air.

~*~

In the lake that day. She’d discovered her Water-Manipulation Talent. Hermione gulped.

He. Hadn’t. Used. A. Wand.

Another memory. They came flooding in now.

~*~

“Now, Miss Granger, try to release the curse,” Professor Atos’s voice reached through her dazed mind. Yeah, right. Release the curse. “Just try to push it away like you did earlier.”

~*~

In Dumbledore’s office, when he tested her Pectal abilities. How could he know what she’d done? Or what she had to do?

~*~

“It is called an ‘Animagus Mirror’. When you look into this mirror, you will see what kind of animagus form you have. You don’t know anything about this, because the dangers of becoming an animagus are so great that we don’t want to tell the students about this. What if they should stumble across a mirror and try for themselves, without supervision?” she said, and shot Sirius a glare. Sirius in his turn looked as innocent as ever. Hermione saw Professor Atos raise an eyebrow in amusement.

~*~

Why should her Professor be amused by that? Sirius being an illegal animagus was not something he was supposed to know much about…

If not… If he…No. That wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t possible!!! It couldn’t be! But it fit.

Her Professor knowing too much about her, about the school. The Golden Mask being powerful. Harry being gone. It fit. But Hermione couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t!

But it had to be.

~*~

It was almost fourteen hours since Harry collapsed in that classroom, and yet again he was in Professor Dumbledore’s office, together with Sirius, Remus, and Professor McGonagall. And Dumbledore, of course. Professor McGonagall was currently trying to grasp the fact that her colleague of more than a half year, indeed was her long lost student. Harry tried to resist the urge to laugh, as he’d never seen her that shocked. Thankfully, he hadn’t known her very well, as their relationship had always been strictly professional, so he couldn’t really blame her for believing he was guilty of those charges. Frankly speaking, he only had three persons who really had hurt him, and he’d already made up with one of them. The only close friends –well, Dumbledore could hardly be counted as a ‘friend’- he had ever had, were Ron and Hermione. And he knew things about Ron that few could imagine. The only reason he’d stayed with Ron was that he hoped that he could help Ron out of his self-obsessed and cynical mind. Even though he didn’t show it, Ron was helplessly in love with himself, and thought of nothing other than himself. But he had changed from the first time Harry met him. He remembered the gigantic chess board in his first year and the Chamber of Secrets. Those were some of the few times Ron had cared for someone beside himself, but it never lasted, and he hid it so well. So telling him was out of the question. He would probably get jealous of Harry’s powers, before trying to find a way to use Harry to advance himself.

Hermione was another matter. He had…certain feelings for her. He knew he couldn’t stay angry with her forever, and he wasn’t really angry or bitter because of her any longer. Yet he didn’t have the guts to tell her. He excused it so easily with bitterness and anger, but he knew that wasn’t true. If they became friends again, and lost the professional student-professor relationship, he would never manage to keep his feelings to himself. And that would be catastrophic.

After he’d told Professor McGonagall the whole story, they could start to discuss the matter at hand: Voldemort. All were worried when they learned that Voldemort knew where Harry was, but at the moment they had other things to discuss: the Ministry. It was likely that Voldemort would strike the same day as the election was held, and they had to stop him. Harry told them about the ‘keyholes’, which in reality were some muggle radars that he’d enchanted to pick up special magical activity, mainly the unforgivables and some other nasty curses. They were linked to his mind, with a combination of his Telepathic ability and a binding spell.

“I can put up some around the Ministry, that will pick up every curse and dangerous charm, and register the magical signature of the caster. Then we’ll know exactly who’s attacking, and when they’re attacking,” Harry explained.

“I don’t know if that would be very effective, Harry,” Professor Dumbledore said. “The Ministry has very good defences, and the Aurors would be alerted immediately. However, if he has a way to get the defences down, and keep the Aurors out, it will be almost impossible to stop him. We have to know more of what Voldemort” –Professor McGonagall and Sirius cringed- “is planning to do, before we can effectively hinder him.”

“Hmmm… What does Snape- Severus, know?” Harry asked.

Dumbledore sighed. “Very little. He isn’t even a part of the Inner Circle, though he was before his first downfall. It has probably come to Voldemort’s” –more cringes- “attention that he isn’t very trustworthy, but still, Voldemort needs him. He’s an excellent Potions Master, and is a very skilled dueller. Besides, he’s inside Hogwarts. The bad thing is, that he never can give us any information, as Voldemort is very secretive. He hardly knows the names of any of the new Death Eaters. It seems Voldemort is trying to prevent anyone from betraying the others.”

“Is there any other way to get to know what he wants?” It was Sirius who asked.

“Tell the Ministry that they probably will be attacked in the very near future, and get a new password on the anti-apparition shields?” Harry said, dryly.

“Harry, anti-apparition shields don’t have passwords. They’re bound to a person. Or persons. The only way to get them down is if one of the Bonded - that is what they are called - take it down,” Sirius said, and Harry glared at his Godfather.

“I was being a bit sarcastic, Sirius, don’t you think?” But then he turned to Dumbledore. “Who’s Bonded to the anti-apparition shields? And is there any other way to get them down?”

“The identities of the Bonded at the Ministry are top secret Harry. Only the Minister knows. I myself am Bonded to Hogwarts, and those defences can only be taken down by me. However, the defences at the Ministry are more modern, and though stronger, they can not only be taken down by the Bonded, but also can be taken down by killing the Bonded. But for that to work, all of them must be killed, and no one knows who they all are.”

“It is enough that one of them is a Death Eater, then.” Harry said, but Dumbledore shook his head.

“No, all of the Bonded must agree on taking them down, and those who don’t agree, have to be killed before the rest of them can do anything.”

“So then Voldemort”-more flinching- “must know who all of them are?” Harry said, thoughtfully. Then he sat back in his chair, a grim smile on his lips.

“Okay, I think I know what to do-“ he broke off in mid-sentence and stared at the door. Then, quickly, he Shapeshifted into Christian Atos. “Someone is coming,” he said. After a little while, he added: “It’s Hermione.”

Professor McGonagall frowned disapprovingly. “What is she doing here at this time of night? It’s almost eleven PM,” she asked.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Come in,” Dumbledore called, the instant Hermione knocked on the door. She entered, and started to speak.

“Professor, I need to speak to you about-“ Then she noticed the other people in the room, and Harry saw that she seemed flustered and breathless, as if something had shaken her badly, and then she’d run a long distance. Her eyes stopped at Harr- Christian, and narrowed. She took a deep breath, and composed herself.

“Hello, Harry.”

~*~

Harry almost fell off his chair. Literally. His jaw dropped, and so did everyone else's. Except Dumbledore, that is. Surprise. The man could probably walk unfazed through an erupting volcano.

Hermione pressed her lips together, so all they could see was a thin line.

“So I was right then.” It wasn’t a question. Harry sighed inwardly in resignation, and Shapeshifted back to Harry. It was Hermione’s turn to be shocked. Apparently, she hadn’t expected that she was right. Then she noticed that neither of the others in the room seemed shocked because of Harry. They were shocked because she knew. Anger flared in her eyes.

“So they know,” she said, forcing calm. “And when did you plan on telling me Harry? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month? Next year? Never?” Her voice rose for every word, and Harry felt every one of them as a punch in his stomach. He didn’t show it however. He opened his mouth to explain, but Hermione cut him of. She had worked up quite the temper tantrum, and was completely ignoring that she was making a scene in front of three of her teachers and two other adults.

“Honestly Harry, I hadn’t expected this of you. You can tell everyone but me! Don’t I have the right to know? You’re the Citatio! My tutor! And I was your friend once!” The last sentence she screamed.

Harry had had enough. Not only did she stand there screaming at him, she also had the whole thing completely wrong! And did she really believe that everything could go back to normal? Just snap her fingers and he would be back? Like nothing had happened?

All feeling of forgiveness and…other feelings were gone. He walked up to her and fixed his eyes on hers. They too flared with anger.

“Precisely,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low. “You were my friend.”

Something snapped in Hermione. Not only had she just minutes ago discovered that the man she secretly was in love with indeed was her Professor, but she had also discovered that he hated her. Tears came to her eyes, and hopelessness filled her. But at the same time, she felt the anger flare up again. How dared he?! This wasn’t the Harry she knew. He would never purposely hurt anyone like he’d just done. In that moment she hated him.

Harry saw it a second too late. Hermione, confused, depressed and angry, brought up her hand. ‘SMACK!’. A mighty slap sent him stumbling. Shocked, he looked up, seeing Hermione stand there, her hand still raised, the other hand clenched by her side, and tears in her eyes. Immediately, he regretted his harsh words, but before he could say anything, she fled the room.

~*~

Hermione ran through the corridors of Hogwarts, not knowing where she was going. Tears streamed down her checks. She knew of course, that what she’d done, what she’d believed, was unforgivable. It was impossible for her and Harry to ever go back to what had been, but yet, getting it smacked in her face like she’d had… She sniffed loudly. Why, why, had she reacted the way she did? She shouldn’t have slapped him, but his words hit so hard, and hurt her so badly, crushing all her hopes and all her dreams with four words. ‘You were my friend.’ She now knew what had been wrong with her ‘Dream Harry’. He’d changed during the last two years. He was even more handsome now… ‘Stop it girl! You’re only hurting yourself!’ But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t deny her feelings, no matter how much she tried.

‘Calm down, girl. Go back to your dorm now. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell anyone.’ It was her instinct. She’d learned to trust it like her second nature now, and the ‘voice’ calmed her. It was comforting and caring, like a cool hand against a feverish forehead. Hermione took a deep breath. She couldn’t have resisted it if she wanted to, and as she got away from ‘Harry thoughts’, her mind started to ponder over the dreams she’d been having. It was like her dreams knew things she didn’t know. Like, she didn’t know that Harry and Professor Atos were the same person. And the Golden Mask she’d barely read about in the newspapers. And what were all the other weird things that happened in her dreams?

Hermione sighed as she stepped into her Head Girl quarters.

‘Go to sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning,’ The ‘voice’/instinct told her. So she did.

~*~

“You know where he is?”

“Yes,”

”Is he ready?”

“No.”

“Then we must wait.”

“Yes.”

“Time is running out.”

“There is still time.”

“They must be gathered.”

“They will be ready in time, my friend.”

“I hope you are right.”

~*~

Professor McGonagall stared at him, shocked. Remus and Sirius just looked sad, and Dumbledore looked… disappointed? Harry groaned inwardly. He shouldn’t have said that; he didn’t really mean it. He’d just been so angry. When she came barging in, yelling at him, he’d just snapped. All the confused, bitter and angry feelings he’d stored because of her during the last two and a half years surfaced in those four words. And then he didn’t really mean what he said. It was all so frustrating! He just wanted to curl up and cry like a child, letting all his inner demons flow out with the tears. But he wasn’t a child anymore, and he couldn’t do such a thing.

He took a deep, unsteady breath, rubbed his sore cheek carefully, and sat back in his chair. He looked calmly at the others.

“Well, where was I?” There was a long pause, as the others in the room tried to recover and process what just had happened. Harry used this pause to send a Telepathic message to Hermione, loaded with a good dose of Persuasion, telling her to calm down, go to bed and not tell anyone. He would have to talk with her later. Then he explained his plan to the others, something that resulted in Professor McGonagall raising an eyebrow and asking, rather dryly, how he’d ended up in Gryffindor. Harry smiled stiffly at that. He didn’t mention that the Sorting Hat wondered at the same thing.

After the meeting had ended, Harry slowly walked back to his quarters. He was deep in thought, and didn’t go to bed right away. He couldn’t sleep tonight; he had too much on his mind. He just wished he could Persuade himself to forget tonight, but he knew that was impossible. In the end he couldn’t stand the walls of his bedroom any longer. He felt like they were closing in on him.

Irritably, he opened the windows wide open. For a second he stood there, just looking at the starry sky. Then he jumped.

Big, black wings replaced his arms in the middle of his fall, and slowed him down. He glided on them, like a hang-glider, and managed to steer them so he hit the ground just outside the Forbidden Forest. Another few seconds he stood calm, before he abruptly Shifted into a great black horse, and set off into the forest in a wild run.

When Harry was younger, before he knew that he was a wizard, he had often admired horses. He loved to look at them, especially when they were running. He always wished that he could ride one. He wanted to feel the freedom he was sure would come when galloping on a horse. But of course, the Dursleys never let him onto a horse. Dudley rode once, but he managed to fall off the thick, lazy little pony, so his first time also became his last time. So Harry had continued to admire them from afar. Then he came to Hogwarts, and learned about the freedom of flying on a broom, but yet, he never forgot about the horses. In fact, the horse he was now, was the very first form he’d ever Shapeshifted into, and it had been one of the greatest moments of his life, to feel the strength of the great horse, and controlling it. Running like a horse was as calming as flying, and he used the horse form as often as he could, even though he could be both faster and stronger animals.

Harry could feel his hooves pounding against the ground, as he raced through the forest, trying to free himself from his troubled thoughts. In the end he halted in a clearing in the forest, and lifted his horse’s head, again looking at the sky. The animals of the forest were startled out of their sleep when the great horse screamed, as horses do, in frustration, anger, pain and sorrow.

====================

Disclaimer: All’s JKR’s. Plot’s mine. Christian and Marice is mine. Pectal/Citatio is mine. Go me.

Soooo? Liked it? Hate it? (Over-used…) Review and tell me all.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed! Go you all! (Over-used too…)

Beta-read by the-dreamer, go her. (Also over-used…)

10. It Is Supposed To Hurt

Chapter Ten: It Is Supposed To Hurt

It was dawn when Harry returned to Hogwarts. The sun had just peeked over the horizon when he stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, feeling all his worries, problems, confusions and frustrations crash down again. I’m too young for this! He thought. I’m only seventeen! I should be one of the students at this school, not one of the teachers! He sighed. He was supposed to prepare for his NEWTs at this time, joke around with his friends, make plans for the future, fall in love, snog in the corridors, get caught out of bounds, etc, etc. Saving the world should not be a part of his schedule at all. And yet, here he was, making plans, trying to save the world, and being so close, but yet so far away from the girl he loved. He had never really understood the saying: ‘So close, but yet so far away’, but now he did. He was a living example.

He shook his head and Shifted back into his Christian form, before he started on his way back to Hogwarts. He didn’t care if anyone saw him on the road; after all, he was a Professor. If he wanted to spend the night at a pub, getting drunk, no one could stop him, as long as he came to his lessons.

~*~

Hermione didn’t come to Defence Against the Dark Arts that day. Harry inwardly cringed; when Hermione skipped a lesson, something was really bad off. And he had a suspicion that it wasn’t a severe headache that kept her from coming. He had to make sure that she came to her private lesson that evening, but anyway, ‘Plan Knock-Out Voldemort, Part One’, was about to be set in action. He wondered if it was fate that had given him seventh year Slytherin and Gryffindor in the last lesson Thursday evening.

“Ms. Zabini, please stay after the lesson,” Harry called when the bell went off, and the class started to file out of the door. He rolled his eyes as all the girls in the room sent her envious glares, instead of the usual sympathetic ones. Now I know why all teachers usually are above fifty.

~*~

Blaise Zabini wondered what was going to happen. She hadn’t done anything that could get her into trouble, at least she didn’t think she had. She looked at Professor Atos, waiting, and understood why so many of the girls were swooning over him. It wasn’t that he was so extraordinarily handsome, (well, okay, perhaps) but he had a certain air, a charisma that attracted you. And now, his ice-blue eyes were looking at her intently.

“I would like to know why you and some of the other students are spying on me.” he said simply. Blaise froze.

“W-what do you mean, Professor?” she stuttered.

“I mean just what I said: Why are you and your friends spying on me.” he said. “Or stalking me, if you want.” he added as an afterthought.

“We- I’m not stalking you Professor,” Blaise said, desperately. He knows! He knows! How is it possible?

“Okay,” the Professor said, casually, leaning back in his chair. “So you’re not stalking me. Then you really have to tell me why you, two Ravenclaws, a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff and two other Slytherins spend so much time around me. You know, standing in the shadows outside my office, listening through the keyhole, following me down the corridors, listening when I’m talking to the other teachers, trying to gain entrance to staff-meetings –unnoticed of course-, and so on.”

Blaise had nothing to say to that. She was white as a sheet, trembling and sweating. I’m going to end up in prison! I bet he told him! He promised he wouldn’t tell! Professor Atos noticed how frightened the seventh year Slytherin girl was. His expression softened.

“Sit down, Blaise,” he said gently, using her first name, and showing her a chair. “Don’t worry. I know your secret, but I’m not going to use it against you.”

He knows. He knows. He knows. He knows.

“Yes, I know.” Wha-? “I also know that you want to get away from it.” He’ll use me! Just like- “I won’t use you, Blaise. True, I need you to help me, but I assure you, that if you tell me and the Headmaster about your…’problems’, and decide to help us, you shall never fear Azkaban.” He’s lying! He’s lying! “I’m not lying, Blaise.” Perhaps he isn’t… And anyway, it’s my best chance…

“What do you want to know?” she asked, hoarsely, fear evident in her voice.

“Why you are spying on me, and what you know about Voldemort’s” –Blaise flinched- “movements,” he said, pouring her a cup of tea. From where he’d got that Blaise had no idea. “And don’t worry, the room is sound-proof.”

“I don’t know why we’re spying on you. Our orders are to spy on you, and report everything, absolutely everything, about you. From eye-colour to teaching-method.” She took a nervous sip of her tea. “And I-I don’t know anything about…His… movements. Only the inner circle does.”

“Uhm…” Professor Atos said, thoughtfully. He stirred his own tea, which Blaise hadn’t even noticed he’d poured. “You don’t trust me, do you,” he said. It wasn’t a question. She shook her head. “Perhaps something I could tell you would make you trust me more?”

“Depends on what it is,” she said, stiffly.

He was still stirring his tea, not looking at her. “Mmm.” He looked at her, his eyes intense. “I need you to find out what Voldemort” –Blaise flinched- “knows about the Bonded at the Ministry.”

Blaise’s eyes widened. “The Bonded? But no one knows who they are! I highly doubt He does, even!”

“I believe he does,” the Professor answered, unfazed.

“It’s way too dangerous! I’ll try to help you, just to get out of this… mess-“ She looked as if she was about to cry for a moment. “-but this is way too dangerous! I’ll get killed!”

“Better than the Giant’s prison.”

Blaise looked at him, wide eyed.

“You don’t trust me. You think I’ll just use you for my own good, and then throw you to Azkaban afterwards, don’t you?” Atos said. Blaise swallowed. That was exactly what she’d thought. He paused for a minute. “Blaise,” he said at least. “Do you know about the Citatios and Pectals?”

“Yes,” she answered, wondering where he was going. “It’s a legend. The Citatio is a very powerful wizard, and the Pectal is a very powerful witch.”

“It’s not a legend.” He shimmered a second, and a seventeen year old, black-haired, gold-eyed boy, with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead sat in front of her, casually drinking his tea. “Definitely not a legend,” he stated, and though his eyes were glowing gold, Blaise could have sworn that they sparkled mischievously.

She stood so fast that she overturned her chair. “Potter!” she cried.

“And oh,” Harry said, as if remembering something important, ignoring Blaise’s cry of surprise. “Please don’t tell Ron about this.”

~*~

Okay, here we go.

“Harry, are you sure this is going to work?”

Well, perhaps not…“Of course Sirius!” Harry said, impatiently. “Don’t worry!” Sirius however, didn’t look so sure.

“Can’t we just wait and see if Zabini has something useful for us?”

“Sirius, she probably can’t gain us much information!” And it isn’t solely because of Voldemort I want her to co-operate with us either.

“But-“

“Sirius!” Harry exploded. “Shut- Err. Be quiet please! I need to concentrate! It’s not like getting past the Apparition wards is easy!”

“You’re going to apparate?” Sirius asked. “How’s that possible?”

Harry sighed. “No, I’m not going to apparate. I’m going to do something similar, so similar that Apparition wards can be a problem if you don’t concentrate enough. It also takes more energy than apparition. So please shut up.” He shuddered a moment, thinking about the time when he’d been injured, and hadn’t been able to do it. He’d had to fly from the edge of the wards to the castle. With that horrid cut it had been pure torture.

“If it’s not apparition, what is it then?” Sirius asked, confused.

“I don’t know if it has a name. I call it ‘Wandering’.” Harry answered.

“’Wandering’?” Sirius asked, incredulously.

“Yes, it’s a kind of portal that I create, and then I have to walk through it. If I make it invisible, which I’m going to do, I will, when standing in the middle of it, be invisible myself. Thus, I’m able to pretend to step out of thin air. Are you finished with mothering me now?”

“I’m not mothering you!” Sirius said, annoyed.

“Fine, then don’t object to me going. Have a nice day, I’ll be home for dinner.” His eyes glowed slightly, and he took a step forward…and disappeared. He managed however, to say: “See you later, mum!” before he did so, and at the same time smile annoyingly, sweetly.

“Little brat,” Sirius muttered under his breath. “I hope he’s okay.”

~*~

Finally, here we go.

The door opened, and a short, stout and bald man came in, carrying a handful of papers. He sighed and closed the door behind himself.

“Good evening, Minister.” The man spun around. Then he froze. A young man sat in his chair, with his legs propped on his desk, smirking at him.

“W-wh-who are you?” the Minister stuttered, taking a step back, fumbling with the door handle. But, unfortunately, it seemed like the handle had…err…malfunctioned.

“My name…” the other man said, mysteriously “is inconsequential.” There was a small gust of wind –from where the Minister couldn’t guess, as every window, as well as the door was closed- and blew a few black strands of hair out of the young man’s face.

“Harry Potter!” Minister Fudge cried, terrified. “What-what are y-you d-doing here?!”

“You have, in your charge, something that belongs to me.”

“Let me out! You’re criminal! I’ll call the guards!” Fudge yelled, and raised his wand. Harry frowned. Curious. Every word he’d said had been positively loaded with Persuasion. It should be able to break through every mind-spell or potion in existence. That much power would have Persuaded Dumbledore to walk off a cliff, and yet, Fudge was screaming and trying to curse him. Not good. He waved his hand irritably, and the Minister’s wand appeared in his hand. If he should, accidentally, get cursed, Sirius would never let him hear the end of it.

When the Minister discovered who had his wand, he turned and tried to break down the door, so he could get out. Harry sighed. What was wrong here? Quickly, he froze Fudge in mid air, before he began his search. There had to be something wrong. It could be that he’d completely lost his Persuasion abilities, but he highly doubted that, as that was impossible.

Carefully, he searched for anything that could make the Minister able to resist him, but he didn’t find anything. He frowned, and started a second search, and… What was that? He found the ‘spot’ –if you could call it that- and went deeper. A tiny, tiny hint of magic, which he could not recognise, but yet, it felt familiar somehow.

Gently, he ‘touched’ it. And felt positively convulsed. A feeling of distrust and disgust radiated from this tiny, tiny ‘knot’ of magic. His eyes widened at the power in it: No one but Voldemort could have done this, and if he wasn’t completely mistaken, it was a Talent. But what kind of Talent, he didn’t know. He frowned, and tried to destroy the ‘knot’. Then he felt it. He suddenly knew who this magic was directed at. Himself. Somehow, with an unknown Talent, Voldemort had planted distrust and disgust into the mind of the Minister, so that every time he heard the name ‘Harry Potter’, he would stop believing everything he heard or saw about him. Only hard, true proof could in any way convince him, as the magic, Talent, spell or whatever it was, didn’t destroy his ability to think. Whether Fudge had that ability or not, was another question entirely. He had to remove it before he could have a nice, long chat with the Minister.

~*~

Now it has to work! Can’t I just get a thing right for once!

“Good evening, Minister.” The man spun around. Then he froze. A young man sat in his chair, with his legs propped on his desk, smirking at him.

“W-wh-who are you?” the Minister stuttered, taking a step back, fumbling with the door handle. But, unfortunately, it seemed like the handle had…err…malfunctioned.

“My name…” the other man said, mysteriously “is inconsequential.” There was a small gust of wind –from where the Minister couldn’t guess, as every window, as well as the door was closed- and blew a few black strands of hair out of the young man’s face.

“Harry Potter!” Minister Fudge cried, terrified. “What-what are y-you d-doing here?!”

“You have, in your charge, something that belongs to me.”

“H-how did you m-manage to get in h-here?” Fudge stuttered. Perfect! Harry thought. He chuckled slightly.

“No worries, Minister, I did not apparate. Would have been difficult, as I don’t know who the Bonded are.” The Minister’s mind started to swirl around the Bonded for a minute, and Harry instantly read everything he was able to catch, and stored it for later use. He planned to use a pensieve and go carefully through everything later, together with Remus, Sirius, McGonagall and Dumbledore. And as he was here, he could just as well get back what belonged to him. “All I want, is my belongings. My trunk, which contains everything I own: school books, pictures… in short, memories. I would like to have them back. Since you know I’m innocent you will not refuse to give them to me, will you?”

“No, of course not,” the Minister said, having calmed down. “It is currently locked into your vault in Gringotts. I’ll write a letter to the Head Goblin, and you will get your key and everything.” The Minister grabbed a quill and some parchment from his desk, which Harry still sat behind, and wrote a quick letter and placed his sign on it.

“Perfect,” Harry said, and snatched the letter out of his hand. Even though this wasn’t the main reason he was here, he wanted them back, nonetheless. He sighed. His first wand however, was lost. It was procedure to snap wands from expelled students, and even though he had a new wand now (Ebony, griffin tooth, eleven inches) thinking about his first wand made him nostalgic. He turned to go.

“Mr. Potter?” the Minister said, hesitantly, as he turned the door handle. “Would you like to have this back?”

Harry’s jaw dropped. Between the Minister’s fingers was his wand, his very first wand. “B-but-but-“ Harry spluttered, angry at himself for not being calm and collected. “Wasn’t that snapped?” He asked, confused.

“It refuses to be snapped, so I thought you might want it b-back,” Fudge said, staggering backwards as Harry stared at him.

Harry quickly composed himself. “Yes, I’d very much like to,” he said, stalked over to where Fudge stood, grabbed his wand, pocketed it, and left, without as much as a backwards glance.

~*~

“Three are found. We are missing yours.”

“I haven’t found him yet. He’s not yet ready.”

“You know that, theoretically, it can be a she?”

A snort.

“Hasn’t happened for three millennia. Don’t think it’s going to happen for another three either.”

“Just hurry to find him. Or her.”

“It’s a legend, Asham. A female against a male would be the perfect balance between the two strongest, but it will never happen.”

“Never say never.”

“A stupid phrase.”

The man, called Asham, chuckled. “But hurry.”

~*~

Harry rubbed his temples. He didn’t quite have a headache, but he had a building storm behind his forehead. They had discovered one thing: Voldemort could not get past the Apparition shields. The shields had been modified less than six months ago, so no it wasn’t just to kill the Bonded, so now it wasn’t enough to kill the Bonded, the shields were now Bonded to the very earth, so you had to destroy London before you could apparate in. Ergo, Voldemort would have to walk in, or fly on a broomstick, but then he would be discovered before he was halfway in, so that wasn’t very likely.

“Either he has another way of getting in, or he isn’t planning to attack the Ministry at all,” McGonagall concluded.

And how very likely was that? Harry growled. They were getting nowhere!

“Harry?” Sirius asked carefully. “You’re alright?”

Harry sighed. “Yes, yes. Fine. Just a little stressed.” I have a training session with Hermione in less than fifteen minutes Sirius! How can that be alright?

He knew of course, that he had to apologise for what he’d said, not because he owed Hermione anything, but because he didn’t really mean it. And he’d hurt Hermione by saying something he didn’t mean, and that was wrong. But how should he apologise? Go down on his knees and ask for forgiveness? He knew Hermione very well, and once she had settled on something, it was hard to get her to change opinion. Perhaps he should wait a little, until she’d calmed a little and had time to think…

“I have to go now,” he said. “I shall meet Hermione in a few minutes.”

He didn’t notice the concerned looks he got from the others present in the room as he left. They were wondering if he wasn’t driving himself too hard, and all of them were cringing at the thought of Harry and Hermione in the same room; they had all seen how it ended last time…

~*~

Harry slammed two books onto the table. Hermione thought he looked tired and worn out, and his eyes were… dead. They didn’t shine and sparkle in the way she remembered so well from two years ago.

“This,” he said, holding up the thinnest one, “is a book I have written myself. It has notes mostly, written like a diary, from my experiences with my Power. Your Power is very similar to mine, though I got my Power at an early age, and was steered by this ‘instinct’, which taught me much of what I can do today, while you, the Pectal didn’t get your power before you were seventeen, and don’t have this ‘instinct’.”

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. “Then why do you always say ‘trust your instincts’ to me then, if I don’t have any?” she asked.

Harry looked a little ashamed. <Err…Difficult to explain…> he said.

Hermione fell off her chair when she heard Harry’s mental voice in her head.

“You’re a Telepath?” she asked, dumb-founded.

<Sort of…You are too,> he answered.

“I am? But why haven’t you taught…” She trailed off. It dawned on her. “You are my ‘instinct’.” She stated quietly, anger building inside of her. When she spoke again, her voice was dangerously calm.

“I trusted you as my teacher, in fact, as more than a teacher. I looked at you as a friend. And yet, you lied to me. Everything about you has been a lie. True, you have taught me about being a Pectal, that’s no lie, though you haven’t told me all, and I guess you’ve left out pretty much. But why? If you hated me so much, why bother to train me? Why don’t you just walk away and let me have my own life? I was your friend once! I thought I knew you! But I don’t, because the Harry I knew wouldn’t do this to a friend, even if he hated her!” The last bit she screamed. Harry bowed his head. When he looked up, she could see that he was angry too.

“Hermione,” he started, not using his Telepathy any longer. “I didn’t do this to hurt you. Don’t interrupt,” he said as he saw her open her mouth. “If you never got your Powers trained, you could end up in two ways: dead, or with your Powers locked up inside, not being able to use them at all. You wouldn’t even know they were there, but you would feel it, in a certain way. You would feel empty, like something was missing. You would never be whole. You would be an empty shell, with a beating heart, breathing lungs and thinking brain, but you would not really be alive. Your Powers are a part of you, and whether you like it or not, the Powers need you as much as you need them.” Harry lowered his head.

“I don’t hate you Hermione, I really don’t. Maybe you hate me because I lied to you, but I certainly don’t need that as an excuse. I was sentenced to Azkaban for something I didn’t do, and you believed it. Yet, I don’t hate you. I have forgiven you for that, as it is human to make mistakes. But we can never be friends in the way we were. However, we don’t need that, we only need to co-operate. And now that the cat is out of the bag, we can start your real training.” He turned back to the table. It was Hermione’s turn to look down, ashamed.

“This book is about Talents,” he said, and picked up the biggest of the books he’d brought. “It is the most detailed I could find,” he added, and handed it to her. The title read: Citatio And Pectal, by Ramses II, Pharaoh of Egypt.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, she also trying to act as if everything was normal.

“In the big Library in Alexandria. You know the one that muggles thought destroyed by Muslims lots and lots of years ago?” he asked. She nodded. “This is a copy of an old book. The original was on scrolls only, written by Ramses, besides very old, so I figured I couldn’t take them. The fact that it was written in hieroglyphs didn’t make it any better.” He smiled slightly. “So, I chose to take a copy written in English, in book form.”

“But I didn’t think normal commoners were even allowed inside the Alexandria Library, much less allowed to borrow books, and still you did!” Hermione said, a frown on her forehead. Harry grinned slightly.

“Ahh, yes, I haven’t told you about my Persuasion Talent.”

“Persuasion Talent? No, you haven’t told me much about how it works either,” Hermione said, her voice edged with irritation.

Harry sighed, and looked straight into her eyes. “Hermione,” he said. “Say after me: I hate reading.” Hermione’s eyes glazed over. Say ‘I hate reading…’ Say ‘I hate reading…’

“I…hate…read…” What? I don’t hate reading! “What!” she said, confused. “Why did I say that?”

“My Persuasion Talent.” Harry said. “I’m impressed. No one has yet accomplished what you just did.”

“What did I do?”

“You managed to break the spell. You didn’t finish the sentence. It is stronger than the Imperius curse, and works much like it.”

“But Harry, that’s dark magic!” Hermione said, horrified.

“Magic is only dark when it is used for evil purposes, Hermione. I haven’t used my gift to kill someone, or anything else illegal. Except that book, that is. Sometimes need comes before morals. You now understand how I could get this book?”

“Harry, you stole it!” she exclaimed, but Harry just chuckled. Neither noticed that they behaved like the last two years never had happened.

“No, I did not. The librarian gave it to me.” Harry grinned again.

Damn, he was cute when he smiled like that. Hermione thought.

“Well, anyway,” he said, and became serious again. “I can now tell you more about your Talents. I can sense those Talents we both have, and I have also seen a couple of your Talents in my visions. You already know you can Manipulate Water and Earth, that you have a little bit of Voice, plus Telekinesis, Healing and Empathy,” he said. Hermione nodded. “You also have Telepathy, Soul-searching and Beast-speaking.” His visions had showed versions where he told her about that, but he had hoped it wouldn’t end up that way. He would have preferred that she found out by herself.

Hermione sighed, accepting what he’d kept secret. “What I want to know, is what kind of Talents you have,” she said stubbornly, and it was Harry’s turn to sigh. Why couldn’t she just accept that he was a Citatio and let him have his secrets to himself?

“Well, I’m a Voice, a Persuader, and a Telepath like you. I also have Telekinesis like you, I can Manipulate Air and Fire, and a bit of Water,“ he said, and Hermione nodded. “I’m a Seer too, but I’m not sure weather or not that’s a Talent” Hermione nodded again; the newspapers had mentioned something about that, so it didn’t come as a very big surprise.

“I’m also a Shapeshifter and a Mind-reader.”

“A Mind-reader!” Hermione said horrified. What if he read my mind!”

“Yes.”

“Err… Have you ever read my mind?” she asked cautiously.

“Yes,” he answered. Hermione blushed bright red, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

“You haven’t…you haven’t… you…” she stuttered.

“I haven’t read anything you wouldn’t want me to read, Hermione, I promise. I have read it a few times, but I’ve just touched ‘the surface’. I wouldn’t want to see anything you wouldn’t want me to see.” He said this kindly, smiling slightly at her stuttering.

“Oh.”

“And Hermione?”

“Yes?” she answered, still beet red.

“Could you stop trying to get through my shields? You are a very strong Empath, and it gives me a headache.” Hermione blushed even more, and quickly withdrew.

“Thank you,” Harry said rubbing his temples. “And yes, I will teach you how to shield your mind. And yes, I read that thought. The number of times I’ve read your thoughts is now two.”

The rest of the lesson was spent teaching Hermione how to shield herself mentally. At the end of it, Hermione was sweating from the effort, and shivering slightly. Harry laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she said, forcing herself not to bury her head in his chest and just cry in frustration. The Pectal Powers had mostly good effects on her, as she now remembered everything she read after just reading it once, and everything she heard after just hearing it once, but it also made her so much more emotional, especially when she was tired. She could end up crying because of small, stupid details, or screaming at nothing. Another shiver ran through her body, and this time it was not because she was tired. Damn you Hermione, she thought to herself. Falling in love with a man who doesn’t trust you and probably despises you. Stupid, stupid, stupid!!!

”Okay,” he said hesitantly. “But before you leave, I want to show you how we are going to continue your training.” She nodded. “Look at this,” he said. A small shimmer, and a tree started to grow out of the stone floor. Hermione’s eyes widened, before she realised it was an illusion, not Earth Manipulation. The tree stretched upwards, twigs and branches started to form, it got leaves, green leaves. Then, beautiful flowers popped out everywhere. Hermione gasped. The tree reached up to her torso, and was the most beautiful tree she’d ever seen; silver trunk, dark green leaves, and shining yellow flowers. She looked at Harry, confused. How could this help her training?

“Do you think you can copy that?” he asked. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Never,” she said. She hadn’t yet managed any illusions, as it was almost as difficult as transfiguration, when she used Pectal Powers. She didn’t yet know how to do it.

“Of course you can. You just have to copy what I did. Analyse what I did with my magic, and then do the same yourself. It’s quite simple.” And it was. She followed his magic, sensing where he had ‘twisted’ it, where he had ‘tied’ it up, where he’d ‘spread’ it, and where he’d ‘gathered’ it. Seconds later, another tree, with white flowers accompanied the yellow one. But the strain had been too much, and Hermione was exhausted. She stumbled, but before she could fall, Harry caught her in his arms, steadying her. Oh dear, she thought, as –she didn’t know exactly how they had ended up in this position- his face was only inches from hers, and she was painfully aware of the fact that their bodies –though he probably didn’t think of it that way- were more than innocently touching.

“Err… Sorry,” she said.

It was a stupid thing to do. She knew it the instant she did it. She didn’t intend to do it. It just…happened.

She could sense that he had relaxed a bit, and didn’t hold his mental shields so strongly. Though she was tired, it had no effect on her Talents. Too late, he realised what she was trying to do. His eyes widened in shock and horror, but before he could get his shields up again, they were completely crushed under her pressure. She gasped, horrified because of what she’d done, and horrified because of what she sensed.

Fear and horror, confusion and astonishment. But what shocked her most of all, was the feeling of concern and love. Directed at her. What? He started to pull away, horrified as she now knew his hidden secret. But she didn’t let him. In later years she could never explain why she did it.

She tilted her chin a bit up. As her lips connected with his, he froze. Two seconds later she realised what she was doing. Shocked, she jumped back, blushing furiously, being horrified because of her actions. Not knowing what to do, she panicked and ran for the door.

But then Harry regained his senses, and managed to grab her by her arm before she was halfway there. He turned her around to face him, and Hermione looked into his green (gorgeous) eyes, but instead of the anger and disgust she’d expected, she saw…hope.

“I’m-“ ‘I’m sorry’ was what she had intended to say, but trailed off as Harry’s green eyes fixed on her brown eyes. What is he doing? she thought, bewildered, as Harry leaned forward. He isn’t going to… He tilted his head a bit to one side and leaned even closer. He is! She could scent his breath now. Mint. Oh God. Mint tea had always been Harry’s favourite.

Harry’s soft lips met hers for the second time that day, and she felt a shiver run down her spine.

She moaned softly, emotions she’d never felt the like of enveloping her, and she was totally unaware of her surroundings. All she knew was the sweet, sweet taste of Harry’s lips. This…Is…So…So…

“Ahem.”

Wonderful.

====================

*drum roll*

*evil grin* Go me.

Disclaimer: This has never, ever been done before. This is my invention. Therefore, I put it on the internet, so everyone who want to can copy it down. I myself couldn’t care less about the money. *eerie silence* Please forgive my sarcasm.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! (Go you)

Beta-read by the-dreamer. Duh… Go her.

Finally I’ve got all ten chapters out on both Fanfiction.net and Portkey.org. Happy now? Good. (Go me)

11. Forgive And Forget

Chapter Eleven: Forgive And Forget

Harry didn’t really know what to think. Okay, at this moment he wasn’t really thinking at all, but thoughts would come to him eventually. Because he was kissing Hermione, a dream he’d fought hard to keep out of his head the last half a year. It gave him goose-bumps. It made him crazy. It made him dizzy. No, scratch that; it made him weak; it felt like his knees were about to give in and he would fall onto the floor. But he couldn’t do that, because if he did, and ended up on the floor on top of her, -or worse; her on top of him- he knew he would get carried away and do something he’d regret later. It didn’t stop his hands from roaming her back though, or tangling with her hair. What this would lead to, (beside the being-carried-away thing) which probably was something very awkward and difficult, he decided to worry about later. Wait, who’s talking about worrying? Not Harry, because the sensible part of his brain had decided to go on vacation, so no such thoughts were even present.

He was currently enjoying the best moment of his life, so, naturally, someone had to ruin it. Vaguely, he heard someone clear a throat. (What? He never heard that badly before…?) This brought him back to reality. As close to reality as you can come, when you have a very beautiful woman wrapped around your neck, your hands under her blouse, caressing the small of her back. Harry had no idea how they had ended up there. One part of Harry’s mind desperately wanted to just stay like that, while another (much smaller part) screamed that he should get control of himself. The smaller part, unfortunately, won.

He broke the kiss, took one step back and turned his head towards the door… and started wishing for a big, black hole, which he could hide in. A quick glance at Hermione, who also had noticed they were not alone anymore, told him that she was thinking along the same lines.

In later years Harry became rather famous for his door-locking; if he didn’t want anyone to interrupt his privacy, no one interrupted his privacy. But today, in the doorway stood Professors Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall. Thank God it’s not Sirius; he’d never let me live this down, flashed through Harry’s mind. Not that this was any better, by the way.

Harry felt himself flush scarlet. Dumbledore was looking at them, with barely contained amusement, while McGonagall was looking quite shocked. The first few seconds, that is. Once the first shock left her, she had to fight to keep herself from grinning.

Harry was glad he had the ability to compose himself quickly. At least look like he composed himself quickly.

“Good evening, Professor,” he said calmly, in an almost normal voice. “Something I can help you with?” he asked, and at the same time conjuring up four chairs.

Fortunately, even though Dumbledore didn’t know what had happened between them, he knew it was something Harry and Hermione had to sort out by themselves. He also knew that they were old enough to do it, though they hadn’t really showed it yet, considering what had happened last time they…err… met. So, much to Harry and Hermione’s relief, he didn’t say a word about what had been going on. It didn’t stop him from looking very amused, though.

Despite his calm, (though rather flushed) appearance, Harry’s mind was in chaos. Thoughts like: ‘Why did she do that?’, ‘What will happen now?’, ‘Does she like me?’, and so on, flashed through his mind at lightning speed. As much as Harry had thought about Hermione, the possibility of her liking him back had never crossed his mind. Yet, when she’d broken his barrier (Harry mentally berated himself), and read the emotions he held for her, she hadn’t been disgusted or angry, but she’d kissed him! Harry’s heart had stopped beating right then and there. All rational thoughts fled his head, and when she ran, he grabbed her and…

I need a cold shower.

~*~

Dumbledore was both surprised and amused. He had figured out that Harry had this ‘thing’ for Hermione, by reading his emotions, and of course, he also knew some of Hermione’s feelings too. And even though he knew, he hadn’t thought they would figure it out that fast.

Now, one may ask why he never told Harry and Hermione what he knew about them, and why he never volunteered to train Hermione’s Empath abilities, which Harry didn’t have. The answer was rather simple: As soon as an Empath discovered his or her abilities, he or she would need very little help to control it, and he would rather help the Empath to realise when to use the gift, and when not to use it, or misuse it. Throughout the years, he’d discovered quite a few Empaths, and though they had never known that he was one, he had, with his small, subtle hints and such, managed to get almost everyone to think twice before they used their gift. He prided himself in his ability to get students to trust him and respect him, and this so often proved useful. Because of his own Empathy, he could very often guess what people thought, and had many times given a student a guilty conscience with only a look.

As for the feelings Hermione and Harry had for each other: he knew very well that he could not tell either of them about it. It was something they had to figure out alone.

Also, he was very grateful that he’d never had revealed his gift to anyone. He had, almost immediately after discovering his gift, also discovered a way to hide it, something that should have been impossible, as every Empath can sense another Empath, even though he or she isn’t currently using the gift. Yet, he had managed to hide it, and now he had decided to teach this to Harry and Hermione, as it wouldn’t be smart to let anyone know about their Talents. He didn’t know for sure, but he was fairly certain that you could hide any Talent in the same way.

But not right now. He had news from Blaise Zabini, one of his Death Eater students. It always filled him with sorrow when he learned that one of his students had joined their ranks, but at least this girl could be saved, and perhaps help others, who had found themselves trapped between the Light and the Dark. Yet, he suspected it was more than her being trapped as a Death Eater, wanting to be a light witch, that bothered her. He also suspected it was something about her that Harry hadn’t told him when he said he had a spy in the Death Eaters’ ranks. He only hoped Harry knew what he was doing.

Professor Dumbledore gave a quick review of what she’d brought back to him, deciding that it was time to let Hermione into it as well. He saw Hermione’s confused look, and was about to start telling her what was going on, when she suddenly turned her head towards Harry, and a look of understanding dawned on her face. Dumbledore was puzzled for a second, before he realised that Harry had to be a Telepath. The young man had been rather reluctant to show what he could do, but it seemed like this wasn’t bothering him so much any longer. Dumbledore had long wondered what had made Harry hide things from him, even after he learned what he really was, but had figured it was a force of habit. He only hoped he could open up to Ms. Granger.

~*~

“So,” Harry said, “he’s going to attack when the results are publicised, when very many people are gathered at the Ministry, along with the candidates. He will wreak havoc, kill the new Minister, let our good friend Lucius clear it up, and then let him claim the position. We know when, but we don’t know how.” He stroked his jaw absentmindedly. He could still feel it where Hermione had touched him. His skin still prickled and tingled so strangely. In fact, he was tingling all over. Riiiiiighhhht Harry! You’re getting way off track…

“Okay,” he said, forcing his brain to concentrate on the matters at hand. “Do you have any ideas about what to do?” he asked Dumbledore, and at the same time cast a quick glance at Hermione, who still had a red tinge in her checks, and was staring at her hands, occasionally casting glances at him. He fought the urge to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, and turned his full attention to Professor Dumbledore, who had started on the to-do list. Wonder if it meant anything… What if she’s regretting it now? But why should she do it, then? What if she was just… caught in the moment? What if…

“A good idea,” Harry said as Dumbledore stopped speaking. He quickly and unnoticed penetrated Dumbledore’s shields, and read what he could find about what had just been said. The man had powerful shields, but not powerful enough. Harry wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he'd been noticed, but he hoped not. And anyway, Dumbledore would probably understand that his mind was elsewhere ‘occupied’. “So you'll get this Mr. Storm to raise the security at the Ministry, make sure as many of The Order of Phoenix members are there at the time, and then I’ll make sure to be there, as ‘The Golden Mask’."

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, that’s all we can do, without attracting Voldemort’s attention. I cannot be there, unfortunately, as I have Hogwarts to look after.”

Harry smiled grimly. “We’ll make sure he gets a warm welcome anyway.” Then he shook his head, as if to shake off the grim mode, and smiled. “So, you think Mr. Weasley is going to win?” he asked, and Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore shared a glance.

“Well,” McGonagall said, “Marice has done a good job, so we’re rather sure he will. We cannot be absolutely sure, however, though Mr. Malfoy’s chances are as good as nothing anyway, and that’s good.”

Hermione, who had been following the conversation with interest, and been telepathically supplied with bits and pieces of information from Harry, looked confusedly at her professor, while Harry grinned. “So the two of you did have something to do with that!” he exclaimed, and McGonagall shoot him a surprised look.

“You knew about that?” she asked, and Harry nodded, supplying Hermione with the necessary information.

“You always looked so smug when it came up," he said. "I couldn’t be sure, of course, but it served my purposes, so I didn’t actually care about the details.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Nothing gets past you, does it?” he said, and Harry smiled.

“Oh, you know. I’ve had a good teacher,” he said, and sent the Headmaster a knowing look, mixed with amusement. Both he and Hermione had, by now, forgotten to be embarrassed.

They sat in silence for a little while, all of them in their own thoughts (not in anyone else’s). Harry sighed. How wonderful it had felt to hold her like that. She was so warm and so soft… He could have spent hours just holding her close, hearing her heartbeats, her breathing, taking in the soft scent of her, playing with her hair, and feeling her warmth. He’d give anything to be able to do that again. He smiled wryly at himself. You kiss her once, and then you can’t imagine a life without her. Get a grip, Potter.

Dumbledore interrupted his train of thought. “But what about this Talent you discovered? The one you think comes from Voldemort?” Professor McGonagall cringed slightly.

Harry’s head snapped up. “What?” he said, before he realised what Dumbledore was talking about. “Oh, that.” He frowned, since he hadn’t really given it much thought yet. He’d had other things on his mind. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think it was a Talent, as it was definitely not a curse or spell. And in some strange way I ‘recognised’ it. If you can say that about something you haven’t seen before.” He sent Hermione a brief review of what he’d discovered when he visited the Minister.

Dumbledore thought about that for a moment. “Everyone who has a Talent can sense another with the same Talent. Could it be possible that you have it too?” he asked.

Harry rubbed his temples. “I honestly don’t know. It could be that, but it could be because I'm a Citatio.” He sighed. “Damn you Voldemort!” he suddenly blurted out, frustrated, before smiling sheepishly at his outburst. McGonagall cringed.

Something tickled at the edge of Harry’s mind. Something he should have remembered. No, something he should know. Why did he get the same weird feeling when he said ‘Voldemort’, and when he’d searched Fudge’s mind? When he thought about it, he’d always had this tickle, every time that name was mentioned. Why hadn’t he noticed it before?

“Voldemort,” he said again, at the same time searching in the same way as he’d done with the Minister. Again this tickle at the back of his mind. The others looked confused at him, and McGonagall flinched.

“Excuse me, Harry, but why did you repeat that name?” Hermione asked, and the professors looked curiously at him. Harry frowned. Hermione had always flinched at that before. A suspicion started to form in his mind.

“Voldemort,” he said, and the same thing happened; McGonagall cringed, and the three of them looked at him as if he was going mad.

“Harry?” Dumbledore said, wondering why Harry was repeating the name ‘Voldemort’.

Harry looked at him. “What I noticed in the Minister is also associated with the name ‘Voldemort’,” he said, slowly. “I get this weird tickle in the back of my head every time I hear it. When I think about it, I have always reacted that way.” The three others shared a look.

“What do you mean?” Professor McGonagall asked.

Harry took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let it out again, slowly. “Every time a person hears it, he or she cringes, and feels frightened,” he said. “And now I just did a ‘search’, as I call it, and found something quite similar to what I found in the Minister, yet different…” Harry shook his head. “Very difficult to explain.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “Care to try?” he asked.

Harry fixed his green eyes on Minerva. “You’re the only one who fears the name in this room. I do not, because I’m a Citatio, Hermione doesn't because she’s a Pectal, and Professor Dumbledore doesn't, because he’s a very powerful wizard,” he said, and it suddenly occurred to Hermione that he was right; she didn’t fear the name anymore, like Ron did.

Harry continued. “It’s like…something… is woven around the very name. Something evil that is in the air, and when the name is said, it triggers a fear reaction in the person who hears it.”

Harry looked as confused as the other three. “But,” he said, slowly, “I managed to remove it from the Minister, so I should manage it with ‘Voldemort’ too.”

He stood and walked over to McGonagall. “May I?” he asked. McGonagall nodded; she was curious about this too. Harry placed two fingers on her forehead, and his eyes shone for a moment.

Hermione followed his every move, curious about both the name and about Harry. She hadn’t seen him use his powers much yet, so she paid careful attention to what he did.

Harry frowned; he’d found nothing in his search. Okay, different approach, he thought.

“Voldemort,” he said, pronouncing it clearly, at the same time trying to find what magic was in the name. Professor McGonagall shivered, but not so visibly as she did before; she was trying to fight the urge. However, even though Harry came a few steps closer, he didn’t quite reach whatever it was he was trying to remove.

“Minerva,” he said, (he’d gotten used to using his former professors' first names now.) “Please say the name. Pronounce it loud and clear.”

So McGonagall, though not knowing what Harry was doing, yet willing to be a part of the experiment, did so. She gathered her Gryffindor courage, and took a deep breath.

“V-Voldemort," she said. Harry’s eyes suddenly lit up with a golden light, and an expression of triumph spread across his face. A few seconds later the light dimmed, and Harry took a few steps back, smiling.

“Say the name again,” he said.

“Voldemort,” McGonagall said, and her eyes widened in surprise. “What?” she said. “That- that was so easy!”

But while McGonagall was marvelling over the ‘miracle’, Dumbledore was frowning. “Harry,” he said, and the others turned their attention to him. “I don’t know what you know about this new Talent, but I cannot bring myself to believe that Voldemort could bring the whole wizarding world to fear his name with magic. With killings and destruction, perhaps, but with magic?” Harry nodded at the Headmaster.

“Yes, and you’re right. It’s a kind of combination between the two of them, and it can be fought. I’m sure you know that some wizards and witches nearly faint at the use of his name, while others just cringe slightly. You can ‘train’ yourself not to fear it, in a way.”

Hermione, McGonagall and Dumbledore raised their eyebrows.

“What?” Harry said, confused.

“And this you found out by just making Minerva say ‘Voldemort’?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry smiled. “Yes, it provided me pretty much information. If I’d just looked for the same information when I searched Fudge, I would have known it before,” he said, and Dumbledore nodded.

“So now the fear for Voldemort’s name is gone?” Hermione asked eagerly, but Harry shook his head.

“No, what I did applies to Minerva alone. I can do it to everybody else, but I don’t particularly like the idea of doing it to thousands of others. Imagine the time it would take,” he answered. He looked thoughtful for a moment. The magic Voldemort had used was rather simple, yet it would take him quite an amount of time to repair the damage inflicted, if he should choose to try that.. “You know, it took Voldemort less than an hour to do it, and yet it would take me a decade to un-do it.” He scowled. “The man certainly loves to make my life difficult.” The three others chuckled at that. It wasn’t like it was very funny, but it was so bizarre that it was funny. Most people would probably phrase it a bit differently. But it was good in a way; one has to laugh at the small things, when you live in a world at war.

In the end, Dumbledore decided it was time to depart. He remembered that Harry and Hermione had been rather ‘busy’ when he arrived, and he was sure they still had something to settle. He didn’t voice that thought, though. He just announced his and McGonagall’s departure, and left. It was only afterwards he realised he hadn’t presented the proposition of teaching them to hide their Talents. Oh well, he thought. I’ll deal with that later. They wouldn’t be paying attention anyway.

~*~

Harry and Hermione sat a few moments in silence, thinking. Okay, what am I going to do now? ‘Hermione, can I kiss you again?’ Erm…No. Perhaps not the best way to start this…Perhaps I should invite her to my rooms, so we could talk…Next second: No! That could look like something! I certainly won’t have her thinking that I just want to… He chose not to finish that particular thought.

“Err… Harry?” Hermione said, after a long silence. Oh no, here it comes, Harry thought.

“Yes, Hermione,” even in his own ears his voice was strange. He licked his lips nervously, and forced himself to look at her. She looked nervous, yet she had a mischievous streak in her eyes.

“What kind of name is ‘The Golden Mask’, really?” she asked, and Harry stared at her. That was certainly not what he’d expected.

“Wh-what?” he croaked, and Hermione giggled like a silly schoolgirl. Next second, they both burst out laughing, for no apparent reason.

~*~

It was Hermione who suggested that they should go elsewhere to talk. Somewhere more comfortable ... and private. Harry, gathering his courage, suggested they should go to his living quarters, perhaps have a cup of tea, and well, talk. He prided himself on not rambling too much. Hermione agreed, though uncertainly. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, but what if someone saw them? So Harry solved the problem by opening a Wandering portal to his living room, and dragged her through. While he made some tea, Hermione studied the portal, astonished. When Harry came back with tea, she proudly announced that she thought she knew how to close it. Harry beamed at her, but refused to let her try, considering that she already was exhausted. All this was only to delay what had to come, which was something that scared the living daylights out of both. In the end Harry motioned towards two chairs in front of the fireplace.

Now came the hardest thing: How to begin?

An awkward silence followed. Harry nervously took a sip of his tea, and grimaced. In his rush he’d made lemon tea instead of mint tea, and he’d completely forgotten to ask Hermione what she preferred. He decided it was time to break the silence, and cleared his throat. Hermione, who had been very interested in the patterns on her tea-cup, looked at him.

“Hermione,” he said, but his voice failed him. “Hermione,” he said again. “I j-just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He didn’t dare to look at her.

Hermione stared at him. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that. Why should he apologise?

“Harry,” she said softly, “why are you apologising to me? It’s I who should apologise to you.” Finally, Harry looked at her, and his eyes carried a mixture of love, hope, sadness, and regret.

“For what I said to you,” he replied. “I didn’t mean what I said, and it hurt you so much,” he said, miserably.

Hermione felt so bad. He was miserable because he’d hurt her, when he had been completely right! Of course it had hurt her, but now she could see how wrong she had been, and how right he had been. After all, she had betrayed him in the worst way imaginable, and then, she’d got angry at him because he didn’t come straight back to her, but hid from her instead. Hermione mentally smacked herself. Why hadn’t she realised this before? She was supposed to be very intelligent, and yet, she’d behaved so terribly, terribly stupid. She suddenly realised exactly how stupid she’d been. She had known the truth for a long time now, but she hadn’t really realised exactly what it meant. She’d been so buried in her own petty sorrows and problems, that she hadn’t really thought about it. But now when she did, she was shocked beyond belief at her own stupidity.

“Oh Harry,” she said hoarsely, tears in her eyes. Stupid tears. Idiot, you shan’t cry now! “Don’t be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about. It was I who was the stupid one. If what you said hurt me, then what I believed about you must have hurt you too. Please Harry, don’t be sorry. I deserved it.” And she did. She deserved everything she got. She’d believed he was a murderer. A tear silently slid down her check. Idiot. A few minutes ago you were laughing together with him, and now you’re crying. Hermione chastised herself. But what if he’ll never forgive me? A voice in her head said. But he did kiss me, the more optimistic voice replied. Heck, I don’t deserve it! The first voice argued back. But perhaps he doesn't care about that. The optimistic voice again.

She heard a rustle of clothes and looked up into Harry’s concerned eyes, where he was kneeling beside her chair. He extended a hand and brushed the tear away.

“Please, Hermione, don’t cry. I don’t like seeing you cry,” he said, but this only brought more tears to her eyes. How could he be so kind to her, when she’d been such a bitch to him? She jerked away from him, and hid her face in her hands.

“I’m so sorry, Harry, I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry,” she sobbed. She wanted him to go away, she didn’t deserve either his concern or his love. But she wanted it so much. Next second she felt him wrap his strong arms around her, embracing her tightly but gently.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “please don’t cry. Please be happy again. I don’t want you to cry. You'll make me cry too.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. She melted into his arms, her body now shaking with sobs. Why was he doing this? Why didn’t he just leave?

“I’m sorry,” she said again, between the sobs.

“Shh,” Harry soothed. “Don’t be. I forgive you.”

Wha-?

“I forgive you,” Harry repeated.

Hermione forgot to cry. “What?” she asked. “Why?”

Harry smiled. “I forgive you,” he said again. “Because I want to.”

“But I don’t deserve it,” Hermione objected, and Harry laughed softly.

“Are you arguing with my decision, Hermione?” he asked, and she blushed.

“But I don’t,” she said again, though her spirits started to rise again.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. It’s up to me to decide.” He smiled again. “What? You don’t want me to forgive you?”

“Well yes, of course I do, I just- you don’t- I can’t“ She was rambling, and Harry chuckled.

“Finish your sentences, will you?” he said, and she blushed again. Harry still had his arms around her, and she was quite content where she was. But she had a question she had to ask.

“Harry,” she said softly.

“Yes,” he answered.

“How- I mean; what is going to happen now?” she avoided his eyes. “I mean, lots of things have happened since…” she trailed off. She remembered his trial all too well, and she didn’t doubt he remembered it better.

He didn’t say anything. Finally she dared to look at his face again. What she saw scared her. His eyes were so…dead. So haunted. She shuddered, knowing she’d been the cause, at least partially. He noticed her shudder, and his eyes snapped back to her again, and she cowered under his gaze. His eyes softened and he rose. He took her by her shoulders and led her over to the window.

“Look at the sunset, Hermione,” he said. Confused, she did so. The sun was colouring the sky crimson, purple and pink, and made the mountains cast long shadows.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“So let's concentrate on that. Let's forget the bad things, and remember the good and beautiful things,” he said. “Let's forget about the past.” His arms slid around her waist from behind. “I just want to think about the future.”

~*~

When Hermione woke up the next morning, she felt more at peace than she could remember. It took a few minutes before she understood why. Apparently, she had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace together with Harry, and that was why she woke up with her head resting on his chest, and his arms wrapped around her waist. She didn’t mind though. She was happy to be in Harry’s arms. Of course, she knew they still had a long way to go, but at least they had made up. That was a beginning.

She figured she was rather comfortable, and didn’t really want to get up yet, so she decided against it. It was nice laying there, enjoying the warmth he emitted, and listening to his heartbeats and even breaths. In fact, he smelled very nice too; a mix of masculinity, fresh air and after-shave. She giggled and buried her head deeper in his chest, inhaling his scent deeply. Unfortunately, Harry was a light sleeper and woke up because of her movement. He blinked a couple times, realising what he had in his arms, and sat up. Hermione sighed disappointedly and curled up in his lap instead. He grinned slightly and yawned.

“Guess we fell asleep,” he said.

“Mmm,” Hermione murmured.

He chuckled. “Hermione,” he said, “as much as I hate to mention it, it’s morning, and we both have classes to attend to. So we really have to get up.”

Hermione sighed. “But you haven’t answered my question yet,” she complained, and Harry looked confusedly at her.

“Your question? What question?” he asked.

“The one about 'The Golden Mask'. I asked what kind of name that was,” Hermione said.

Harry grinned inwardly. Hermione was trying to drag out the time, and personally, he didn’t mind that much. “Oh, that. Why did you even ask that question? It wasn’t really what I’d thought you’d ask,” he said.

“I was trying to lighten the mood,” Hermione defended herself. “And as far as I remember, it worked. We both laughed our heads off, because it was so silly.”

“As far as I remember, it didn’t work at all. You still ended up sobbing in my arms,” Harry replied.

“So?” Hermione pouted. “Then you could do that manly, comfort-the-girl thing of yours. You shouldn’t really mind that.”

“Well, okay, I admit it,” Harry said. “I didn’t mind that much.” He leaned back and rested his back against one of the chairs, before settling her more comfortably in his lap. “But for your question; it wasn’t me who chose the name. It was the public and the press. I’ve never even talked to a living person –well, except once- when I’ve been ‘The Golden Mask’. Personally I agree with you: it’s an absolutely ridiculous name.”

Hermione turned to look at him. “It’s your fault you know, with that costume,” she said. “Honestly, red clashes horribly with your eyes.”

“Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor,” Harry defended himself. “Anyway, they could easily have found a better name; like Contorqueo* or Opacus*. Sceadu* is a good choice too, and Cieux*, or perhaps-”

He was interrupted by Hermione, “Stop showing off your Language gift, I don’t understand a thing,” she grunted, but she was smiling. “I get your point. But I like Adonis* better.” Then, Harry blushed.

~*~

It was a little time later, after a bit of cosy cuddling (it was weird how easy it was to forget everything that had happened…), that Harry decided it was time for Hermione to return to her dorm, before someone discovered her absence.

“But how am I going to manage that?” Hermione said. “I have to wander through the whole castle."

“Well,” Harry said. “There are two ways; you can borrow my invisibility cloak-“ He was interrupted.

“But that was confiscated by the Ministry!” Hermione exclaimed.

Harry didn’t really fancy starting on that story now. “Long story that, we’ll take it later. The second option is to teach you to Wander.”

Hermione squealed like a little girl. Must be a girl thing, Harry mused.

It took him exactly ten minutes to teach her how to open a gate, five minutes to teach her how to close it, and nine minutes to teach her how to end up where she wanted to end up. He didn’t have the time to teach her how to make it invisible, so he just made sure she got safely into her room, telling her not to use it when he wasn’t there. Hermione’s innocent smile told him she was not going to listen.

He just hoped she wouldn’t get caught.

---------------------------------

* Contorqueo: Latin for Power

* Opacus: Latin for Shadow

* Sceadu: Old English for Shadow

* Cieux: Part of the French word Silencieux, which means Silent. Also plural of Ciel, which means sky.

* Adonis: Adonis is a part of Greek Mythology. Apparently, he was an extremely handsome young man, and two Goddesses, Persephone and Venus, fell in love with him. To avoid quarrels, Zeus decided that he should spend one half of the year with one of them, and the other half with the other. Unfortunately, a dog attacked him while he was out hunting, and killed him. He died in Venus’s arms, and an anemone rose from his blood. (Information provided by Naia)

[I’m not entirely sure of any of these words, please correct me if I’m wrong.]

====================

Disclaimer: Duh… (My disclaimers are getting a bit boring, aren’t they?)

12. Dangerous Discoveries

13. Revelations

Chapter Thirteen: Revelations

This is not good, Harry thought, which was the understatement of the millennium. Voldemort was powerful, he knew that. But he couldn’t be a Citatio, because that would make two Citatios. And if he wasn’t a Citatio, and still could Wander, what was he then? Right Harry, don’t panic. Stay calm. But how could he, when people were being murdered all around him? First thing first, he thought. A quick telepathic message, and all the children started to run for his portal. This caused distraction for the Death Eaters who were practically streaming out of Voldemort’s portal. One of them shot a curse at one of the children, but missed.

The curse however, woke the stunned audience. Only Harry knew what was really happening, but everybody understood they were in grave danger. The crowd was no longer silent. More curses from the Death Eaters were answered by curses from the crowd. The Aurors gathered some of them and fought back, but there seemed to be no end to the dark wizards. Harry saw people fall from the Killing curse, others were severely damaged by Cutting curses and Burning hexes. The Cruciatus was a favourite it seemed.

Making sure every child was safely through the portal Harry closed it, and sent a calming reassurance to hysterical parents, who thought this was a Death Eater product. Then he sent a powerful energy blast into the Death Eater forces, knocking several of them out, perhaps even killing them. Then he stepped out of the shadows.

He was impressive, he knew that. He was surrounded by a golden glow, and through it you could see the red robes. It was for that reason he’d chosen the red colour, other than his being a Gryffindor, as darker colours would be more fitting for a ‘Hero’. It was a warm colour, easy to spot, and an opposite of the Death Eaters’ black. Red went nicely with gold too, and was a small piece of colour in an otherwise dark world.

His appearance caused angry shouts from the Death Eaters, and awed exclamations from all others. Those of the Death Eaters who hadn’t noticed the Aurors before now, did, and realised they were expected. This caused a few moments of hesitation, enough for the Aurors to organise themselves better, but not long enough. The Death Eaters were many, and knew they’d probably win, even though the Aurors had protection from the Avada Kedavra. The spell had to be recast every time they were hit, and that took a few seconds. A few seconds they didn’t have. A few seconds the Death Eaters quickly learned to use.

So they charged.

~*~

Harry was exhausted, both physically, mentally and magically. He was shocked, worried and furious. He was wounded, cut and bloody. His head was spinning and he was dizzy. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep forever, and forget about the world.

He was ecstatic, happy and triumphant.

Arthur Weasley was alive.

He was alive.

Three hundred and fifty-four innocent citizens were dead. One hundred and fifty-seven wounded.

One hundred and forty-three Death Eaters were dead or captured.

Twenty-four Aurors were dead. Seventeen wounded.

Five Order members dead. Seven wounded.

Voldemort was probably furious.

Voldemort had been there. He had shown he was powerful. Harry couldn’t open a fifty foot wide Wander portal. Harry couldn’t kill twenty persons with a single blow. How they had managed to drive him back, was something Harry would marvel at forever. Perhaps it was because the Minister was out of reach, and Voldemort probably concluded that they had caused enough damage. The Death Eaters had scared the living daylights out of the Wizarding world, and they had showed how powerful and how numerous they really were. More wasn’t yet needed.

Well, except getting rid of that Citatio. Which Voldemort fortunately had to give up. Even though he was more powerful than Harry, it didn’t help him much. He couldn’t manage to catch him, as Harry was too fast. So they left. They didn’t flee. What was there to flee from? Dead bodies?

No, they left. As if they had only been visiting for tea.

Leaving the Wizarding world to tend to its wounds.

Much was going to be revealed. The members of the Order of the Phoenix would be revealed. Even though everyone knew Dumbledore was the leader, few knew who the members were, and that most of them were this century’s brightest wizards and witches: Healers, Potions Masters, Transfigurations Masters, Charms Masters. Some of them were even Muggles: Technicians, Scientists, Medics, etc. They were the defensive part of it. The offensive part of The Order of the Phoenix, consisted of Duelling Masters, Combat Masters, Strategists and Tacticians. They were about twenty-five in numbers. Well, now they were twenty. Five of the seventeen who had been at the Attack were now dead.

All this would be revealed to the public eye, because with so many wounded and dead people, they couldn’t stay in the shadows and leave the clean-up to others. It was time to stand forward, unite the Wizarding world, and fight.

But that wasn’t what scared Harry the most. He would be revealed. He and Hermione. First to the Order of the Phoenix, and the Aurors, and then to the rest of the world. They wouldn’t be able to hide it anymore, as several of the captured Death Eaters knew about them, and they wouldn’t keep their mouths shut. Besides, it is easier to work with an ally you know the name of. It’s easier to trust the ally too, then.

That was why he was running through the corridor, to a part of Hogwarts which the Marauders had never found. A hidden wing, in which the Order members stayed when they were at the castle. A labyrinth of corridors, rooms and halls. It was here, to one of the big, empty rooms they brought the critically wounded ones. All of the others were brought to St. Mungo, where they were treated by both Order members who weren’t at Hogwarts, and St. Mungo’s doctors.

He stopped outside the door. “Do you think you can do this?” he asked worriedly.

Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I have to, Harry. You wouldn’t let me come with you today, because you claimed I’m not ready for combat, but this I have to do. If I can save lives, I will.” She placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Don’t worry, I’m not afraid of blood, you know.”

Harry shook his head. What awaited her on the other side of the door could only be described as horrible, but he knew she was right. She had to go in there.

Hermione paled when she entered. The smell, the sounds and the sight told of blood and death. Oh God, she thought. She felt Harry’s gentle touch on her shoulder, and ground her teeth together. She could do this!

One of the Order Healers briskly asked her what a child like her was doing here, but Hermione ignored her completely, and stepped past her. She had eyes for the young woman on the nearest bed only. The Healer tried to stop her, but froze in her tracks when she saw Hermione’s silver eyes. She knew what that meant. She turned to Harry, and suddenly noticed the scar on his forehead. Her jaw dropped. Harry raised an eyebrow, before grabbing her wrist and dragging her over to another patient.

“I’m a powerful magician,” he said, “but I have never had any tutoring in the Healing arts. Tell me what to do.”

~*~

Hermione was exhausted, Harry could easily tell. Yet, she carried on with her task, never wavering. She’d been working for four hours straight, and Harry was immensely surprised by her stamina. Proud too. The Healers had been surprised when they noticed her, but they were all intelligent beings, and understood what she was and what she did. They led her away from the patients they could handle themselves, over to those who were dying, and often missing a limb, or having most of their skin burnt away. They watched her in amazement, and those who knew a bit about Pectals, were impressed.

Harry too was busy. He learned quickly, and cast powerful healing charms and spells, and healed wounds an average spellcaster couldn’t even dream of, as healing magic was one of the most difficult magical arts. But there were so many of them! People died before their eyes, because they didn’t reach them in time.

Fortunately, after four hours, they began to get the situation under control. One of the Healers approached Harry. Harry looked up, his eyes glowing. He had put what he had left of his Citatio energy into his spells.

“Mr. Potter,” the Healer said, and Harry’s lips twitched slightly. They had quickly accepted his presence, even though he’d been gone the last two, almost three, years, and had probably guessed that they would get their questions answered later. He liked that kind of person. “You came with the Pectal, didn’t you?” he asked, and Harry nodded. The Healer continued. “Well, I suggest you take her away from here now. She’s exhausted and we don’t need her anymore. We can manage it ourselves now.”

Harry broke into a genuine smile, and thanked the man. He was definitely a likeable person. He found her in the other end of the room. She had collapsed in a chair, dead tired. She was sweaty, and was panting slightly. <Sweetheart,> Harry murmured in her mind, and she opened her eyes, looking around for him. He kneeled beside her chair, and she looked at him through half-closed lids. “You need to rest,” he said. Ignoring her muttered protests, he effortlessly picked her up in his arms, and walked out of the improvised hospital.

Now, where to take her… He couldn’t take her to her dorm, that wouldn’t do. But she needed to lie down in a bed. It’ll have to be my room then, he thought. But how to get there, without being spotted by students… He mentally slapped himself. At two AM? But anyway…

“Harry!”

He spun around, almost losing Hermione in the process, and stared up at…Sirius. Sirius had been one of the Order members at the election. He had been wounded, but not seriously, and had been treated at St. Mungo. Harry guessed he had been unable to return to Hogwarts before now.

“Oh, Sirius,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Sirius chuckled a little at his godson’s startled expression. “What a way to greet your godfather who you haven’t seen it two weeks,” he said, still chuckling. His eyes wandered over to Hermione, who was cradled in Harry’s arms, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. He grinned devilishly, which only strengthened Harry’s suspicion: He knew something. “By the way Harry, it seems like you have forgotten to tell me something…” Sirius continued.

Yep, he knows. Harry thought, while groaning silently. “Who said I forgot?” he asked, and arched an eyebrow at Sirius. He then turned around and stalked away from his godfather, a small smile playing on his lips. <Please, Sirius,> he spoke mentally to him. <Let’s take that later, shall we?> His smile widened into a grin, as he imagined Sirius’ expression when he heard Harry’s voice in his mind.

~*~

Harry managed to get to his rooms without being spotted by students walking around after curfew. He put Hermione on his bed and made sure she was covered by a blanket, before he sank down in a chair in the living room. He sighed. He was exhausted too. And he was thirsty…

He must have fallen asleep, and when he woke up, all the candles in his room had died down. For a second he wondered what had woken him, before he realised there was someone else in the room. He shot up and had his wand trained at the person before one could blink. He then lowered his wand and sighed.

“Hermione, what are you doing out of bed?” he asked.

She glared at him. “Just trying to find out where I am,” she answered. “and when did it become your concern whether I’m in bed or not?”

“When you became a Pectal. It’s my responsibility to make sure you don’t exhaust yourself.” He grabbed her by her shoulders and gently steered her back to the bed.

She sighed, but obediently lay down. He tucked her in, and was about to leave the room, when she stopped him.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Please.”

Harry wavered a second. Stay? In the same bed as her? He gulped. Well, it can’t hurt…The bed is wide enough. He lay down beside her and conjured up a blanket for himself. She scooted closer and snuggled up to him. Harry’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. Hesitantly, he laid his arm around her shoulders. She didn’t seem to mind. He grinned to himself. I can get used to this…

~*~

When Harry woke up he noticed two things. Firstly: The sun was up, far up. It was past mid-day at least. Secondly: He wasn’t alone in bed. He almost jumped out of his skin before his memory returned. He let out a relieved sigh. It was only Hermione.

She’s beautiful, he thought, and then he chuckled to himself. Her hair and clothes was a mess, and she had other people’s blood splattered all over, and she smelled of sweat. And she was absolutely gorgeous.

Harry wondered why his internal organs had decided to take flying lessons. Right now they were in a dip, and he had a sudden desire to just kiss her senseless. However, seeing that he was in the same condition as she was, he concluded that it wouldn’t be the best idea. Sighing, he crawled out of bed, careful not to wake her, picked up some clean clothes and headed for the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later he re-emerged, water dripping from his hair.

“Morning Harry,”

He spun around to find a quite awake Hermione sitting on his bed.

“Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.

He nodded. “Of course,” he said, before he noticed that Hermione was looking at him. Now, that wasn’t very uncommon, it was more what she was looking at. Blushing furiously he quickly buttoned his open shirt and disappeared out of the bedroom as quickly as possible, followed by her giggles. He shifted into Christian and left the room. He had things to do and matters to solve. Firstly, he had to talk to Dumbledore.

~*~

Hermione had yet to come out from the bathroom when Harry came back, so he called a house-elf for breakfast. Well, rather lunch. He was halfway through his meal before Hermione showed up. (Why do girls take so long in the bathroom?) She grabbed her plate (Harry had gotten one for her too, of course) and seated herself beside Harry. They ate in silence. Well, at least Harry ate; Hermione only picked at her food. In the end Harry sighed, and put his plate down. It disappeared immediately. Hermione looked up at the soft pop it caused, and found Harry looking expectantly at her. She smiled inwardly: He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asked, and she saw Harry smile amused at her.

“You do have a knack for mathematics, Hermione. When you put two and two together you usually get five,” he grinned at her. “Well, as you have already guessed, everything will be revealed. After this it won’t be possible to hide it. You will be revealed, I will be revealed, the Order will be revealed. This doesn’t have to turn out negatively, as we have a new Minister, who will ensure protection for the members, and start recruiting Aurors as quickly as possible.” He paused. “As I said, it doesn’t have to turn out in a bad way, but, with the recent ‘development’, it very well can.”

“Recent development?” Hermione asked, and Harry proceeded to tell her about Voldemort. When he had finished, Hermione was confused, and a bit scared.

“But why hasn’t he come here then? He knows we’re here, and wants us dead. And if he can Wander-“ she shuddered at the thought, “-he should be able to get in!”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps he can’t. Or perhaps he has something planned out. But now it is very important that we somehow manage to prevent people from Wandering at Hogwarts,” he said. “I’ve already started, and I have a rough sketch, but I need you to help me.”

“Me?” Hermione asked, startled. “How? When? Now?”

Harry snorted with laughter. “No, not right now. It would be impossible, due to the spells I’ve already placed. They need time to manifest themselves.” He sighed. “But anyway, I’ve talked to Albus. When it comes out that you’re the Pectal, you must move out of your dorm. To avoid complications and stuff.” Hermione nodded and Harry continued. “I’ve also asked the Headmaster if it is possible for you to take your NEWTs now, so you can concentrate completely on your training.”

Hermione nodded uncertainly. “But I don’t know if I can manage the NEWTs now. I’m not prepared-“

Harry laughed heartily, much to Hermione’s annoyance. “Hermione!” he cried. “You could have passed the NEWTs two years ago, with flying colours!”

Hermione blushed. “Okay, okay, I’ll take those NEWTs,” she said, a bit curtly, as she didn’t like being laughed at.

Harry smiled and seated himself on the arm of Hermione’s chair. “Don’t worry, Hermione,” he said. “You’ll do fine.” He leaned in and caught her lips in a tender kiss, which soon grew more passionate. Groaning softly, he allowed her to put her arms around his neck and pull him further down. Hadn’t he been so occupied, he would have noticed that his spine, which was twisted into a rather awkward position, didn’t have a very good time.

They pulled apart, both rather breathless.

“That was…nice,” Harry breathed, and Hermione smiled shyly.

Harry suddenly turned serious again. “You will have to tell your parents about you being-“

Hermione broke him off, suddenly hysterical. “My parents!” she cried. “What about them? Voldemort must have killed them by now!” She tried to get out of the chair, but Harry stopped her.

“Don’t worry, Hermione. I placed wards over your house when I found out you were the Pectal, and yesterday I moved them to Hogwarts, when I found out Voldemort could Wander. And before you ask, no, you can’t meet them now. We’ll place them under the Fidelius Charm; they’ll be quite safe then.”

Hermione calmed down again, and nodded. “You’re right. I must tell them about me being a Pectal.” She looked pointedly at him. “And about us.”

Harry winced.

~*~

The Order of the Phoenix and quite a few of the Aurors’ highest commanders were in the room. Some of them had never met before, so they had spent quite a lot of time on introductions. And now everyone were craving answers. Few knew how they had gotten the information about the attack, few knew who the Golden Mask was, though many guessed it was a Citatio, especially as all the Healers insisted that they’d seen a Pectal at Hogwarts. No one recognised what You-Know-Who had done when he arrived at the Ministry, and of course there was the matter of Harry Potter, who the Healers claimed to have seen too. Everyone however, suspected that Dumbledore knew quite a lot, and therefore, they awaited an explanation. An explanation Dumbledore secretly was waiting for too.

Someone though, wasn’t as patient.

“Albus, we all know who the Pectal is, and you know it too,” Snape said. All the teachers had found out when the Death Eaters attacked Hogwarts, though they had been silenced by Dumbledore. “Why don’t bring the Granger girl here?”

“Because she isn’t the right person, Severus,” Dumbledore answered patiently. “She’s still very much in training. We’re waiting for the Citatio, the so-called ‘Golden Mask’.” Dumbledore made a dramatic pause, and hid a smile. He was looking forward to see their reaction when they got to know exactly who the Citatio was. “He will,” Dumbledore continued, “be able to tell us exactly what Voldemort-“ several people flinched “-did today.” He added secret: ‘I hope’, to himself.

Snape growled. “I still can’t figure how you could give the responsibility for her training to Atos,” he continued. “He could be a Death Eater for all we know!”

“But he isn’t,” Harry Potter said, as he stepped out of the shadows, closely followed by Hermione.

Quite a few jaws dropped. Harry smirked. “As you all know who I am, I won’t bother with introducing myself, but go straight to the point.” That he did, before anyone could manage to shut their mouths again. “What Voldemort-“ quite a few flinched “-did at the Ministry is called Wandering. It is a thing only Pectals and Citatios can do. I assume you all know what they are?” he asked. No one spoke up. “As I said, no one but Pectals and Citatios can Wander.”

The fact started to sink in. “Does that mean that Voldemort is a Citatio?” one of the Aurors asked, fearfully.

Harry sighed. “No, Mr. Harrington,” he said, having read the man’s name from his mind. “There can be only one Citatio and one Pectal in the world at once. And both are here now.”

“Where?” one of the others demanded.

Without batting an eyelash, Harry stepped forward, and mentally told Hermione to do the same, making sure he wasn’t broad-casting. The Aurors and the Order members were sitting in a circle, along the walls of the circular room, which was well hidden, deep under the school.

Harry held up a hand, and something golden sprung from it. It looked like flower at first, but then it widened, the threads spread, forming an intricate pattern. The threads glowed with a gentle light, illuminating the room. The others stared in awe, as the threads reached the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It looked like they were embedding themselves into the stone, forming patterns there too. And then suddenly, silver threads started to spread, and they saw Hermione standing there. Her threads followed Harry’s, but not always. Sometimes they took off, forming patterns of their own, they too glowing. The two Children of Power released the threads, allowing them to be consumed by the walls.

The adults stared at the walls, astonished. Golden and silver patterns covered them, and in between it was black stone. It was breath-taking. The two youths had certainly proved their point.

“Oh.” It was the Auror who had asked ‘where’. The room suddenly erupted: People were asking questions, demanding answers, talking together in loud voices. Hermione covered her ears.

“Silence,” Harry said, raising his voice slightly. The effect was instant. The room fell silent. Harry held back a snicker; that Voice gift was fun. “As I said, the Pectal and the Citatio are here, both of them. I do not think it will surprise any of you if I say that I was at the election today.” He paused, and whispers ran though the room. “And now, I think it is time for me and Hermione to reveal ourselves. Voldemort-“ several people flinched again, and Harry fought a sigh, “-already knows who we are, and it is better that the public get it from us than from him. Besides, people need to know everything about the resistance. As powerful as he is now, all support is needed.” He looked around at the persons assembled. “And, we need a way to defeat him.” Then he took Hermione with him, and they seated themselves in two chairs beside Dumbledore.

The rest of the meeting they were asked questions, which they tried to answer as well as they could. They had decided not to tell about Mind-Reading and Soul-Searching though, as people probably would object to it, and demand a block. It was decided that they had to find out exactly what You-Know-Who was, and how powerful he was. Those who didn’t know, were introduced to the prophecy, and most agreed that it pointed towards Harry and Hermione. Harry did most of the talking, and told them that Hermione would start taking her NEWTs the next day, so she could fully participate in the resistance.

“But you’re both children!” one of the male Aurors exclaimed, clearly dissatisfied with the two of them taking part in ‘adult’ work. “What good can you do?”

Harry glared at him, and the man cowered slightly. “If I am ‘adult’ enough to be put in Azkaban, I am also adult enough to fight, Mr. Yamamoto,” he said, so softly that it was barely audible. Everybody heard it though. “I can fight, you have seen me, and Ms. Granger will soon be capable of doing the same. If you want to stop us, that’s alright; you may try. But you will not succeed.” Not many objected after that.

When the meeting came close to an end, it was decided to let the journalist Marice Newman take care of getting everything out to the people. Harry and Hermione would put up Wander wards where it was important, and some from the Order would do research on Voldemort, Citatios and Pectals. They couldn’t put to many on this task, as that would draw attention. The Healers was very excited to learn that Hermione had a Healing Talent, and wanted to speak with her.

As Hermione and Harry were about to leave, they were interrupted by Snape. He hadn’t said much during the meeting.

“Potter,” he drawled, and Harry turned towards him.

“Yes, Professor,” he said, politely.

“You said, when you came, that Mr. Atos wasn’t a Death Eater. How do you know that?”

Ahh, Harry thought. He remembered that… Frankly, Dumbledore probably wouldn’t have let Christian Atos take up Hermione’s training, if Harry hadn’t been so good with Voice and Persuasion. Oh well, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. This time.

“Quite simple, Severus,” Harry said, and almost laughed at Snape’s reaction to him using his first name. “I’m a Shapeshifter.”

When realisation dawned for Snape, Harry and Hermione were out of reach.

~*~

“I’m closer now, Asham. He’s in the same area as yours. He’ll be ready soon.”

“Good. Mine’s ready soon too, and the other two have already arrived.”

“That’s good news. I feel like I’m closing in on him. I’m going to find him faster than you did.”

The man, called Asham, grinned. “Him or her, William.”

He other man, called William, groaned. “Stop that, Asham. It’s not funny any longer.” But he smiled too, as he said so.

~*~

Hermione giggled as Harry led her to the room that had been prepared for her. Though, she didn’t actually fancy the next time she met Snape, even though she was a Pectal. He could be rather… satiric… at times. Especially now that Harry had out-manoeuvred him so seriously. That she wasn’t Harry wouldn’t bother him much.

It would be fun though, to meet her year-mates again. Her room-mates had been informed that she wouldn’t return, and they would soon find out why. That would surprise them.

“You know, that was hilarious, Harry. I see why you like surprising people so much,” Hermione said.

Harry grinned. She would probably like the surprise he had for her now. They stopped outside the door, and Harry, being the gentleman he was, bent down to kiss her goodnight. She sighed when their lips parted again, and Harry could easily see that she had something on her mind. Years and years of acting had made him very observant to such things. She looked at him, with those deep brown eyes, which somehow made his stomach churn.

“Harry,” she said, biting her lip. “I-I’m frightened,” she blurted out.

He sighed. “Hermione,” he said softly. “So am I. Voldemort is no joke, we both know that.” He put his arms around her and embraced her gently. “But don’t worry,” he said, in a light tone. “The Chiantesh’alfh can manage everything!”

She chuckled softly at his enthusiastic behaviour, and he chuckled with her. “What does ‘Chiantesh’alfh’ mean, Harry,” she asked.

“Oh, that,” he answered. “It means ‘Children of Power’ in the ancient tongue of the Pectals and Citatios. It appears that we once were a kind of race. Or at least had our own community. We called ourselves ‘Children of Power’, to remind ourselves that the power wasn’t there for us, but we were there for the power.”

He didn’t notice Hermione’s slight frown. I’m sure I’ve heard that before… she thought. Oh well, he’s probably mentioned it at a point I wasn’t paying attention.

“But now,” Harry changed the subject, “it’s bed-time.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Bed-time Harry? I slept through the whole day.”

Harry however, didn’t listen, just opened the door, bowed courteously and showed her inside. “This way, milady,” he said in shrill, high-pitched voice.

Hermione grinned at his antics, before she stopped dead in the doorway. “Mum? Dad?” she said, disbelieving. In the next second she found herself embraced by her mother. She didn’t notice Harry closing the door behind her, or the sad look on his face.

Outside the closed door he sighed, before squaring his shoulders and shaking the sadness off. One cannot have everything, he resolved.

~*~

Blaise was frightened. She didn’t know what had happened today, if He had been victorious, or if He had not. But she feared the worse, because he never called his followers together so soon after an attack. And she hadn’t even been there, only Marked Death Eaters had. She wished she’d had the courage to wait long enough to warn Potter or Dumbledore. But if she did, and she was too late, they would become suspicious, and if they found out she was a spy… she knew what awaited her then. Horrible torture, rape and death. And she would be parted and sent back to people she knew and cared for in pieces. Perhaps she’d even be parted alive, even though Voldemort didn’t really fancy ‘bloody’ matters. It was too Muggle for him.

She shuddered and drew her cloak tighter around her. She was glad she didn’t have troubles with the Light side anymore, even though Ron still kept pestering her. She’d been allowed to tell about an upcoming attack by Atos, but not when and where. It was weird really, cause Potter seemed to be keeping secrets from Dumbledore too… The Headmaster didn’t know about Ron. But then, Potter had been Ron’s best friend, and blackmail was illegal.

No, she wouldn’t think about Ron. He was a prat, an idiot… and he had a beautiful smile. She sighed. He was a prat, but yet, there were times when he was almost… nice to her. She cherished those moments, but she knew it was so hopeless. Her parents were Death Eaters, so she couldn’t confide in them, and Slytherin friends she didn’t have. People were right when they said Slytherin was the Dark house, because almost everyone above fifteen in her house got this fanatic shine in their eyes when they talked about…Him. There were a few who were as deep in as she was, not wanting to be there, and she’d already pointed them out to Professor Dumbledore, but she couldn’t confide in them either. They weren’t trustworthy, as they would do anything to get out of the mess, give her name to an Auror or a superior Death Eater too.

Blaise clenched her fists. Why oh why did she always end up in the bad company. First, she was sorted into Slytherin, which once might have been a honourable house, and it still could be again, but right now it wasn’t. Then, she was recruited as a Death Eater, and then she fell hopelessly in love with an absolute prat. She ground her teeth together. When she graduated from Hogwarts she was going to ask Dumbledore never to reveal her secret, before she would change her name and flee out of the country, never to return. If Voldemort won, and started to expand to other countries (well, he already had done some attacks in Germany and France, to ‘test the waters’ as he called it), she could deal with that then. Now, she only wanted to leave and never return!

She saw the flickering blue light in front of her, between the trees. (Why the Forbidden Forest of all places!) She took a deep breath and stepped into the circle of light, where two Marked ones waited for her. She respectfully waited for them to address her.

“Ms. Zabini,” one of them said silkily. “The Dark Lord is not pleased today…”

What a nice start, Blaise thought, and struggled not to show any fear. This couldn’t be any good.

“You see, he was expected when he arrived at the Ministry today, and we, his servants, failed to kill the new Minister.”

Now Blaise really struggled to keep her face straight, but her insides coiled with terror.

“And you,” continued one of the Marked ones, “have been observed behaving rather… abnormally.”

“Therefore,” the other broke in, “you will be taken in for interrogation.”

Blaise could no longer keep the fear off her face. She knew what an interrogation meant. You didn’t stand a chance; you admitted it or died. And if you admitted it you died too.

“Noo!” she cried. “I haven’t done anything!”

“Spare your voice, girl, you’ll be able to use it later.”

Blaise managed to think: How cliché, before she turned and ran for her life.

“Crucio!”

She fell to the ground, hit in the back, screaming in agony, as the pain of the Cruciatus pierced through her like thousands of glowing swords. She writhed in pain for what seemed like an eternity, and then… it stopped.

It took her several moments before she was able to think straight again. “I haven’t done anything,” she wept piteously. She saw a dark figure rise over her, wand trained at her, and she heard him speaking the incantation.

“Stupefy!”

Confused, Blaise blinked, trying to see clearly. Why should he use the Stunning curse? Then she realised she hadn’t been hitten by any curse, and that no dark figure was hovering over her any longer. She heard the Stunning curse being repeated, and then another, a dark curse, being uttered. She noticed one of the Marked ones unconscious before her feet, and her mind registered there was a duel going on.

Yellow light whizzed through the air, and the other Marked one slumped to the ground. She could make out a figure in the dark, and squinted her eyes. He/She turned towards her, and Blaise instinctively reached for her wand.

He came fully into view, and she could see the newly risen moon shining down on his features.

“Ronald!” she gasped.

He kneeled beside her, and she was shocked when he laid his arms around her, hugging her tight. “I’m so sorry,” he said in a raspy voice. “I never thought- I never realised- I was so shocked when I saw them hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” she said, being her own Slytherin, composed self. “I’m used to it.” It was true, it wasn’t the first time she’d experienced the Cruciatus.

“Used to it?” he asked incredulously. “Used to it?”

“Yes,” she said, impatiently. “They do that when they’re not pleased with us.” She looked up at him and was startled when she saw tears in his eyes.

“And I- I forced you to…” he trailed off, and she suddenly realised that he hadn’t understood really what it was to be a Death Eater trainee. And now that he knew, he regretted what he’d done to her.

He gritted his teeth and looked down at her. “I’ll make it right again,” he promised. “We’ll tell Dumbledore, and you’ll be protected. I’ll witness, tell everybody you were forced to it. I’ll take all the guilt if I have to.”

“But Ron,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Not that you became a Death Eater, no,” he said. “That’s not my fault. But everything else is my fault. I threatened you, and- and. Damnit Blaise! Don’t tell me I didn’t make it much, much worse!”

Blaise would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious. The boy had had no idea! No idea to what it was all about. He hadn’t even thought that she could be hurt, or killed! Either, he was incredibly stupid, or he just had been too caught up in his own mind to notice. I’d wager for the latter one, Blaise thought dryly to herself, because she knew he wasn’t stupid. Just so very, very… egocentric and selfish. Well, now he saw. But yet, why had he rescued her? It was so unlike him to do such a thing.

“Ron,” she asked. “Why did you save me? I’m of no use to you now, ‘cause now they know I’m a traitor to the Dark.”

“Because I- I- …” he trailed of, stammering. “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he whispered. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

She was surprised when she saw pure despair and worry in his eyes. She hadn’t known he could feel such things. Shouldn’t he be angry at her for not telling him about this meeting?

And why wasn’t she furious at him? Why was she enjoying having his arms around her, while she should have been furious at him for using her in such a way? Because he regretted it? Or because her heart just had to go skydiving when near him?

But then his words struck her. He didn’t want her to get hurt! Not because she wasn’t valuable to him anymore, but because he cared! Blaise wanted to curse her emotions, which right then went into a loop-de-loop. He cared!

“Ron,” she asked hopefully. “Do you care about me?”

He tightened his grip on her. “Yes,” he said. “I do. And I’ll make sure no one is ever going to hurt you again. I know you’ll never forgive me, but I’ll prot-“

Blaise cut him of by sealing her lips over his. To say that Ron was surprised would be an understatement, but Blaise left him no time to stay surprised.

Silent rain started to fall, pouring down on the two youths, tightly embraced in new-found love, found in a rather surprising way. Puddles of water started to form, and water dripped from the trees, and soaked the humans who were outside.

A shadow passed quickly over one of the small puddles, so fast it might not have been there.

====================

Disclaimer: JKR owns everything except the plot, which is mine. Beta-read by the-dreamer. Go us all.

Anyone who wants to get an e-mail every time I update, state so in your review!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. (Go you) Now, many have commented on the fluff I put in, saying it’s very good, but I have started to believe you. But don’t expect me to come up with anything equally good, cause that little kissing scene in Chapter Ten took me ages to write. I wrote it at least a six weeks before I posted it, and I revised it and changed it hundreds of times. But I’ll do my best further on. Thanks again.

14. The Chiantesh'alfh

Chapter Fourteen: The Chiantesh’alfh

Hermione was tired when she finally went to bed that day. She’d chattered with her parents, and she had told them about being a Pectal, but they didn’t really seem to grasp it. She sighed. They were worried. Of course they now knew about the war in the Wizarding world, and when they heard she’d probably be in the front lines… It had taken her hours to get her father to understand that she had to do what she had to do, and that leaving the Wizarding world, as he suggested, wouldn’t help one bit. Her mother though, seemed understanding. But then, she probably knew her daughter a bit better than her husband did. She knew that if Hermione had settled on something which she deemed important, nothing could get her to waver. She also understood the Pure-blood/mudblood concept better, as she’d grown up in South Africa, and knew a lot about racism, even though she’d seen it from the white side. So Alicia Granger just hugged her daughter fiercely, and told her to be careful. Hermione neglected to tell just how dangerous her future seemed to be.

They both agreed to the Fidelius Charm, however reluctantly. They didn’t quite understand why they had to hide, until Hermione calmly told them that someone might kill them just to hurt her, as she, Hermione, was an important key in the defence. (Again she neglected to tell them one important thing; she wasn’t a part of the defence, but the offence.) Then she happened to mention her tutor, who was training her in ‘defence’. Alicia Granger, knowing her daughter very well, and being a very observant woman, immediately sensed that it was something about this ‘Harry Potter’, (There is something familiar about that name…) that her daughter hadn’t told her. She questioned Hermione about him, upon which she quickly answered that he was the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.

“Tell me about him,” Alicia had prompted, and watched as her daughter blushed deeply. And then came the whole story about Harry, who she’d met in her first year at school, (Oh yes, she talked about him and another one named Ron, if I remember correctly…) and then the tale of Harry’s imprisonment, escape, the Professor position he now held, and so on. Even Mr. Granger started to get suspicious by the end of her speech.

“So,” Alicia said. “Is he handsome?”

“Mum!” Hermione cried, but her blush told everything, not that Mrs Granger hadn’t figured the whole thing out already. Hermione had indeed spent a rather embarrassing evening in her parents’ company, an evening she hopefully wouldn’t experience again. It was weird how they felt that they had to repeat their … advices with every boyfriend she had. Of course, it had been different with Victor, but then again, it had only lasted a bit less than a year. Hermione couldn’t imagine breaking up with Harry. As her mother voiced it: Ahh! Young love!

~*~

Harry spent the evening going through some papers. It had been decided by Dumbledore that he’d continue as Professor Christian Atos. Dumbledore trusted his staff completely, and knew they wouldn’t tell anyone about his secret identity. It was unlikely that those who had heard Harry tell Snape he was a Shapeshifter would draw the connection, other than perhaps the other professors at Hogwarts. To secure his position, Dumbledore had decided to take him, Christian, into the Order as a member. For this, they needed three Order members as witnesses. As all the Hogwarts professors knew about Harry being Christian, or would soon know, it wouldn’t be hard to find witnesses who wouldn’t reveal his identity. Harry would, however, need to pledge his loyalty (and real identity) under truth serum.

So Harry was again set on the boring task of preparing lessons. True, it could be fun sometimes, but being a teacher definitely wasn’t something he wanted to make a living of. Besides, right now he couldn’t really concentrate as his brain was churning on different matters; mainly Voldemort. He knew he ought to find out exactly what Voldemort was, because a normal wizard he was not, and neither a Citatio. If there was one thing the books which spoke of Citatios and Pectals agreed on, it was that there couldn’t be more than one Citatio and one Pectal in the world at once, and they were born in each others’ lifetimes. That bit of information was one of the very few things all sources agreed on. But only Citatios and Pectals could Wander, because that was a Children of Power treat. And if Voldemort wasn’t a Citatio, how could he then Wander?

Harry growled in frustration and tried to concentrate on the lessons. He’d tell the students about the Vikings next week. Centuries back, there had been a group of wizards who had manipulated numerous Scandinavian Muggles into raiding other countries to gain riches for them. The Muggles didn’t know that these people were wizards, and had been reluctant at first. The wizards had persuaded them with the help of spells, and it had only taken a generation or two before they’d adapted to this new way of living, and turned half of the population into blood-thirsty thieves. However, they weren’t only blood-thirsty thieves, because at home, when they weren’t raiding, they were in fact rather peaceful. They had an intricate society, with the King above all, then the Earls, then the Chieftains, then the farmers who owned their own land, then the farmers who rented land, and then the slaves, which were stolen from their homes during the Vikings’ raids. They even had strict laws.

Harry thought this could be a nice introduction to what he planned to teach about mind spells, among them the Imperius Curse.

He sighed. He had to get some sleep before the morning came, and fortunately, he rapidly fell into a peaceful slumber. When he thought about it, he had slept well since the day Hermione healed his headache…

~*~

Hermione bolted upright in her bed. The Chiantesh’alfh! Now she remembered! ‘The Era of the Chiantesh’alfh’! The book in the library! The box which she hadn’t been able to open before she used her Pectal powers!

~*~

Hermione ran into Harry’s bedroom with the box in her hands. “Harry!” she cried. Harry woke immediately, and jumped right out of his bed, alert, with his wand in hand.

“What?” he asked. “What’s happening? Is Voldemort attacking?!”

Hermione blushed bright red and turned her back to him. “No! I just have something to show you!”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “In the middle of the night?”

“Yes!” Hermione cried. “In the middle of the night!”

“Err…Right,” Harry said. “Well then, what is it?”

Hermione didn’t move. She stood with her back turned towards him.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, confused.

Hermione still didn’t move. “Harry, you’re not decent,” she said.

Harry looked down at himself. He had nothing but his boxers on. “Well,” he said, trying not to blush himself. “That ought to teach you not to come barging into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“Just get some clothes on!” Hermione cried.

Harry chuckled and quickly pulled a T-shirt and some pants on, before following Hermione out of the bedroom again.

“So,” he asked. “What so important that you come rushing into my bedroom at…” he looked at his watch, “three o’clock in the morning?”

“This!” Hermione eagerly showed him the box, before explaining how she’d found it, and about the book which had been entitled ‘The Era of the Chiantesh’alfh’. Harry’s attention was immediately perked.

~*~

“The book just disappeared, and left a small hidden room in which you found these books?” he asked, and Hermione nodded.

“Yes, and since you have a Language gift, I thought you might be able to read them!” she said.

Harry nodded, looked at the books and frowned. “I might. It’ll take some time though. It usually takes a few hours to learn a new language…” his eyes shot open. “Wait a sec! I can understand that title already!” He squinted his eyes. “Directly translated it is ‘The Time Which Belongs to the Two Power Children’. Yes, that’s it.” He opened the book on the first page. Frowning, he tried to read the words. “As I thought,” he murmured.

“What?” Hermione said, impatiently.

“It’s the language the Pectals and Citatios spoke in ancient times, when there were more of us. That’s why I can understand it so easily, since I’m a Citatio myself.” He went back to examine the book, murmuring to himself.

“The title,” he announced after a while, “will, in English be ‘The Era of the Children of Power’,” he said. “The book which disappeared was a clue. Half the title being English, the other half being in Citatio/Pectal language, it would trigger something in every Citatio and Pectal, even though he or she couldn’t read the language, or had any Language Talent, so he or she would try to take it upon seeing it. If a non-Citatio or a non-Pectal had found the box, they would have been unable to open it.”

“Yes, yes!” Hermione nodded impatiently, “but what are they about!”

Harry furrowed his brows. “This one,” he said, and pointed to ‘The Era of the Children of Power’, “is about the People we once were.” He picked up the other book, trying to decipher the title. “This one is named ‘Talents’.” He raised his eyebrows and whistled softly. “Valuable information in both, I would suspect. Perhaps we can even find something about Voldemort.”

Hermione nodded eagerly. “Can you translate it?” she asked, however, the question ended in a large yawn. Harry followed suit, and this sent them into a laughing fit.

“Right,” Harry said. “You go back to bed, and I’ll have the language figured out by tomorrow.” He ignored her protests and shooed her out, before he propped into a chair with both books in his lap.

That day Harry spent in his rooms, his door locked. Hermione knocked on the door once, but he refused to let her in, he just told her he was fine, and that he had to get through these books. And she had to do that Fidelius Charm, where he wasn’t needed, firstly, because he didn’t know the Charm (Ministry Top Secret, and of course Dumbledore knew it too), and since Hermione had decided to be Secret Keeper herself (after all, she wouldn’t betray her own parents), he didn’t have anything to do with it. All day, he only had a few breaks to get something to eat. He completely ignored Sirius when he came to visit, just absentmindedly told him to leave. Late Sunday evening, he knew that the Vikings wasn’t what he’d teach his students about this week.

~*~

Monday morning the news had spread. The Daily Prophet’s headline was: CITATIO HARRY POTTER ALIAS THE GOLDEN MASK FOUGHT DEATH EATER ATTACK! First, there was information on what a Citatio was (almost completely wrong, too) after which followed a description of the attack on the Ministry, minus the horrific details. Harry apparently was the sole hero, who had done the whole job, and almost defeated Voldemort, who, probably helped by serious Dark magic, had appeared out of nowhere. A small note on the bottom, reported that all the children who had been with their parents at the election, mysteriously had vanished, only to re-appear in Gringotts.

Harry couldn’t really understand Rita Skeeter; first, it was the thing in fourth year; then it was quite a lot about him before and after his trial…err… imprisonment; and when he’d escaped, he was quite sure she’d written that his ‘escape could do nothing but prove his guilt’. Now she praised him like there was no tomorrow.

Marice Newman however, had gotten in a nice, truthful article, on page two. She had also, helped by both her own contacts and Dumbledore, managed to get it printed it several smaller tabloids, as well as in a few other countries.

THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

‘When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Ministry, the mysterious Order of the Phoenix was there, fighting alongside the Golden Mask, now known to be Harry Potter, who we all once thought of as a murderer and a convict. How wrong we were. Harry Potter now co-operates with The Order of the Phoenix, which is led by Albus Dumbledore. A few days ago we saw them in action, but yet, we also saw that they almost lost.

Albus Dumbledore tells the Daily Prophet that they have decided to reveal all facts which are not a danger to the members’ security (which means; only the names of full-time members will be revealed) because the Wizarding world needs to know. Why does the Wizarding world need to know? “Because now, more than ever, we need to unite. People have seen how powerful He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (The Abomination’s name was uttered here) is, and I do not blame them for being frightened,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore says. “However, it is now that we must stand up and fight. If we lose the initiative, which we will do if we don’t stand up against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (again, The Abomination’s name was uttered), we have already lost the war. Therefore, it is important that people know who’s protecting them, fighting for them.”

When I asked concerning the rumours about a Pectal and Citatio at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore merely smiled. “Ahh, yes, I do indeed have the pleasure of the company of two young, talented and powerful beings.”

Thus, we can confirm that there really is a Pectal and Citatio at Hogwarts. The Citatio is believed to be Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, who was wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban two and a half years ago.’

(Here followed the tale of what really had happened, as Arthur, being the new Minister, had insisted that it should be publicised. He hadn’t yet met Harry, but he had gotten the facts about the Golden Mask confirmed.)

‘The Pectal however, the article continued, we have no clear identity of. However, rumours say her name is Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch, and Head Girl at Hogwarts. She is currently in training, with the Citatio (Harry Potter), and Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, Christian Atos, as her tutors.’ (Yes, Harry thought to himself, when he read the paper, she has gotten the information spoon-fed.)

Not all the students at Hogwarts got the Daily Prophet or any other newspapers delivered by owl, but those who did spread the news. When Harry (Christian) entered the Great Hall, he was attacked by students, who wanted to know if Hermione really was the Pectal, and if he really was training her, together with Harry Potter! Christian sighed, as he was hungry, and wanted breakfast. The students just didn’t seem to understand that. Using his Telekinesis, he levitated the students aside, so he had a clear path. They would only believe it to be wandless magic. Then, he marched up to the Staff table, where he sat down with a slight scowl.

“Can’t go anywhere without drawing attention, can you Potter?” Snape spat nastily, however quietly, so no one could hear.

Harry forced a pleasant smile. “You weren’t quite so nasty when you didn’t know who I really was, Severus,” he said, and emphasised ‘Severus’, before he ignored the Potions Master completely, and concentrated on looking around for Hermione. Fortunately, Hermione had the insight to keep away from the other students today, and didn’t show up at breakfast.

~*~

She did show up to the lessons however, as he knew she would. She walked in five minutes before the rest of the class showed up. Christian gave her a quick, reassuring smile, and she smiled back, nervously. Christian’s heart leaped slightly. He was worried about her. She didn’t really know how she should handle this new ‘fame’. Oh well, he thought. If -when this is over, they’ll probably put the whole thing on me, and forget about her. It’s a whole lot better that I’m the one in the spotlight, than she is.

The class arrived, and as soon as they spotted Hermione, they tried to get over to her, to question her. They found themselves frozen in mid-walk. A second later, they were all sitting nicely on their desks, faces turned towards Professor Atos.

Christian raised an eyebrow. “No questions will be directed from any of you, to Ms Granger during my class, or anyone else’s. As my trainee, I hereby allow her to use what she possesses of knowledge and power to keep you at bay. You can however, ask me questions, as I had planned to let this lesson centre about Pectals and Citatios,” he finished his speech. The class looked eagerly, almost hungrily, at him, and all of them shot Hermione a glance now and then. He hoped they wouldn’t fear her for what she was. Hermione was looking at him curiously. <Yes, Hermione, I have finished those books, and you will be able to read them soon. However, they hold information the whole world will have to be made aware of,> he told her telepathically.

He then noticed that he had a few students absent. “Where are Ms Zabini and Mr Weasley?”

“Hospital wing,” one of the students answered promptly. “There was some kind of accident.”

Christian frowned. He’d been so busy with the books that he had totally forgotten about Blaise. He sent his magic out, and found her in the Hospital wing. He also found evidence of a Cruciatus curse and cursed silently to himself. Talking about helping his spies! What was weird was that Ron wasn’t hurt at all; he just sat by her bed, as far as he could determine. Oh well, he’d figure that out later.

“So,” he asked brightly. “Any questions?” All hands shot up.

~*~

Several minutes, and several questions later, Christian decided it had been enough. Most of the questions had been directed towards Hermione, and ‘What can she do?’ was repeated over and over again. There were also quite a lot of questions about Harry.

Christian sighed. “That’s enough, put down your hands,” he ordered. The class looked disappointed. “Let’s take another approach. Yesterday, the Citatio presented to me two books,” he said, adding a small lie. They didn’t have to know everything. “One of these books is named ‘The Era Of the Children Of Power’. The ‘Children Of Power’ are the Citatios and Pectals. This book told me very much about what happened to them, to the People Ms Granger and Mr Potter belong to.” At this, his class looked confused. “Yes, indeed, once upon a time, Citatios and Pectals were a people. This story goes far back in time.” His class, both Slytherins and Gryffindors, were listening eagerly. He continued. “At the time, Earth was still shaping, in fact it was about to be torn apart. If it had, Earth would now be an asteroid belt, like those we find between Mars and Jupiter, and outside Pluto.”

“Earth, though she isn’t really a sentient being, intelligent as we are, found a way to save herself. She created the Antesh. Antesh was a Power which helped Earth, holding her together until she herself could manage it without help. But also Antesh didn’t have unlimited strength. So, using the six elements-“

“Six? There’s only four!” one of the Gryffindors interrupted.

Christian glared at him, and he fell silent. “As I said before I was so rudely interrupted, he, or she, because it didn’t have a specified sex, used the six elements, Fire, Earth, Water, Air, Light and Dark, to reproduce. It created a Child of itself, with the strength it had left. And then, it vanished, dissolved, died, or whatever you want to call it.” Christian paused, and looked at the class, who were listening intently.

“However,” he continued softly, “Before this Child had outlived its time, Earth had managed to ‘pull herself together’, so to speak. She didn’t any longer have use for the Child, and tried to pull it back. But the Child, being made of the six elements and its parent Life-force, wasn’t like Earth, and neither like the Antesh.

It had intelligence, and it had a will to live, rather than just an obedient nature to serve. So instead of just going back to be absorbed by Earth, and be the world’s magical core, it fled. In fact, if it hadn’t been so stubborn, Muggles wouldn’t have existed today. All of them would have been just as much wizard or witch as any of you,” he said, looking pointedly at his class. Heh. They didn’t expect that…

“So,” he smiled at his shocked class, “the Child fled. However, it wasn’t immortal, and couldn’t live on forever, and what was worse, it weakened. Its strength diminished, and it was drawn towards Earth, which it had fled from. Do not misunderstand. It hadn’t fled from Earth’s surface, it just existed, refusing to listen to Earth’s call. But its days came to an end, and it understood that if it created a child like the Antesh had done, and its child did the same again, its power, and also its life, would diminish and in the end disappear completely. It did the only thing it could do. It created the Citatio and the Pectal, who could reproduce without using their Power, only their desires and nature. The Power was split evenly, and the Pectal was just as powerful as the Citatio. At the time though, they called themselves Antesh’s Children, after the first one. Today, ‘Antesh’ means ‘Power’ in the Children’s language.”

“As they reproduced and grew many, there were, naturally, variations, as some were strong, and some were less strong. The Power and Life of the Child of the Antesh though, remained.”

The class stared at him. “Is this true?” one of the Slytherin asked.

Christian nodded. “It is. It was seen by Helga Hufflepuff, who had a strong Seer Talent, of the kind which Sees the past rather than the future. Much like Iset-Nofret, an Egyptian Queen had, though hers wasn’t nearly as strong. The whole thing was written down by her and Godric Gryffindor, who also was a Citatio.”

“What happened then?” a Gryffindor asked. “Where did they go?”

“That has been a mystery since it happened,” Christian answered, “but now it isn’t.” The class looked questioningly at him.

“You see, in the beginning the Children remembered how they had come into being, and lived in peace. After a while however, they forgot, and they soon noticed the differences between them; the biggest one being that some were males and other females, and the females carried forth the children. A split grew, the females thinking that they just had to keep some males captured, and then they would be able to make the children they needed to keep on existing, and the males thought the same way.”

“Thus, history’s first war started, the Children fighting each other, Antesh’s Children against Antesh’s Children. However, in war, two parties can’t go call themselves the same, can they?” Christian asked the rhetorical question with slight sarcasm and amusement. “So therefore, they made their own names: Citatio and Pectal. Today, in the Children’s language, ‘Citatio’ means ‘Power of a Male’, while ‘Pectal’ means ‘Power of a Female’.”

Christian paused a bit, giving his class time to scribble some notes. “What they didn’t know was that they were all made of the same material, mainly the Elements. When the Children started to work against each other, the Elements did the same, both inside and outside the beings.” He looked around in the classroom. “Have any of you heard of Pangaea?”

At this, a few hands shot up. “Yes, Ms Brend,” Christian said.

“Isn’t that was Earth’s landmass was called before the continents drifted apart?” she asked.

Christian nodded. “Yes indeed. It was the Element’s struggles which did that, and at the same time they fought their way out of the beings they partially were in, trying to get free. And they did. New Children who were born had less control over the Elements, even though they still had full control of the Antesh’s Life-force, which we today call magic. After a few hundred years this diminished too, because Earth had started to call for the Force again, and because the Children had grown weaker, they couldn’t resist it.”

“Years passed, and their number diminished. However, since Earth had drawn much of the Life-force from the Children, Children-like beings started to pop up. I say pop up, but it was a part of Earth’s evolution, in which she used this Life-force. These beings are today called Humans.”

The whole class’s eyes went to Hermione. “So you say she’s really an entirely different species?” one of them asked.

Christian shook his head. “No. You see, the Children, the few who were left, realised that they were about to disappear. So, they noticed that these humans reproduced much faster than they did, and they decided to mate with them, and the result became Wizards and Muggles. Some of their children were magical, which means they had a bit of the Antesh’s Life-force, and some had not. It has something to do with recessive and dominant genes, just a bit more complicated, but it is the reason why there exist squibs and Muggle-borns.” Hah. That’ll give them something to think about, Christian thought.

“Well, then,” he said pleasantly. “Any questions?” One didn’t need to be a Seer to predict what question would be asked.

“Professor,” Neville said. ”How is it then, that…err…” he glanced at Hermione. “Hermione is a Pectal… and… erm… you said they disappeared…” he trailed off.

“Good, question, Mr Longbottom,” Christian said, nodding. That was something that had gotten lost centuries ago, when the Elemental Guardians had gone into hiding.

“The next few weeks, you will do research on the Elements, and the Elemental Guardians, which has a lot to do with this. It is a pity that you’re in your last year, because next year Pectal and Citatio history will probably be on the book-list. What I have given you is just a very short summary, where the main points are included.” He looked around at his class, who looked rather excited. “The book the Citatio gave me included very much on Elements, since those are very much a part of the Children of Power. Your task is to find out as much as possible on the Elements and the Elemental Guardians, and then I will supply you with the rest,” Christian said. This perhaps, was more History than DADA, but they had to know it all, in order to understand it. And by the way, it would get them to think, especially the ones who followed Voldemort, when they heard and understood how they all came from the same being, which was Earth, and their magic also came from the same being, which was the Antesh and Earth. And the Antesh had been ‘created’ by Earth.

He wished he could take every little detail with all his classes, but he didn’t have the time for that. The exams were only a few months away, and even if he’d had a whole year, it wouldn’t have been enough. Godric Gryffindor was good at putting much information in on a relatively little amount of parchment.

~*~

The students chattered lively when they exited his classroom, some doubtful to the whole story, others enthusiastic and eager to start researching.

Hermione had gone to Potions. Christian/Harry felt a strange desire to follow her and protect her from everything she might get from other students, but tried his best to ignore it. Hermione was capable of protecting herself. He had insisted though, that she use the Avada Kedavra shield. He didn’t doubt that Voldemort could order one of his spies to openly kill her. Fortunately, she would only attend classes till she’d taken her NEWTs, which she would do before the end of the week.

He was quite positive that she’d demand a thorough explanation of everything tonight.

~*~

”Good evening, Ms Zabini, Mr Weasley,” Christian greeted. He eyed Ron for a moment. Something was different in the boy.

Blaise smiled at her teacher. “Ron,” she said. “Please leave. I have to speak with Professor Atos for a moment.” Ron nodded silently and complied, but sent the professor a warning glance before he left.

Christian took the chair beside Blaise’s bed. “I understand you were hit with a Cruciatus yesterday night,” he said. “I apologise for not paying you a visit sooner, but I’ve been busy. You will have to borrow your classmates’ notes.” He raised his eyebrows at the girl. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Well,” Blaise began. “I was summoned like I’ve always been. I found it odd though, as we’re never summoned so early, since it would cause suspicion if many wizards and witches were suddenly gone, closely after one of His attacks. It appears like they’d gotten suspicious, and when He is angry, like he probably is now, he likes to have someone to blame. Thus, they decided it would be nice to take a young girl, just to make an example.” She smiled grimly. “It’s not like they would have cared whether I was innocent of my ‘crimes’ or not.”

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation, Blaise,” Christian said earnestly.

Blaise waved dismissively with her hand. “Nothing to be sorry about, Professor. I could never have carried the play on until I was ready to receive the mark anyway. Sooner or later I would have escaped, or something. I don’t know.” She smiled brightly. “But it’s alright. Now I’m under the protection of the Order of the Phoenix. I won’t have to go to a Death Eater meeting again.”

Christian chuckled. “That’s nice. I could organise it so you could take your NEWTs together with Ms Granger, since I don’t doubt that some of the students who follow Voldemort won’t like you as soon as the news comes out.”

Blaise frowned. “Why is Granger taking her NEWTs now?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, just to read the paper,” Christian stated dryly. “Now, tell me, why did I find Mr Weasley in here? Did he get hurt too?” he asked, smirking.

Blaise blushed. She had never told the professor about Ron’s blackmail, but she knew that he knew something anyway, even though he hadn’t said much about it. She had told Ron about her co-operation with the Order of the Phoenix, and she was sure he was scheming things already. That he’d ended up in Gryffindor would always be a mystery to her. It was time though, to show her true self. She couldn’t call herself a proper Slytherin if she couldn’t twist a male around her little finger.

~*~

Ron had had a nice day. Okay, his plans were ruined. So what? He’d finally found someone worth his attention. It had taken him a bit of time, but he’d been thinking about his career! That could be an excuse. It explained why he’d had such problems with Parvati too, as he’d been in love with another woman all the time. Blaise was much prettier than Parvati, and she was already halfway into the Order of the Phoenix. Could work to his advantage that, too. He did feel remorse for his actions towards her, but after all, he’d been working for a noble cause; ridding the world of Voldemort. Okay, he had perhaps been a bit ambitious there, now that he’d heard about Voldemort’s power and figured it was okay to leave that to the Citatio and Pectal, or, in other words, Harry and Hermione. He grinned to himself. He was a friend of the two most powerful magicians in the world, and had a beautiful girlfriend. Now he only had to find a way to promote himself. Couldn’t be too hard.

Could it?

~*~

<You’re alright?> Harry asked, watching Hermione struggle alongside him in her kneazle form. After Sirius left on ‘Order business’, Harry had taken his place when it came to training Hermione’s Animagus abilities. Since Shapeshifting was very much easier than Animagus-shifting, it was mainly McGonagall who did the work. His job was helping Hermione get used to her forms. So far she’d managed her horse form, her dragonfly form, her Abraxan, and was currently working on her kneazle form. She did seem to have something with horses though. Both the Arabian horse and the Abraxan had gone easier than the dragonfly and the kneazle.

Harry assumed they’d start on the Graphorn next. Or the dragon. Those would be the most difficult to manage, but very useful if she had to be dangerous.

First however, she had to get control over the kneazle body she was in, and override the cat’s mind.

<I’m fine, just fine,> Hermione panted mentally. Harry was a white tiger. After all, they were in the Forbidden Forest, and Hermione, who was new to the kneazle form, wouldn’t have big chances of defending herself.

<I can’t believe you find it so easy,> Hermione grumbled. <You said you’d never been a tiger before?>

Harry chuckled to himself. <Yes, Hermione, I’ve never been a tiger before. However, Shapeshifters and Animagi are quite different, ‘cause when you’re an Ani->

<Yeah, yeah, right, I know,> Hermione said impatiently. <When you’re an Animagus, the transformation is more complete, and you get the cat’s mind and feelings and instincts, which you have to learn to control. This, you don’t have as a Shapeshifter, which is why it is easier to spot a Shapeshifter than an Animagus, because the Shapeshifter will often behave more human than is normal for an animal, when in animal form.>

Harry laughed. <As if you’d swallowed the text-book, Hermione, as always. If we’d been in class, I’d have given Gryffindor five points.>

<Mmm,> Hermione said. <But since we aren’t in class, you can tell me about those books instead, and what you told us in class today.>

Harry shook his head, a movement which seemed very weird on a tiger. <No. You have to concentrate. So stop talking.>

<Please?>

Harry sighed. <I said no.>

<Harry,> Hermione said, whining. <Why not?>

<No, Hermione.>

<Please?>

<No.>

<Yes.>

<No.>

Somehow, Hermione managed to send him the telepathic equivalent for a pout and puppy eyes. <Why not? I have to learn how to concentrate on more than one thing when in Animagus form, don’t I?>

I wish she wouldn’t do that! thought Harry. He who had planned to have a very nice little while in his rooms while he told her about that…in front of the fire, in one of the big chairs. He had spelled one of them, so it was big enough for two people to sit comfortably, but also small enough so the said two people had to sit close.

Oh well.

<You’ll have to read the book yourself to get the more detailed story of what I had in class today, ‘cause I’m not going through that. I can take the Element thing. You won’t have to deliver the project anyway, because you’re going to take the NEWTs soon anyway.>

Somehow, Hermione managed to nod mentally. A very enthusiastic nod.

<Okay. When the Antesh’s Children disappeared, their control over the elements disappeared also. It seeped into both the humans and Earth herself, and Earth lost control of them, which is, among other things, the reason to why we have the Himalayas and Rocky Mountains. Since she couldn’t just let the elements behave like they wanted, she captured them. And in what would it be easiest to capture them?>

Hermione thought about that. Earth could draw them back to herself, but Hermione’s own experiences with her elements told her it wasn’t that easy. If you lost control over a task when using elemental power, it was very difficult to stop it again. It was possible to guide the uncontrolled power into something that didn’t mind being harmed… and if you pulled the element Earth into earth, it wouldn’t do much harm at all…

The kneazle had started to chase a small mouse it had spotted. Hermione smacked herself mentally. She did know about the Elemental Guardians! <Humans of course! Their ancestors came both from Earth herself and from the Antesh’s Children, who had once been in control of them!> she exclaimed.

Harry laughed. <Another five points. Yes, she captured the elements in the humans. However, she didn’t like the thought of letting the whole human race have the power, and thus she chose four of each generation for the task, who she deemed worthy. And so it has been through thousands and thousands of years.> He bent down and deftly picked up the kneazle with his mouth. <I didn’t know mice were on your diet, Hermione,> he teased.

Hermione ignored him, but managed to get her form to stop struggling in his mouth. <But I’ve only heard about four Elemental Guardians. You mentioned six elements. Light and Dark are elements too, you said.>

Harry dropped her to the ground again, and heard an indignant <Hey!> from Hermione. <Yes, they very much are. And they do have Guardians.> He turned his yellow cat eyes at Hermione. <We are the Guardians of Light, Hermione. The two of us.>

~*~

“Told you so,” said a triumphant and amused voice.

Another one chuckled. “I know, I know. But that’s only because it’s tradition for those who have found theirs to tease the last one with that.”

“Indeed, indeed. Pity I didn’t bet on it.”

“Oh be silent you. The matter is that we have a balance. The two of them are perfectly matched.”

The first person nodded. “An exciting event, William. You understand what this means.”

“Of course, Asham, of course. But now we have to tell the others.”

“Spoilsport.”

~*~

====================

Sorry for the long wait, everyone. Five weeks… *cringes* I must apologise, but as it is, the plot gets more and more complicated, and that makes this story more difficult to write. Also, I have these lazy periods, when I write nothing. I’m always scheming though… most of my better ideas come when I’m on the bus to or fro school.

Other than that, I’ve been busy, as has my beta-reader, so that’s a part of it too. Luckily, I’ve started on chapter fifteen, though I’m already determined to revise that completely… *sigh*

Over to another thing: When chapter fifteen comes out, this will (probably) be an alternate universe of the years after Harry’s fourth year at Hogwarts, due to the arrival of JKR’s The Order of the Phoenix. I hope you’ll continue to read anyway.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. You’re inspiring and motivating me. Go you.

Oh well. I’ve got nothing more to say. Just… review. You all know how to.

15. The Galen

Stein Vabo Normal Stein Vabo 2 56 2003-07-07T10:49:00Z 2003-07-07T10:49:00Z 1 6252 35640 Kr.sand Bedriftshelsetjeneste 297 83 41809 10.2625 Clean Clean 21 4,5 pt 2 2 MicrosoftInternetExplorer4

Chapter Fifteen: The Galen

“Well, actually, all those who fight against dark forces, like terrorism, war, torture, poverty, injustice, etc, etc, are Guardians of Light, while all those who oppose them are Guardians of Dark,” Harry explained. They were back in his chambers, the book about the Children of Power open in front of them. “There is always a balance between Dark and Light. Neither of them can be extinguished, but sometimes one of them can be the ruling one. When Dark is ruling, we see little peace and justice in the world, whereas when Light is ruling, we see international problems being solved, wars stopped, and the like.” He turned a page in the book, and translated the first sentences for Hermione. “‘The Elements of Dark and Light are always there, to varying degrees. Sometimes one is almost non-existent, sometimes the other. Also, the influence they have is not the same everywhere; when there is war one place, there is peace elsewhere; when one is tortured, another is laughing in delight and happiness; when one is hungry for the lack of food, another one is spoiled with everything his eye desires; some places Dark is at its height, other places Light shines through.’”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, that sounds logical. But you still haven’t explained why we are here, and why a Pectal and a Citatio pop up at times. You said you had an explanation for that, too.”

“That’s because when we were still a race, rather than an occasional happening, we were the Guardians of all elements,” Harry said. “As I told you, the Guardianship of the four other Elements was passed on to four different humans, from generation to generation. The Guardianship of Dark and Light however, was passed on to all intelligent beings. Those who choose to follow the Dark are the Guardians of the Dark, and those who choose to follow the Light, are Guardians of the Light. As mentioned, Dark can’t destroy Light, and vice versa, but sometimes, the balance between them gets to be uneven. Then, someone –or something- who can re-establish the balance, pops up. When Light is too weak, someone very powerful comes to fight for it.”

He turned to another passage in the book. “‘Light can never destroy Dark, and Dark can never destroy Light, but sometimes Dark overpowers Light, keeping it captured, and almost completely out of sight. Then Light will send powerful warriors to fight for it, so it shall not be forgotten.’”

“As you see, we are ‘warriors of Light’, while Voldemort is the one who has overpowered it.” Harry continued. “It also goes the other way. Listen to this: ‘If Dark is suppressed, hidden, it will try to gain more power. It will send its messengers out, to gather Dark’s followers and fight the Light’” He stopped reading.

“Who are ‘its messengers’?” Hermione asked.

Harry frowned a second. “I don’t really know. I’ve never heard of ‘Dark Messengers’ before. Perhaps they only visit evil persons,” he said, the last part rather jokingly.

Hermione pondered on it a second. “‘Messengers’ is probably only a word for peoples’ desire to seek out evil,” she concluded.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Sounds logical,” he said, nodding. Then he continued in his teaching manner. “Dumbledore, though not a Citatio, is a powerful wizard, and he was the warrior under Grindelwald. The other Pectals and Citatios we hear about were also warriors of Light. Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw didn’t actually fight many battles, but they fought ignorance and prejudices. At that time you had witch-hunts and burnings, and many wizards and witches hated Muggles. Many Muggle-borns never even knew they had magical talents, and those Muggles who knew about magic feared it. Also, ancient knowledge was lost, because many wise wizards and witches took their knowledge to the grave, and never passed it on. That happened when the wizard or witch didn’t have any children, and didn’t want to pass it on to people who weren’t family,” Harry said.

“And therefore, Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor decided to build schools, so everyone could learn everything,” Hermione said, nodding excitedly. “They gathered knowledge in books, so it could be used by later generations, and gathered wizards and witches in one community, who worked together for the best of everyone. In short, they were there to secure knowledge for future generations.”

Harry grinned. “Which page in which book, Hermione?” he asked.

Hermione swatted his arm. “I didn’t find that in a book, prat. It was simple logic.”

He chuckled, and Hermione found herself staring at him. He was rather… scratch that- very- handsome, especially when he smiled or laughed. Hermione had a sudden urge to bury her hands in his hair. Her eyes travelled to his eyes (startling, emerald green) to his nose (straight, cute) and to his mouth (very…tasty). Suddenly, she realised that he was looking back at her. Hermione raised her eyebrows in question, pulling her thoughts away from his, er, mouth.

“I’m actually waiting for you to tell me why there was a Pectal and a Citatio in ancient Egypt, Hermione,” Harry said, his eyes glittering amusedly.

Hermione swallowed. It was really unfair. Why did he have to be so…cute? “Egypt had enemies on all sides, because it was such a rich land. It needed strong and wise leaders.” She wracked her brain, trying to come up with anything else, but her head was on the wrong track. She decided to blame it on the fact that she was squeezed into a chair together with Harry. The chair was a bit too small for two persons. But that didn’t bother you two minutes ago, a voice in her head argued. She dismissed her brain’s argument.

Harry nodded. “Yes, that’s partly it. But in the chapter about elements in this book, there is a lot of information about the four other elements, too. At the time the book was written, they knew a lot more about such stuff, ‘cause at the time they still knew who were the Elemental Guardians. Gryffindor didn’t just limit this book to ‘The Era of the Children of Power’, bless the man, but he also added lots of information which today is lost, among those things, about the Elements.”

Harry shifted nervously. Hermione had suddenly figured that his shoulder was a nice pillow, and her hair tickled his neck. It was rather nice actually, but rather distracting.

Clearing his throat, he continued. “You see, the four other Elements are neutral, but since Dark has a tendency to destroy everything in its way, they like being protected by Light, who always fights Dark. While we are kind of warriors for the Light, the Guardians of Fire, Earth, Water and Air are more shepherds than anything else. They try their best to guide their Element, but they have not control over it. However, at times, the Elements ‘gather’ in one place. It doesn’t mean that they abandon any place on earth, but their ‘eyes’ are directed at one place, and they manage to co-operate. Now, the Elements don’t have eyes, it’s just a way of speaking…” he paused, wracking his brain for a better way to explain it. “They ‘settle’ in one place. The Guardians have nothing to do with this choice, the Elements themselves decide that they like the place, and then settle down there. As I said, this doesn’t mean that they are only there…” He paused again.

“Damn difficult to explain. There is no explanation; it’s just the way it is. Anyway, this place will then have very much wealth and prosperity. Few harvests will go lost, few will die of diseases, there will be few catastrophes, drought and rain will come at the right times, and there will be plenty of food.”

“Oh!” Hermione said. “And since the four Elements are kind of gathered, they will need extra protection, is that so?” She tilted her head upwards, still resting on Harry’s shoulder, to look at him, and he could feel her hot breath in his ear. The book almost slipped out of his hand.

“Err, yeah,” he said, gulping slightly. “That’s about it.”

They both fell silent for a while, trying to come up with more questions to find the answer too.

“So,” Hermione said hesitantly. “What does the book say about the Pectal/Citatio relationship? You know, about this destined-to-be-together-rubbish.” Hermione immediately regretted her words. Why, oh, why did she call it rubbish? It sounded like she didn’t like it…

Harry would have preferred that she hadn’t called it ‘rubbish’. “It doesn’t say much, just that we can’t fall in love with anybody other than our counterpart after we fully come into our power.” He tried to keep his face void of emotion. “So that means that I can’t fall in love with anyone but you, and you can’t fall in love with anyone but me.” Then he hastily added. “Of course, there’s no rule without an exception, and quite frankly I don’t believe it.” Harry smiled thinly, a smile Hermione didn’t see, because she was too busy staring at her hands. “I mean, love is a powerful thing…” he trailed off.

“But Ramses the Pharaoh had more than one wife,” Hermione said, wondering why it was so important to her to know that she could fall for not only Harry. Then she realised it wasn’t important at all.

“You don’t have to be in love with the woman –or man- you want to have children with,” Harry said. “In those days, continuing the blood-line and having many sons and daughters was more important than love. And many signs tell that he was very much in love with his first wife, Nefertari the Pectal.”

Hermione took a deep breath, and laid her arms around his waist. Startled, Harry looked down at her, and into her very beautiful brown eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered. “You’re the one I love. I want no one but you.”

Harry blushed slightly. He did have strong feelings for Hermione, so strong that he was more than willing to forget everything about their past, and he knew she had for him too, but hearing her say it like that was a bit special. He kissed her lips tenderly. “Love you, too,” he said.

~*~

Sirius was determined. Since he’d first met with his godson a month ago, they’d barely spoken. Harry had been busy with his classes and Hermione’s lessons, and he had been busy with Hermione’s animagus training, and after that he’d been sent on different errands for Dumbledore. Now he was going to have a chat with his godson.

He walked resolutely up to the door, as Padfoot. With a ‘pop’, he was Sirius the second it took to cast the ‘Alohomora’, before another ‘pop’ announced that he was Padfoot again. Then, he trotted into the room as a black dog. He had been right, it seemed. Either, he was keyed to the wards Harry had around his room, or, it didn’t catch animals. Sirius scoffed. He would have to talk to Harry about being so careless.

His nose told him that Harry was in the room, together with another person. It took a second before Sirius realised it was Hermione. Grinning dogishly, determined to find out exactly what the teen-agers were up too, (probably nothing good) he looked around. He hadn’t been here before. It was a nice living area, with a small kitchen in the corner, a fireplace with some chairs, a couch, some more chairs, a table, and a desk. A door led into what he supposed was a bedroom.

Sirius quickly decided that Harry and Hermione had to be in the chairs before the fireplace, as that was the only place in the room where they could be out of sight from where he stood. Also, he could hear shuffling sounds and low voices from there, when he strained his ears. He couldn’t make out words though.

Sneakily he edged forward, suspecting that the two were up to something else than studying. Studying books anyway.

He was quite right, and he could have spared the effort of sneaking. He rounded the chairs, and found them quite … busy.

~*~

A bark startled Harry and Hermione out of their rather comfortable situation. Harry’s head snapped up, and he was in action almost before his lips had left Hermione’s. Hermione wasn’t far behind, and poor Sirius found himself hovering five feet up, not any longer in his dog form, and quite unable to move or reach his wand. A wall of shimmering silver shielded his godson and his girlfriend, both from view and attack

“Sirius!” chorused two exasperated voices, and the shield was lowered, while the two teens busied themselves in separating from each other.

“Why didn’t you knock, like normal people tend to do?” asked Harry, rather crisply.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “And ruin your snog session?”

The two teens blushed. “Well, you did anyway,” Hermione countered.

Sirius ignored that. “Could you put me down? As much as I like this- Owwww!” Sirius was cut off in mid-sentence and fell the five feet to the floor.

Harry snickered. “So why are you here, Sirius? If not to spy on me?” he asked.

Sirius scoffed. “I came to talk a bit to my godson, who I haven’t had a proper talk to in two years. The same godson, who has been avoiding me the last month,” he said.

Harry shifted his feet. “Sorry about that,” he said, a bit sheepishly, casting a sidelong glance at Hermione. She understood immediately.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up then,” she said lightly, before she kissed Harry on the cheek and left.

Sirius absolutely despised awkward silences.

~*~

It was a while later, and the two of them had finished the small talk, told each other a bit about what had happened to them the last two years, and especially the last month. Harry had told Sirius about his relationship with Hermione, and Sirius had, of course, teased him endlessly, for which Harry blushed slightly, but other than that, just smiled. It appeared to Sirius that he was completely smitten with the girl, and how that was possible was a mystery to Sirius. After all, he had been away for two years…

He could, of course, have liked her from before he left, but that was a very young age when it came to falling in love. And so absolutely in love… Well, love was a very weird thing, and completely unpredictable. You could never know when it came and swept you off your feet.

Sirius might be blind at times, but even he could see that the youths were deeply in love with each other. The way Harry spoke of Hermione, the way they looked at each other, touched each other, and smiled at each other. One could get emotional from just watching. The only thing in the way for them to confess their undying and eternal love for each other was their own insecurity. The way Sirius saw it, neither of them thought they were old enough, or mature enough to go into such an intimate and binding relationship.

Well, that Voldemort had something to do with it was rather likely, too.

And perhaps Harry was still bitter because of Azkaban.

Perhaps they weren’t very sure of their love for each other, either.

Sirius’ few moments of insight were efficiently drowned.

“Harry,” he asked. “What- er, how do you feel about Azkaban now?” He knew the question wasn’t something Harry wanted to answer, but he felt it had to be asked.

Harry looked surprised for a moment, before he frowned slightly. “It’s kind of difficult,” he said, sighing. “I no longer feel bitter about it. I guess it was a feeling that slowly dissipated once when I returned.” His frown deepened. “It’s weird, really. Before I returned to Hogwarts I was very hateful and bitter. And now, I’m not.” He looked down at his hands, and knew he could share this information with his godfather. After all, he had been betrayed and locked up in that horrid place for twelve years. Harry himself hadn’t even been there.

He looked back at Sirius. “Actually, I feel kind of guilty.” Sirius’s eyebrows flew up, but Harry continued before he could say anything. “I mean, I escaped Azkaban. I never went there. And then, when people realised the truth, and learnt what they’d done, they regretted it. Yet, I didn’t forgive them.” He sighed again. “They must have felt terrible; first they realise what kind of mistake they’ve made, and then they have to live with the fact that I’m angry with them.”

That boy, thought Sirius, is way too self-sacrificing. “Erm, Harry,” he said. “I don’t think you have to be sorry for that… I mean, they did betray you. I wouldn’t say they didn’t deserve what they got, and now you have forgiven them. If you’re okay with that, they’re okay with it, too. There’s no reason to dwell on it.”

“I know, Sirius,” he answered. “But Hermione had a horrible time, you know.”

Ahh. That’s where it comes from. “I don’t think you need to worry about Hermione, she seems to have forgiven you,” he said with a grin.

“I know that,” Harry said, rather irritably. “But I can’t remember you taking half a year when it came to forgiving people,” he said.

Are we actually sitting here discussing whether or not Harry has the right to be angry with the whole world for turning against him? Sirius asked himself incredulously. He chose not to voice the thought. “I think I have the explanation to that, Harry,” he said. “I was in Azkaban for twelve years, and was robbed of every good memory I had when I met Remus again. Remus reminded me of so many things I could not remember; so many good and happy memories came back to me when we talked to each other. I guess this kind of overpowered all bitter and angry thoughts, because that was the only thing I’d known for twelve years, and I wouldn’t voluntarily let them come back to me. My way to fight Azkaban was to rejoin with the good parts of my life. And Moony definitely is a good part of my life.”

He paused briefly. “You, however, had two years to contemplate and rethink all those bitter thoughts, compare the good times to the bad, and wonder why and how they could turn against you. When you came to Hogwarts, your brain chose to remember all the good times, and forget the bad times, ‘cause that’s how the human brain is. So, after a while, you were able to forget about your bitterness. And now, when you can’t really remember those thoughts, you regret them.” Sirius grinned wickedly. “And I guess a certain lovely young lady helped the progress quite a bit, didn’t she?”

Harry blushed again. “Can’t you stop that?” he asked.

“No,” Sirius said simply. “I just have to make sure you will invite me to your wedding.”

Harry rolled his eyes heavenwards. “Sirius,” he said warningly.

“I guess you will want Ron as your best man, won’t you?” Sirius asked, paying Harry no heed.

Harry sighed. Sirius wasn’t exactly difficult to read, and what he really was asking was why Harry hadn’t talked to Ron yet. Harry hadn’t told anyone what he knew about Ron, and didn’t plan on it either, because he knew that there was a possibility that Ron would outgrow his silliness, and find his place in the world. He’d shown several times that he wasn’t completely beyond redemption. “Sirius,” he said. “Please drop that. I have decided it will be best not to let Ron into this. Please respect my decision.” His tone clearly stated that he’d said his last word on the subject.

~*~

Hermione was back in Harry’s quarters. This time however, they weren’t being naughty. In fact, Harry had been able to cast a translation spell on the book named Talents. Only one who knew the language he/she was going to translate, could cast such a spell. He had also decided that he would cast a Language-learning spell on Hermione, so she could learn it too. That Language Talent sure was handy.

Thus, they were now going through this Talents book. It seemed that this book was going to reveal quite a lot of forgotten things. Apparently, Salazar Slytherin, (not Slandrin) also had a Talent. The book called it Foresight. While it was not exactly a Seer Talent, it was a Talent which allowed the user to foresee certain things. Among those ‘certain things’ was the fact that lots of knowledge would go lost, despite the Founders’ desperate strivings to preserve it. Salazar had, obviously, sensed that Talents (or much of the knowledge about Talents) was something which would go lost, and thus, the five founders (they had yet to split up) had crammed all their knowledge about Talents into that book, written it in the language of The Children of Power, and hidden it where it would be found by the next Pectal or Citatio in a time of need. Salazar, obviously, ‘sensed’ this too.

“Well then,” Hermione said, eagerly, practically bouncing with joy. “Let’s get started!” Harry grinned at her enthusiasm, but felt he was eager, too. So many mysteries were spun around the Talents, and no one really knew anything about them anymore. They had already discovered that at least one of them had gotten lost; the one both Harry and Voldemort had.

The first startling revelation came when they read about Mind-Reading and Soul-Searching. Apparently, the two of them were related Talents, and according to the book, one person couldn’t have both of them. Sometimes however, they appeared in some kind of cross-breed, where Mind-Reading/Soul-Searching were one Talent interwoven with each other. This could happen with a few others too, like Shapeshifting/Beast-Speaking, but both were rather rare.

“Interesting,” Hermione said. “Wonder why that is?”

Harry said nothing, and when Hermione looked at him, he had a rather shocked expression on his face. “What?” she asked, but Harry only grabbed the book and read the information about this other Talent, eloquently named Mind-Searching.

“’The Talent can be mistaken for Mind-Reading, but is much more. The wielder can read minds easily, but not only that. He can also read what the victim knows about what he’s thinking. If, for example, the victim was thinking about Healing Potions, the Mind-Searcher can dive into the victim’s mind and catch everything the victim knows about Healing Potions, from the smallest and most inconsequential little detail, to whatever secrets the victim may possess about the art. All this, even though the victim may not have thought about anything but which spatula he or she was going to use when stirring their next potion.’”

Hermione looked quizzically at Harry. “I’m a Mind-Searcher, Hermione,” he said simply. “Not a Mind-Reader, as I thought I was.” He thought back to when he had been reading Fudge’s mind, and delved into his mind to get information about the Bonded.

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look shocked, but only for a moment, before she snatched the book, eager to uncover more secrets.

The two of them got rather scared when they read about the ‘new’ Talent, which Harry had named Weaving. With that Talent you could weave magic into almost everything. The book spoke about weaving fear into air, and pain into water. They were relieved though, when they discovered that it had its limits; one could not weave very much at one time. Also, the larger an area or thing you wove anything into, the shorter it would last. Voldemort had been weaving fear into his name for quite some time, but they didn’t know if he had to re-weave this. After all, a name was rather abstract, much more so than air.

They also discovered that Language and Beast-Speaking Talents didn’t always cover every language or every beast. Harry and Hermione immediately decided that they would figure out how far their gifts stretched, as soon as they got time. Hermione also was very eager to try out her Talent, and was rather deflated when Harry told her that it had yet to awaken.

The most startling revelation however, had yet to come. Hermione’s eyes widened as she read the passage. “’Every witch or wizard has at least one Talent. Indeed, even Muggles can have one. The most common Talent is Telekinesis, the second is Voice, and the third, Telepathy. After that comes Foresight, Destiny and Seeing –if the gift is very small. Some people go through their lives without even noticing it, dismissing Telekinesis as wandless and accidental magic, and Telepathy as a figment of imagination. Voice though, they often use without knowing they have it. The other Talents are more difficult to ignore.

The number of Talents varies, and depends on how much actual magical power the person has. A witch or wizard of average power usually has one of those mentioned above. Magicians of above average power can have two, in some cases three. Four is extremely rare, and no one, except a Child of Power has ever been recorded to have five. Of those few Children of Power there have been, the average is six, seven or eight Talents, where eight is rather rare. Only once, a Child had nine, but that was in the time just before the Pectals and Citatios started to fight each other.’” Hermione stopped reading, mouth dry.

“Crainigar’s Tails,” Harry whispered, mouth a-gape. “You’re kidding me?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “Number of Talents indicate about how powerful you are,” she said quietly. “Then we are-“

“Way too powerful!” Harry exclaimed. “Hermione, you know you have at least ten Talents! At least!”

Hermione nodded. “And you have twelve.”

Harry felt like banging his head against the wall. “Not even among Pectals and Citatios can I be normal,” he said bitterly.

Hermione couldn’t help herself; she started giggling. Harry scowled at her. “What are you laughing at?” he asked, and Hermione only shook her head.

“Oh Harry,” she said laughingly. “When are you going to realise that you are anything but normal?”

Harry stuck his lower lip out and pouted cutely, sending Hermione into a fit of giggles yet again.

~*~

Harry and Hermione got little time to unravel more secrets about the Talents. Even though Hermione took both books and decided that she would go through them, she had her NEWTs, which she took together with Blaise. While Hermione continued her lessons with Harry (lessons which not always were strictly professional, mind you), Blaise was taken into the Order of the Phoenix, where she was to play a role in how to get the youngsters already involved with Voldemort, away from Voldemort.

The rest of the student body got no explanation as to why both of them disappeared from lessons, and only came to meals. Blaise usually took her meals in her new rooms though, especially when there were few teachers around, and often she was accompanied by Hermione. The two girls, being separated from the rest of the school for surprisingly similar reasons, soon became good friends, and gave Hermione time to talk with Ron when he came to visit Blaise. He was friendly and seemed to take the news about her being a Pectal nicely, but Hermione was a bit concerned by the feelings she sensed in Ron. They shifted from one to another so easily, almost as if he had split personalities. But it never showed outside.

The school soon was in uproar though, when fifteen students suddenly disappeared, and Dumbledore darkly informed the school that Voldemort had begun to gather his forces. People disappeared from all over Britain and several from other countries, too. Quite a few of them were captured later, during Death Eater raids.

The raids became even more frequent, but most of the people caught by Aurors were young and often inexperienced. Voldemort was saving the really good ones.

The good news was that the Aurors now were recruiting people at a high rate, and managed to prevent several of the raids. Also, some of the students who had disappeared from Hogwarts came to Blaise, who they knew had deserted Voldemort, and became spies for the Order.

But alas, Dark activity increased, and a day did not go by without murdering or torturing. The only light in the tunnel was the Pectal and the Citatio, and they were doing their best to increase their power and control. The problem was that even though they should be ready to face Voldemort, they did not know where he was. After all, what was the chance of him showing himself as he’d done at the Ministry yet again?

~*~

“Whatever you do, don’t take any chances,” Harry said, looking worriedly down at his girlfriend. When the number of attacks had increased, Harry had left them to the Aurors, knowing it was impossible for him to take care of them all, to concentrate entirely on Hermione. Now, they had come to a point in her training that Harry didn’t like. Exposing her to danger.

Hermione was looking out from behind the wall, trying to see everything from where she stood, in the small alley between two brick houses. The only person with her was Harry, and both of them were invisible. Several houses were on fire already, and black-robed persons ran around, sending curses in all directions.

She saw a Death Eater send a curse, saw it hit a young girl, perhaps fourteen years old or so, saw the girl being thrown through the air, and landing with a painful thump ten feet away. Saw him laugh. Felt her insides boil with anger.

A small crystal, three inches long rested in her hand. Magic surged through her, and a blue light shot out from the crystal, her focus. It hit the man squarely in his back, and sent him flying several feet, before collapsing in a heap.

Hermione concentrated on the skies above, and on the ground below her. Three minutes later water poured from the sky, and spouted out of small cracks in the earth, trying to extinguish the fires. She felt Harry beside her, calling the flames back. Soon, there were only small flickers of fire left.

Hermione stepped out from behind the wall, still invisible. Wordlessly she started to send curses, and before the Death Eaters knew what hit them, ten were out cold. Who had taken them down they didn’t know. They were, unfortunately, intelligent enough to draw conclusions, and when they saw a red beam of light the next time, one of them quickly sent an Avada Kedavra in that direction. Harry was thrown into the air and only barely managed to flip around to land on his feet. The curse managed to disturb him so his invisibility shielding disappeared, leaving him exposed. Quickly he rolled behind a shelter, replaced his invisibility shielding, and Disapparated ten feet away, just as ten curses hit the car he’d been hiding behind. Calmly he replaced his Killing-Curse Shield, too, and sent Hermione a calming thought.

All this within a few seconds.

Hermione had frozen for a second when Harry had been hit, but shook out of it almost immediately. She shifted her position quickly, and managed to stun two Death Eaters, while all the others were conentrating on Harry.

Harry sent a curse too, from his new position, which took out another Death Eater, before he again Disapparated, this time onto a roof, just as Aurors started to Apparate in.

Hermione Apparated to a spot behind the Death Eaters and transfigured a trash can into a metallic human-like figure. A silvery light from her hands snuffed consciousness out of four of them, while the metal figure walked straight at a fifth one, and knocked him down. The Aurors did quick work with the remaining ones.

A tear slipped down Hermione’s check, and Harry silently wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close. The girl she’d seen lay dead in the street, her blonde hair spread out, wet and dirty from the mud. The curse had broken her back.

~*~

“What kind of Shapeshifter are you, Harry?” Hermione asked.

Harry looked questioningly at her. “What?”

“What kind of Shapeshifter are you?” Hermione repeated. “Are you a Plant Shifter, a Predator Shifter, a Bird Shifter, a Magical Creatures Shifter, a Non-Magical Creature Shifter, a Fish Shifter, a Mammal Shifter, or-“

“Hermione, what are you talking about?” Harry asked, confused. “I’m a Shapeshifter.”

“Yes,” Hermione said impatiently. “I know that. But what kind?”

Harry tried to make sense of what she was saying. “Kind?”

Hermione looked rather perplexed. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?!” Harry said, rather exasperated.

“There are several types of Shapeshifters. Some Shapeshifters can only change into birds, others can change into plants only, some can only change into animals or plants of the same family, like the dog family, including wolf, jackal, hyena, and so forth. Some Shapeshifters can only change into sea animals and others only mammals. Others can perhaps only change into sea mammals, while others only land mammals, or perhaps only birds.” Hermione looked very excited, like she always did when she was learning something new.

“I already know you can be a tiger, a human, a horse and a thestral, ‘cause you’ve showed me those, but what others do you have?” Hermione continued, practically bouncing around.

“Hermione,” Harry started slowly. “I don’t think I have any limit.”

Hermione stopped bouncing. “No…limit?”

Quickly Harry changed into several different shapes, including a birch tree, a diamond, a dog, a dolphin, a vulture, an eagle, a cod, a tuna, an ivy plant, a lion, and a fly.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “But- but…”

“But what?” Harry asked gently, his eyes laughing.

“That’s impossible,” Hermione said lamely. “It’s impossible to be a Complete Shapeshifter.”

Harry slumped into the nearest chair. “I should have guessed,” he said sarcastically.

~*~

During the next few days Hermione came up with several new revelations, not only the Shapeshifter thing. Harry still had problems with the fact that it, theoretically, was impossible to Shapeshift into everything. He tried hundreds of forms, but did not find any he could not Shift into. He started to realise that he might be more powerful than he had first thought.

One of the other of Hermione’s revelations was about Seeing, much to her disgust. Apparently, Seeing was a Talent. Harry had long suspected it, but he hadn’t been sure. The book had three chapters on Seeing only; one chapter dedicated to Trance Seeing, Vision Seeing, Foresight and Destiny, another to Future Seeing, and a third to History Seeing. It also talked about different strengths of Seeing. Hermione, much to her displeasure, figured that Professor Trelawney did indeed have a very weak Vision Seeing Talent, allowing her to See a few minutes into the future. She also had a stronger, though not much, Trance Seeing Talent. Trance Seeing was also called Prophecy.

Harry on the other hand, and a rather strong Vision Talent which was combined with a very weak Destiny Talent and a strong Foresight. The Destiny Talent allowed a person to See destinies, and it was a part of what had made him keep his powers secret. However, as any Seeing Talent it was not very reliable, as coincidences or twists of fate could change a person’s path completely. Both his Foresight and Destiny was centred upon him, so he could not See other’s destinies or Foresee anything not regarding himself.

Hermione, though lacking any Seeing Talent, for which she was grateful, did ‘Foresee’ that Harry would not like the fact that he indeed had not twelve, but fifteen Talents.

Being much better at studying than Harry, she also picked up a few facts from the Pectal and Citatio book that Harry hadn’t. A very small comment gave them a small clue as to why Harry was born with his powers, and Hermione not. ‘I, Godric, who was born first, trained the fair Lady Ravenclaw, as it is fit for a Pectal.’ It wasn’t exactly a proof, but she found out that Ramses was born before his Pectal, Nefertari, and Godric was born before Rowena. Thus, Hermione figured, since she was born after Harry, it had something to do with the order of their births. It seemed like it was the person who was born first who was the ‘teacher’, while the person who was born last was the ‘student’. She didn’t know if the female could be born first though. History did not tell of it anyway, and it wasn’t until a bit later that she found that Merlin in fact had been a Citatio. History did not speak of any Pectal though, but some books, which were regarded as very unreliable sources, did speak of a woman who supposedly had trained him. Some said it was his mother, while other said it was a lover, and other an older sister.

Hermione started to re-write the book since it was written in an old language, and the writing style was rather old-fashioned. She hoped to have it finished before next autumn. She also started walking around in the school, using techniques the book spoke about, to find other students with Talents. Harry had used Foresight and Vision when finding her Talents, even though some of them had not yet awakened, and he had also, as a Citatio, been able to notice some of them. A very powerful wizard could do that. Also, all wizards could recognise someone with the same Talent as themselves, but it had to happen after the Talent’s awakening.

With this, and the help of the magical ways the book spoke off, Hermione was able to find the Talents of almost all students in school. It was true as the book said, that Telekinesis was a very common Talent, and she found quite a few with Voice, and the same amount of Seeing as Professor Trelawney. Much to her amusement Professor Snape was one of them, but he also had Voice. Professor McGonagall had Voice and something called Aura. People who had that Talent could emit an aura of what they were feeling. If they felt determined, they emitted an aura of determination. If they were sad, they emitted an aura of sadness. If they had control over the gift though, they could manipulate it, so even though they felt deadly scared, they could emit an aura of optimism and courage. This could be rather useful in a battle, and Hermione felt sure that Dumbledore had that as his second Talent. He was able to hide his Talents, all of them, even though he was only aware of one. Hermione felt sure that he had at least three, maybe four.

~*~

Professor McGonagall was rather startled when two men unannounced showed up on the Hogwarts grounds late one evening. One of them was clad in Muggle clothes with a blue cape, while the other was clothed in black robes.

The black-robed person spoke. “I am Asham Narnek. I wish to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about one of his students.” He spoke in a deep but soft baritone. “My friend William wishes to speak to him for the same reason, but about another student.”

~*~

Seven persons from the Order of the Phoenix had been set task of doing research on Voldemort. Few had come up with anything they did not know.

It was late evening, in an old library in Chile, South America, and though the task Daniel Ramman was assigned was important, he was considering turning in. He had spent the last two weeks going through old books with references to powerful wizards and witches, and every ancient cult he could find anything about. Also, he had read about ancient civilisations, and old monuments, which people didn’t rightly know who had built.

So far he had found a few bits and pieces in the old books, which the Muggles didn’t even know existed. The ancient people who had been driven out by the Spaniards after America had been discovered, had left many documents behind, showing that they indeed had been a mixed culture of magical and non-magical people. Some of the books referred to a very powerful group of people, who were worshipped as Gods. When they left, the non-magicals believed that they lived on in those people with magical talents. The Gods had been known to start landslides, earthquakes and storms if they were displeased, but if they were pleased, everything went well.

Daniel was quite certain this was about the ‘Children of Power’ that Potter had talked about, but it wasn’t very useful. One more book and I’ll crash, he thought to himself. The book was very old, even though it was a newer copy of the original. It was a story, apparently. A fairy-tale to tell children at night, Daniel thought at first. But the tale caught his attention.

It was about a very powerful and very beautiful female, by the name Nuk’del’sheat. She had chosen a male named Andr’kelende, and wanted to have him as the father of her children. Andr’kelende however, did not want to, and refused Nuk’del’sheat. He was in love with another Goddess, Shemel. When Nuk’del’sheat understood that, she became angry. She believed that she, as a female, the one who gave birth to the next generation, was the one who should decide everything, and did not accept Andr’kelende’s ‘No’. Andr’kelende believed in equality, and would not marry on Nuk’del’sheat’s terms, as he loved Shemel.

Nuk’del’sheat tried to steal Andr’kelende from Shemel, but she failed.

She tried to kill Shemel, but she failed.

She tried to kill Andr’kelende, but she failed.

All of Nuk’del’sheat’s plans and conspiracies failed, but she was a great Seer. Nuk’del’sheat predicted that one day in the future, one of her blood would be born, and he would be of great power, and destroy the fruits of Andr’kelende and Shemel. He would come when the time was right, and he would bring great dark. But Nuk’del’sheat despised all men now, and did not want to have any of them.

Then, Nuk’del’sheat invoked great power, and made herself pregnant, without a male’s aid. She got a son, and she named him Somr Ansalesh, which means Revenge’s Justice.

But the other Gods did not. They called him Galen, Twisted One, for he had no father.

But Nuk’del’sheat was proud, and said that her son, many generations removed, would carry the power of a female, though being a male, and he would rule the world.

~*~

-------------------------------------

Galen: I picked this from my own language. The first part, Gal, means Crazy (twisted), whiles the second part, en, is the number one. Also, you can in fact use galen as a word. (Especially where I live) If you say ‘Du er galen’ in Norwegian, it means ‘You are crazy/mad/insane’. We use gal the most, though. And we write gal. Write galen on a test, and you will not get top marks…

It’s pronounced GA-len, not GAH-len or GAY-len. It’s important not to add the H, ‘cause then it sounds weird.

======================

Well, that’s that. Chapter fifteen finished. There is not many chapters left now. Oops. Shouldn’t have said that…

Thanks to dragonmaster, for your information. I am fully aware that my ‘Adonis’ story is not complete, nor completely correct, but please bear with me. The point with it was to show that the name Adonis pointed to a very handsome male. I will not change it, but add that I know it is very incomplete. Thanks again.

16. Guardians

Chapter Sixteen: Guardians

Albus Dumbledore looked curiously at the two men, who’d introduced themselves as Asham Narnek and William Anderson. Both of them were obviously not British. Asham wasn’t a name he’d heard before, and William pronounced his name in a very weird way, which made Dumbledore believe he was Scandinavian.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Mr Narnek said smoothly. “We’re here because of two of your students.” He made a dramatic pause. “We are the Elemental Guardians for Fire and Water.”

If he’d expected that Dumbledore should fall off his chair in shock, he was disappointed. Dumbledore kept his surprise to himself. “Indeed,” said he. “And I believe that the two students are supposed to be your apprentices?”

Asham Narnek smiled pleasantly. “It appears that you know quite a bit about Elemental Guardians, no?”

“I do, I do. The Elements have chosen, then?” Dumbledore answered. The two males nodded. “Who are the students you want me to fetch?”

~*~

Ron felt strangely nervous as he looked at the three men. He’d only been in the Headmaster’s office once, and that was when he’d first become Head Boy. Professor Dumbledore started speaking.

“Mr Weasley, Ms Zabini, so nice of you to come.” He smiled at them. “Allow me to present these gentlemen, William Anderson and Asham Narnek, to you.”

Ron looked at the two men, one tall and blue-eyed with light brown hair, another smaller, with brown eyes, dark skin, and dark hair, streaked with grey. Ron immediately knew that they were older than they looked.

“I’ll let them tell you why you’re here,” the Headmaster continued

The man called William stepped forward. “Throughout recorded history,” he began, “there have been Elemental Guardians. They Guard the elements Fire, Earth, Water and Air. The Guardian’s task is to watch them, guide them, and advise them, sometimes command them, and follow them, whether they pay the Guardian any attention or not.” The man looked at Ron. “The Guardian is the Element’s servant and master. When the Element finds it appropriate, it will chose an apprentice to its Guardian. This apprentice will become the next Guardian. They usually do this at entirely different times, though this time they’ve done it at the same time, with only small intervals.” Ron’s eyes lit up when he understood what the man was talking about. Was he chosen? William continued. “We believe this is because of the great evil, who is called Voldemort,”-Ron and Blaise flinched- “because the Elements are stronger when two are guiding them, and the only time the Elements can have two Guardians, is in the apprentice’s training period.”

“To make it short,” the man called Asham interrupted, “the two of you have been chosen as the next Elemental Guardians, for Water,” he looked at Blaise, “and Fire.” His eyes fixed on Ron.

Ron’s head started to spin. He was going to be an Elemental Guardian! What luck! Something as big as that being dropped right into his hands… But what had the man said about ‘being the Element’s servant and master’? The ‘master’ he could handle, but ‘servant’? Well, perhaps he could do something against Voldemort… Perhaps he could be famous after all? And Blaise would be an Elemental Guardian, too! What a couple they would make! The thought of Blaise cooled him down, and he shot a look at her. She’d taken his hand, and was clutching it, looking as if she couldn’t believe what was happening.

The man, Asham, obviously hadn’t finished. “-remember, no one is to know what you are.”

What?! Ron thought. No one is to know? How unfair! However, his train of thoughts were broken when he felt Blaise’s hand on his arm. Her eyes shone.

“Isn’t this great, Ron?! We’ll be able to support the Elements! They’ve chosen us to help them in the final battle!” Blaise obviously had grasped something he hadn’t. Final battle? She also seemed to sense his confusion. “Don’t you see, Ron? The Elements have sensed the fight between the Children of Power and Voldemort, and they’ve understood that they need help to stabilise themselves –or something like that. They know they need to unite, and perhaps they even want to fight!” Blaise obviously knew something he didn’t, too, about those Elements. Courtesy of Hermione, no doubt. But what can I do as a Guardian? He wondered. “Isn’t that great, Ron? We’ll be able to help!”

Well, when she said it like that… it didn’t really sound that bad. At least he’d know what he’d done, if no one else did. A nice story to tell his children.

Ron didn’t even notice what he was thinking; he was way too busy nodding in agreement to Blaise’s words. She was obviously excited about it, and he couldn’t help but think that she was very beautiful when excited.

Asham Narnek nudged William. “Told you so,” he said, grinning.

William managed not to groan. He, too, could see the sparks practically flying between the two of them. He smiled wryly. The kids didn’t know it, but having three male Guardians, and a female Water Guardian was something of a rarity. In fact, no one could ever remember it happening.

No one knew why, but the Elements listened to females rather than males, but yet, very few females were chosen as Guardians. Far back in time there had been a female Fire Guardian, and she’d managed to stop several catastrophes. She couldn’t stop Atlantis from sinking into the ocean though.

But a female Water Guardian! Water was the Element which easiest made ‘peace’ with the other Elements. Not that they were ever at ‘war’, they just didn’t always co-operate. But Water easily had the greatest influence, especially on Air and Earth. And with this, er, connection to Fire, this would be a very fine ‘peace’ indeed. They needed that, in what was to come.

~*~

Hermione had decided that researching in the Hogwarts library would be a good thing. It was after all, one of the biggest libraries in the world, and maybe she could find something about what Voldemort was there.

For Voldemort obviously was a very formidable foe, so perhaps someone had predicted his coming. As much as Hermione hated to admit it, she had started to believe in … Seeing. After all, Harry was a Seer, so it had to be true…

She picked up a book. ‘Old Prophecies’ by Cecilia Nensh. She remembered having seen that before. Well, if one was looking for predictions, what was better than a collection of them?

The prologue was written by the author, and was about a family member of hers, who had been a Seer.

‘My great-aunt, Celia, was what is called a true Seer. Every now and then she would go into a trance, and say some words, which often didn’t have any meaning. She did this quite often, and was always insistent on having other people around all the time, so no predictions would go lost, as she could never remember them. Most of them did though, in a fire a few years after her death. Only one did not. It was the only one which survived the fire. It seemed like it didn’t want to be destroyed. It is a strange prophecy, which no one can yet find any meaning to. But it has a meaning for me. I myself am no Seer, but the first time I saw this prophecy I felt that it was my responsibility to record it, and also other prophecies, as Seeing is a very inaccurate thing, and many great Seers and Seeresses were never acknowledged for what they really were. In my family Aunt Celia was looked upon as half-mad, and no one really cared about her ‘mad ramblings’. It was up to me to preserve her work, and that of other Seers.’

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Very interesting. Cecilia obviously had some kind of Destiny or Foresight Talent. Very interesting indeed.

~*~

Harry was reading through the book about Talents for the zillionth time. Somehow he knew that something was missing. He blamed this on his different Seeing Talents, and cursed the day he’d taken up Divination with Trelawney. It wasn’t the subject or the teacher’s fault, but he was in a bad mood, and felt like cursing someone in the non-magical way. He was just being a normal teen-ager for once, throwing a temper tantrum.

He sighed, and slammed the book shut. He didn’t really believe in coincidences, so it had to be Fate who decided that a hidden page should flap its way out of the book. He picked it up.

‘Dream -A Talent few ever know they have’

‘Dream is a Talent which is extremely difficult to discover. It gives a witch or a wizard the ability to see and understand things when he or she is asleep, things the one with a Dream Talent would not see or understand while being awake.’

‘Sometimes, a wizard -or a witch- with a Dream Talent will have a strange dream. He or she will dream about familiar things, persons or places, and then, in the same dream, see something quite unfamiliar, but which has a connection to what the wizard –or witch- already knows. Later, when awake, they will sometimes discover that what they dreamt about really is connected in some way, and not only a figment of imagination. For example, a witch with a Dream Talent sees a dog while she’s awake. She then dreams about the dog, and in this dream she sees the dog’s owner, who she has not seen in reality. The witch will probably dismiss this as her own imagination, but if she ever should meet the dog’s owner when awake, she would probably see the same person she saw in her dream.’

‘That way, Dream is a kind of Seer Talent; however, that is not only what Dream is. A person with a Dream Talent can also call a person to sleep for as long as he or she wishes. It is probably from here we have the fairytale of ‘Sleeping Beauty’. A Dream Talent can also keep a person awake forever, and thus, the Dream Talent can be deadly, as we know that you will die if you go without sleep for too long.’

‘Another thing this Talent can do is banish nightmares, but it can also summon them. Therefore, all who have a Dream Talent remember to use it wisely. The Talent can also help people with sleeping problems, whether it is falling asleep or staying awake, no matter what the reason is.’

Harry stared at the page, his bad mood completely forgotten. Then he re-read it, and smiled. So that’s where my sleeping troubles went! He chuckled. Now all he had to do was to go to Hermione each time he was so stressed that he started having nightmares.

He was just about to go to find her, when she called for him.

<Harry?> she called. He jumped slightly at the sudden voice in his head.

<Yes, Hermione?> he answered.

<Come to the Library, quick. I have something to show you.>

~*~

Hermione was momentarily startled when Harry came up behind, spun her around and pressed his warm lips to hers, kissing her deeply. She recovered quickly however, and responded in turn. He moaned softly when she raked her hands through his hair. A thrilling sensation went through her body as it always did when he kissed her.

They pulled apart, both slightly breathless. He bent down and gave her a loving peck on her cheek, and she sighed happily. As troubled as it had started out, their friendship from their first years at Hogwarts had returned, many times strengthened because of the difficulties they’d overcome. The added bonus of kisses and touches were something neither of them minded in the least.

“What did you have to show me?” Harry asked. Hermione smiled. All she had to do was call, and he’d come. Of course, it seemed like his intentions weren’t always the same as hers. “I heard that,” he muttered and kissed her lips again. “You think too loudly.”

Hermione blushed. “So what? Does it bother you that I think nice thoughts about you? I can’t remember thinking that I disliked those other intentions of yours, either.”

He grinned. “Well, no. But I doubt you called me here to make me listen to those thoughts. I rather think it was some other thoughts your pretty little head has come up with.”

“You’re a flirt, Mr Potter,” she pouted.

“Am I now?” he asked, and started planting small kisses down her neck.

Small shivers made their way through her body, and she pushed him away. “I didn’t call you for that either, even though you seem rather one-tracked today,” she said. “But I have found something that might interest you.” She picked up a book she’d been reading.

“’Old Prophecies’?” Harry asked. “Thought you were rather, er, distrustful of that art?”

Hermione swatted him. “I just read a prophecy, made by Celia Nensh. It mentions a certain ‘Galen Antesh’,” she said.

Harry’s attention was immediately hers. Not that it hadn’t been… “Galen Antesh? Antesh, like in the very first of the Children of Power? It means Twisted Power, doesn’t it?”

Hermione nodded and Harry slumped into the nearest chair. A few fifth years rounded the corner and looked curiously at them. Harry quickly Persuaded them to forget the incident, and put up some wardings around the part in the library where they were. Hermione scolded him for being so careless. Then, she read the prophecy for him.

“This is how it goes,” she said.

‘In a time of Darkness, a Prophecy will come true,

By a Child of Power, in ancient times, it is made.

Though by one they are hated, these powerful few,

And this one they will fight, now and forever,

For he is the Dark, and they are the Light.

The Dark one tried to destroy this foretelling,

He failed, yet succeeded,

For it will prevail through his child.

But the Twisted Power is born in his brother,

Their Destinies tied forever in battle,

And brother will fight brother,

Kin will fight kin.

Ancient Evil will spring from the brother’s blood,

And a Galen Antesh will he be.

The Twisted, he will be named.

Few will dare to speak the name he has stolen,

Fewer will know what his real name is.

And the chances of the Light will be small,

As The Twisted Darkness has separated the Two.

But as Hope withstand,

And the wish for Freedom is strong,

When Trust is regained,

The Children are united,

Peace can be sought, and Darkness fought.’

Hermione paused and looked expectantly at Harry.

“Wow, it’s even rhyming. Some places,” said he, dryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenwards. “Be serious!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you think it might concern us in any way?”

“Perhaps,” said he. “The prophecy it mentions is probably Rowena Ravenclaw’s, and ‘But the Twisted Power is born in his brother, their Destinies tied forever in battle’, probably refers to Slandrin Slytherin and his brother’s descendant, Tom Riddle. Don’t ask me how I know that, it just feels right.” He thought for a while. “We have to pick this one to pieces,” he said.

The next few hours they spent trying to make some meaning of the prophecy.

“Okay,” Harry said at last. “I think we’ve got it now. Let’s go through it one more time, to check if we have everything.”

“‘In a time of Darkness, a Prophecy will come true, by a Child of Power, in ancient times, it is made.” Hermione began. “We agreed that was about Rowena Ravenclaw’s Prophecy. Then it’s ’Though by one they are hated, these powerful few, and this one they will fight, now and forever, for he is the Dark, and they are the Light.’, which is about the fight between the founders, Rowena and Godric being ‘the Light’, and Slandrin ‘the Dark’.”

“Then comes the more difficult part,” broke Harry in. “‘The Dark one tried to destroy this foretelling, He failed, yet succeeded.’”

“’The Dark one’ is Slandrin, and though he succeeded in casting the Curse, it was halfway undone by Salazar.”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, and then it’s: ‘But the Twisted Power is born in his brother, their Destinies tied forever in battle, and brother will fight brother, kin will fight kin.’”

“We agreed that it meant that ‘The Twisted Power’ is Voldemort, and ‘the brother’ is Salazar, didn’t we?”

Harry nodded, and Hermione continued. “Then it’s that about the Destinies, about Salazar and Slandrin always fighting, even when they’re both dead, through you and Voldemort.”

“They kind of switched placed though,” Harry commented. “Last time it was Salazar who fought for the light, now it’s Slandrin.”

“But I’m Salazar’s descendant,” Hermione said, somewhat injured.

“What a family quarrel,” said Harry, dryly.

Hermione shook her head in resignation. “Anyway, it continues. ‘Ancient Evil will spring from the brother’s blood, and a Galen Antesh will he be. The Twisted, he will be named.’”

“If the Galen Antesh is Voldemort, then we’ll have to search for what a Galen Antesh really is,” she said. Then she sighed. “What’s the point with this?” she said, frustrated. “A whole prophecy just to tell us that Voldemort is something called ‘Galen Antesh’?”

“I guess it’s supposed to help us. Even though we don’t know, we can assume. I think these prophecies are a kind of guide,” Harry said. “They’re supposed to show us the right path, push us in the right direction, but very much is so up to ourselves.” Then he added, dryly, “Or perhaps the Seeress just had her channel tuned in wrong.”

Hermione looked disdainfully at him, but nodded. “Yes, perhaps you’re right. And if it really is Voldemort the prophecy speaks about, it speaks about us, too. The last few lines are, ’Few will dare to speak the name he has stolen, Fewer will know what his real name is. And the chances of the Light will be small, as The Twisted Darkness has separated the Two. But as Hope withstand, And the wish for Freedom is strong, when Trust is regained, The Children are united, Peace can be sought, and Darkness fought.’”

It was Harry’s turn to nod. “‘Few will dare to speak the name he has stolen’ probably refers to Voldemort, and ‘fewer will know what his real name is’, which must be Tom Marvolo Riddle. We are mentioned as ‘the Children’.”

“Can’t get away from these prophecies, can we?” Hermione said, exasperated.

“Apparently not,” Harry agreed. “We should start looking for ‘the Galen Antesh’, and ‘the Twisted Power’, and try finding something on that. How nice.”

Hermione nodded. “You know, I’ve thought-“

“You have?” Harry said in mock-shock. “I’d never guess!”

Hermione swatted him again. “About the first prophecy, by Ravenclaw. It mentions ‘As Power hate Power, As Power distrust Power’. I guess this is translated from the Children of Power language, to English, or at least Anglo-Saxon at first. If you read it in our language you can get ‘As Pectal hate Citatio, As Citatio distrust Pectal’.”

Harry looked intently at her, and then he nodded. “You might be right. That translation is probably why it was rather difficult to decipher the prophecy.”

Hermione nodded. “And it also clarifies that rather confusing part, considering, er, our somewhat…”

“Turbulent start?” Harry suggested, and Hermione nodded sheepishly. “Well, we got over it, didn’t we?” he said, and took her hand, pulling her into his lap. “I’m quite sure I was right when I said those prophecies are here to guide us. The first one was to help us so we could find each other – not that it helped that much - while this one shall lead us to ‘the Galen’, who quite likely is Voldemort.”

Hermione sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “But where do we find exactly what this ‘Galen’ is?”

To that, Harry could give no answer, as it was usually Hermione who had them, anyway.

~*~

Ron had packed his stuff. Everything was in order, he was ready to leave. Professor Dumbledore had told him that this could not wait, and that he would have to take his NEWTs later. Ron had snorted at that –silently of course. What did he need NEWTs for, when he was an Elemental Guardian? But unfortunately, you could not make a living out of being an Elemental Guardian, and both Asham and William had normal jobs. William even had a wife and two sons.

“Well then,” Asham said, when Ron returned to Dumbledore’s office. “We’ll have to leave the school, since I cannot Apparate through the wards.”

Ron nodded, just as Blaise came back from her room, she too having gathered her stuff. William smiled gently at her.

“Ready?” he said, and she nodded. “This will feel rather weird,” he warned, and took her hand. He put the other hand into a small pitcher of water, and… became water.

Ron stared in shock as the two figures suddenly turned into water. They were shaped as humans, yet still they were water. With a gurgling sound the two figures were drawn into the pitcher – Ron couldn’t understand how that little thing could hold that much water – and disappeared. A black shadow passed over the surface, and the two were gone.

Asham chuckled at Ron’s face. “No worries, kid, the girl will be all right.”

“W-what did he do?” asked Ron, confused.

“He just travelled by his element,” Asham stated, quite unfazed.

“Why can’t we do that? Why are we going to Apparate?” Ron asked.

“Because Fire is rather unreliable. If I introduced you to fire travelling now, you’d most likely get burned,” he answered. “There is a danger with Water too, but William had to take the chance, because he can’t Apparate.”

“Oh?” said Ron, curiously. “Why?”

Asham laughed. “Quite simply because he’s a Muggle. Can’t do a single bit of magic.” Asham then turned to Dumbledore. “We’ll have to go now. I have to tell the boy’s parents. Unfortunately I can’t just take him with me, since his parents will get worried.” He looked rather miffed at the thought.

~*~

Harry and Hermione were rather shocked to find out that Ron and Blaise were Elemental Guardians. Harry was careful to shield his emotions from the two Empaths though, for he was rather pleased. Now, Ron had something of his own, something he, Harry Potter, could not take from him. Harry hoped it would teach him to accept his position, and not crave others’. He had always known that Ron hungered to have what he didn’t have, and he knew that while Ron had hoped that he once could surpass the great Boy-Who-Lived, each failure had made him more bitter, and more determined. He had never said anything, knowing that Ron himself had to realise that once he stopped reaching for the unreachable, he could truly be content with his life. Harry himself had no difficulties in accepting a second place, but being the defeater of Voldemort, it was difficult to come out as the second best.

But now, Ron had something Harry could never have (even though Harry had much Ron could never have), and he could actually do something for the Light, and Harry knew Ron wasn’t, and would never be a Dark Wizard. He had known that for a while, since second year, when his Destiny Talent made one of its rare lapses into another person’s destiny. While there were many paths Ron could chose, none of them had been towards evil and darkness. Against loneliness and bitterness, perhaps, but he was definitely not going towards a fate as a Dark Wizard.

And now, Harry thought wryly, Blaise is his destiny. She knows how to handle him, now when he’s stopped blackmailing her…

Hermione looked strangely at him, having picked up that small stitch of amusement.

That news, however, was not the only piece of information Professor Dumbledore had for them that evening. One of the Order’s researchers, a man called Daniel, had found something which spoke of an ancient South-American God, called the Galen. Harry swore he saw Hermione’s ears actually perk when he said that. The Headmaster was, of course, very interested when he found out that they’d found a prophecy which mentioned the ‘Galen Antesh’.

When Dumbledore had recited the ‘fairy-tale’, he found both teens deep in thought, though Hermione was slightly green.

She turned to Harry. “What kind of ‘great power’ can this Nuk’del’sheat have invoked to make herself pregnant?” she asked, sounding quite horrified. “This can’t possibly be true, even though it mentions the Galen, and all the names are in the Children of Power’s Language.” She shuddered. “It’s just sick.”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Actually, it is possible…” he said slowly. Both Hermione and Dumbledore raised their eyebrows. “It can be done in several ways,” continued Harry. “Firstly, you can by magic complete the processes of human cloning, which Muggle technology still cannot do. You know; the merging of an egg cell without a nucleus, and a single nucleus taken from another cell. With magic this can be done perfectly, so the result will not die, or in any other way be defective.” He raised his eyebrows at the other two. “I doubt however, that Nuk’del’sheat had the technology or the knowledge to be able to do this.”

Hermione nodded impatiently, knowing that he had another possibility ready. “Yes, but then how?”

Harry grinned. “You’re sure you want to know?” he asked. Hermione glared at him, and he snickered. “Simple. Nuk’del’sheat could have been a Shapeshifter.” He looked pointedly at Hermione. “You are aware that I can actually become a mother?”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You- You mean- Saying- Shift into a-”

“You weren’t aware of that,” Harry stated dryly.

Hermione was mortified. “That’s gross,” she said lamely.

Harry turned serious. “Yes, it is, but it can have happened. And of course, we don’t know the limits of Nuk’del’sheat’s power. She might have just created a child. I guess we’ll never know. All we know, is that Slandrin Slytherin probably was her son’s descendant, and that Slandrin played a part in that which resulted in Voldemort’s counterpart; me.” He snuck a glance at Hermione. “Well, half of Voldemort’s counterpart, anyway.” Then he sighed. “Fate truly has a weird sense of humour.”

Hermione’s eyes suddenly widened. “If we make a guess,” she said, “and this ‘son, many generations removed’, as this little abhorrent tale says, is Voldemort.”

The two males nodded, and she continued. “Doesn’t that mean that I’m her descendant too?”

“Oh,” said Harry, suddenly startled. “I didn’t think of that.”

Hermione paled, and shuddered. “I’m really a result of such a sick, sick thing?” she asked timidly.

“Hermione,” Harry sighed, and laid an arm comfortingly around her shoulder. “You shouldn’t let that get to you. There are lots of people who are her descendants, just think of the Malfoys! They’re Slandrin Slytherin’s descendants, and that makes me her descendant, too, through my mother. After so many years I’ll bet it’s thousands of people who have her as their ancestor.”

Hermione seemed to find that satisfying, for she brightened considerably. Dumbledore just watched them with an amused smile.

“It answers our question, however. We know what the Galen is now,” Harry said. “The tale say’s he’ll ‘carry the power of a female, though being a male.’ I think that means that he’ll be a Pectal, but still, since he’s a male, he’ll be a Citatio too. Voldemort is both a Pectal and a Citatio, and that’s why he can Wander.”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore suddenly said. “That truly answers a few questions. Another one just popped up, though. Since Voldemort is able to Wander, how come he doesn’t just Wander directly into Hogwarts as the two of you can do? It has bothered me quite a bit.”

Harry frowned. “Yes, me too. Right now it’s my and Hermione’s wards which are preventing him, but I’m not so sure if that’s enough, when he is as powerful as the two of us combined…”

“I think I know why,” Hermione said.

“You do?” asked Harry.

“Yes,” she answered. “Two of the founders of Hogwarts were a Citatio and a Pectal. I would assume that they put up wards to prevent any as powerful as themselves from entering.”

“But why can the two of us Wander in then?” Harry asked, surprised.

“Simple,” Hermione answered. “You’re their descendant. It wouldn’t be very practical for Godric and Rowena not to be able to Wander in, and since you’re related to them, the wards, which must be keyed to them, just ‘think’ that you’re one of them. And since you taught me how to Wander inside Hogwarts, you ‘accidentally’ keyed me to the wards, too.”

Harry tilted his head, pondering on what she’d said. “You know, I think you’re right again, Hermione,” he said, beaming. “Brilliant!”

Hermione blushed. “Just simple logic, really,” she muttered, “and something I found in Hogwarts: A History, suggested that it might be right.” Harry laughed heartily, and Dumbledore chuckled, making Hermione blush redder. They all quickly turned serious again, though.

“But can we be sure that both this tale and the prophecy speak of Voldemort?” Harry asked the two others.

“It must be,” said Dumbledore. “He must have some of either Pectal or Citatio abilities, when he can Wander, and it is mostly agreed on the fact that there cannot be two Citatios. Besides, it is the fact that you’ve found them, read them, and found parallels to our time. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

Harry nodded gravely. “You’re right. There is no reason to have two Citatios, so Voldemort cannot be one, and the Element of Dark cannot send any Citatio to fight for it either. It seems though, as if it can send something worse.”

He locked his gaze with Hermione. “It is a most grave matter. It is very important that we get ready to fight Voldemort. I don’t know why, but obviously he didn’t have his full powers when my mother vanquished him sixteen years ago, or perhaps he just didn’t truly know how to use them. Anyway, he knows now, and has spent the last few years growing stronger. Soon he’ll be as strong as he can get, and even though both of us are more powerful than is normal for Pectals and Citatios, we can’t be sure if it’s enough,” he said worriedly, and Dumbledore nodded.

“Yes, you must spend as much time as possible to prepare. Once he reaches his full power, he will go after you.” The old Headmaster looked seriously at the young teens, one who had already fought many battles, and was more of an adult than most people twice his age, and one who would soon be thrown into the battle zone, a terrifying experience for a girl so young. Yet, they were both determined to continue. Never had he been so proud, and never had he been so concerned. He cared greatly for these young adults. He promised himself to make great effort to find out when Voldemort went after them, so they could be as prepared as possible.

~*~

It was a few days after the meeting with Dumbledore, and the two teens were now working on Hermione’s animagus forms yet again. Now having mastered the horse, the kneazle, the abraxan, the dragonfly and the wolf, Harry wanted her to manage her peregrine falcon, in case she should need to flee sometime.

Hermione was currently learning how to fly, and failing rather thoroughly.

“Hermione,” Harry said patiently. “Here I think you have to think the opposite way of what you’ve been doing earlier on, like when you tried the kneazle.”

Hermione tilted her head in a very bird-like way.

“With the kneazle, you kind of knew how to do it, ‘cause even though it has four legs, it’s not that different from two legs, so you had to suppress the cat’s instincts,” he explained. “The bird flies. That’s very, very, different from us humans, and therefore you have to let the bird’s instinct take over, ‘cause the bird can fly, while you cannot. Let it teach you.”

<Okay,> Hermione nodded, and Harry looked distinctly amused a second, as having a bird do such a human thing was downright hilarious.

Hermione looked out, seeing Hogwarts’ grounds far below. They were in one of the highest turrets of the castle, and Harry had just magicked her back to him for the hundredth time, after one of her near-crashes.

She sighed.

“We can continue tomorrow though, if you-” he never had the chance to finish.

“Oh yes, can we, can we?” Hermione cried happily, having popped back to human existence the instant the words left his mouth.

Harry smiled slightly. “Okay, if you absolutely want to,” he said. He was about to say something more, but was interrupted when he found himself with a Hermione on his face.

<You really… don’t … like … flying…> he managed to send to her. She replied by touching her tongue to his lips, and he automatically opened for her. He had problems sticking two thoughts together after that.

When they finally broke free, Harry’s eyes were slightly glazed.

“You’re all right Harry?” Hermione asked, a bit breathlessly.

“I’m scarred for life…” Harry said dazedly, obviously not having expected being jumped that way.

“What?”

He seemed to snap back to reality. “Did you say anything?” he asked her, and Hermione raised her eyebrows.

“Never mind,” she said dryly. Then, “What do we do now? The day’s still young.”

“Hmm… Actually I’m not quite sure…” Harry said slyly. “What do you say about this?” he asked, and swept her into another kiss.

After a little while, Hermione pushed him away, smiling. He pouted, faking hurt.

“As much as I like that, it isn’t very productive,” she said. Harry got a wicked glint in his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, Potter!” she said sharply. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

Harry snapped into seriousness again. “Well, I’m not quite sure,” he said thoughtfully. Then he lit up. “I suppose we could test what our limits are.”

“You’ve never done that before?” Hermione asked, her eyebrows going into her hairline.

Harry smiled sheepishly.

“You’ve never done that before,” she stated. “Harry, we’re talking about saving the world here, and you’ve never checked how far you can go?!”

Harry grinned. “Of course I have, Hermione, you just misunderstood me.” Then upon seeing her glare, he faltered a little. “Or perhaps I was unclear. The point is that I know how long I can last, when I have to stop, and what I can do, but I’ve never tested how powerful I am.”

“Which means?” she said sceptically.

“That I’ve never checked how many volcanoes I can erupt, how many oceans I can empty, how many stars I can turn off-”

“Okay, okay, I get your point. Shall we go then?”

Ten minutes later they stood in the middle of a very cold, very vast, and very lonely place.

“Siberia!” Harry announced. “No place is better when we’re going to throw things off the scale,” he said cheerfully.

Hermione shook her head, smiling. “Show me what you can do then,” she challenged.

“Okay,” he said. “Be prepared!”

He concentrated. Hermione saw a small crack starting to form in the ground. It rumbled about them. The crack grew until it was a hole as big as a football, and then-

Hermione screamed.

Flowing, hot lava poured out of the hole! The spray stood twenty metres into the air! It rained down upon them, and Hermione crouched down, her hands going up to protect her head.

Nothing happened though. The lava was still pouring out of the crack but a transparent shield covered them, protecting them from the dangerous flow. The grass around them was lit with fire.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, the spray stopped. The lava was drawn back, and the crack closed. The fires were put out, and all that remained was charred and sooty grass.

Harry grinned.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

“I simply made a small crack in the surface, making it very, very deep. The pressure down there is so great that it does the rest, so the biggest problem is to keep the crack small, and to sever it.” He answered, frowning slightly. “It wasn’t so much of a strain this time though…”

He shrugged it off, as he saw Hermione starting to make a crack too. It wasn’t as deep as his, ‘only’ a five kilometre wide circle. Confused, he looked at as she made several more, not as deep, and not circular. When she was finished, she lighted them, (with what he wasn’t entirely certain) so they shone in the darkness, and then she persuaded him to fly up as a thestral, with her on his back. Then he could see that the crack formed the image of a snitch. He laughed as he saw the very big snitch etched into the ground, bathed in light. With a grin, Hermione closed the cracks, and the snitch was gone.

They spent the next hours exploring their powers, and had great fun doing so. Since it was mid-day in England, it meant it was night in Siberia, even though the nights rather short now, so far north. Finally, as the sun started making its way above the horizon, Harry made the portal which would take them home.

Then he remembered what Voldemort had done, and straining his power, he opened it as big as he could manage, somewhere inside the Forbidden Forest.

Disappointedly he found out he could only manage about a third of what Voldemort could.

Hermione sensed this, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry Harry,” she said. “In fact, this supports a theory of mine,” she said as they went through it and he closed it.

“Oh?” he said.

“The two of us aren’t very powerful ‘magically’, when compared to Voldemort. He can open bigger portals, he can crush more humans, and he can take down more persons with one curse. I think that is because he has the Citatio and Pectal power combined,” she said. “But I don’t think he has many Talents.”

Harry looked startled. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“I made a Soul-Search,” she said. “I took one of your memories of Voldemort, and checked him for Talents. I only found the one you discovered, Weaving and Mind-Reading, which isn’t half as good as Mind-Searching.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “Besides, his Mind-Reading Talent isn’t very strong either. And then there was Voice, which he wasn’t better at than me.”

Harry pondered at that. “You think his having both female and male power kind of ‘block’ other Talents?”

Hermione nodded, and kissed his cheek. “We’ll win, Harry, don’t worry,” she said, soothingly, trying to keep the doubt out of her voice. They had to believe in victory, or they would lose.

Sighing, Harry changed into Christian as they walked towards the school. Then he stopped.

“You said you Soul-Searched!” he exclaimed.

Hermione smiled sweetly. “Did I now?”

“Why haven’t you told me it had awakened?” he asked, sounding a bit offended.

“Why, I wanted you to figure it out by yourself,” she answered.

Harry growled. “I’ll never understand women.”

~*~

====================

Disclaimer: JKR owns everything except the plot, which is mine. Beta-read by the-dreamer. Go us all.

Anyone who wants to get an e-mail every time I update, state so in your review!

17. Serpents Search

Chapter Seventeen: Serpent’s Search

It was silent. Not a sound could be heard in the small room. The flickering little fire gave almost no light.

Ron’s eyes were locked on it though. Trying to void his head of all thoughts, as Asham’d told him to; he concentrated on the burning flames.

The silence was eerie.

Then, something happened.

Ron curbed his beginning panic when the fire consumed him, and then his confusion when he realised the little flame had not changed. It was still there, in the middle of the room, unchanged, and not the roaring fire he’d thought he’d felt burn him.

Again, he stared at the fire. And saw.

Orange, yellow, red and blue flames spread outwards, and he realised they did so in his own mind. It was as if he was in the midst of a fire, but he was not burnt.

Then the fire spoke to him.

It made no words, but he felt it. A heavy presence of something ancient, something wild but wise. Something uncontrollable and destructive, yet obedient and able to bring new life.

He felt its heavy burden. It was fully aware of how important it was. And fully aware that its importance gave it a huge responsibility.

The roaring fire gave way. He was a flame. A small, flickering light in a dark nothingness. He saw other small lights, like candles. Every one of them was a human, like himself, he realised. And some were not humans. He could sense them, and understood that there was a fire in all beings.

A flame that burnt, and which the person tried to keep a-light. A will to fight and to live.

And he understood, that the Element of fire watched over all this lights, saw them being born, and being blown out. The Element watched every one of them, both those who burnt steadily, those who tended to burst high and then fall low, and those who faded and flared.

And he understood. Fire had chosen him. He had a task she wanted him to do. Still, he did not know what it was all about, but he swore to find out.

~*~

There was a tunnel. A dark, narrow one. No light, absolutely no light could be spotted. It was as dark as death.

Yet, he could see: small cracks, stones, rocky outcrops, the roof above. He was rather big, he noticed, as his body glided across stones and gravel. A very long body. It made sounds. Scratchy sounds, as it moved across rubble and the un-even floor.

Here and there he heard the trickle of water.

It came so gradually that he nearly missed it, but suddenly he realised that it was lighter. It wasn’t so dark anymore. His head lifted higher, wavered back and forth. A tongue slithered out of his mouth. The light seemed to come from just around the corner. It was very faint, only a certain greyness, which stemmed from glowing torches.

He moved forward…

“Harry?”

“Um, what?” Harry found himself staring into Hermione’s concerned eyes.

“You zoned out for a bit,” she said. “Are you all right?”

Harry shook his head, as if to clear it. “Yeah, just a vision.”

“A vision? What about?”

“I don’t know. It was someplace small and dark. I’ve had several of those before, where I’m moving through small, dark tunnels, but this was the first time I’ve ever encountered light.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Do you have any idea what it means?”

“No clue,” Harry replied honestly. “But I guess I’ll find out sooner or later anyway.”

Hermione frowned, but said nothing. Both of them knew that his visions could be important, but as long as they couldn’t decipher them they were of no use.

They were currently duelling, trying to perfect their skills. For this, they often had help from some of the Order’s most skilled duellists, and in only a few weeks Hermione was getting quite good. Harry, who had always been better at Defence Against the Dark Arts, was improving at an alarming rate. As Harry sardonically told Mr Arlenmeier, a death threat was indeed a fine motivation.

This day however, they’d gotten out of bed early, trying out some moves, and duelling without a wand. If anyone had been looking, they would have enjoyed a very nice light show, as the two flung light beams in every thinkable colour at each other, and at the occasional dummy. Unfortunately, Harry had to slide into this now familiar vision. All he had done was to sit down for a second, while Hermione was blasting a wolf-like stone-gargoyle off to God-knows-where, and he fell into trance.

Annoying!

“Well, I suppose I have to go to breakfast,” Harry sighed. As Professor Atos he had to make an appearance at meals, and he especially hated breakfast, when the newspaper came. Every day there had been a new attack. Not big, only a few casualties, but still they came every single day. If the Death Eaters were caught, it soon became apparent that they were very low-ranking. This resulted in despairing Aurors, since they never had a breakthrough, never caught any important, high-ranking guys, and never came any closer to finding Voldemort’s lair.

Hermione had completely quit going to meals, after a few unpleasant encounters where she’d been required to use force. She’d had several curses flung after her, and only quick reflexes, earned from her fighting with Harry had saved her. The culprits had of course been punished, but Dumbledore and (especially) Harry still thought it was best if she kept away from the rest of the student body.

Silently, Harry shifted into Christian, and made his way towards the Great Hall. It was confusing really; only a few knew he was both Harry and Christian, so he had to be very careful with the way he spoke when there were other people around, and that he didn’t give in to his slightly naughty impulses concerning Hermione, when he was Christian. Somehow, he wasn’t so sure if that would go well with her. He sighed again. He was heading towards a serious identity crisis, no doubt.

~*~

“Harry, I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Hermione said.

“Relax, Hermione. We need a break once in a while, and besides, I’ve never been on a date with you before,” Harry replied.

“So this is our first official date then?” Hermione asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

“Yep.”

“Shouldn’t my father know about it then?” she asked thoughtfully. “You know, wouldn’t it be best if you asked for his permission to take me out?”

Harry stopped abruptly and turned towards her. “You think so?” he asked, alarmed.

Hermione laughed. “I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” she said, and gave him a quick peck on his lips.

“Tease,” Harry muttered, but she ignored him.

“So, where are we going?”

Harry smiled. “A little Italian restaurant. I found it last year, when I lived around here.”

“Oh! I love Italian food!” Hermione almost squealed. “Perhaps this is a good idea after all.”

In all honesty, it was. Harry had suddenly decided that they needed a break from the constant Voldemort-worrying, so he’d asked Hermione out. He’d been very romantic about it, too, sending Hedwig (who was still disguised as a pretty, black owl) to her with three red roses, and a small note. ‘Do you like surprises, Hermione? I have one for you. Seven o’clock, you-know-where. Muggle clothing. Love, Harry’ Well, perhaps the note hadn’t been overly romantic, but then, Harry had never been a poet either.

She had been very intrigued, and had of course been ‘you-know-where’ at seven o’clock. ‘You-know-where’ was in ‘their’ secret turret, where they went when they wanted some, er, privacy.

From there Harry had taken her to the outskirts of Muggle Oxford. And so, they ended up eating pasta in a cosy little place that reminded Hermione strangely of the Burrow. Even Hermione’s faded Muggle jeans and blue turtle-neck fit in, somehow. She could see why Harry liked it.

“Don’t do that,” Harry said suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, startled. “What?”

“Suck the pasta into your mouth like that,” he answered.

“Like this?” she asked, and with a ‘slurp’ sucked a long string of pasta (bathed in pesto-sauce) into her mouth.

“Yes, that,” Harry said, swallowing visibly.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because…” he faltered. “Just because.”

Her eyes narrowed, and purposefully she repeated the action. Harry gulped and shifted, his own meal forgotten.

She looked quizzically at him. Why was he reacting like that? If he found it disgusting, why didn’t he just say so? What did he mean by ‘just because’?

Doing the same yet again, she observed him closely, looking for a reaction that could explain his queer behaviour. And this time, she did get a reaction.

Harry dropped his fork, (which he’d been holding) leaned over the table, cupped her cheek, and kissed her quite squarely on her lips. It wasn’t a chaste or gentle kiss. It was hot, passionate, mind-scattering, and it lasted for quite some time. Shocked as she might be, Hermione found herself kissing him back, ignoring whatever stares they were getting from other people. The part of her brain which could think coherently cursed the table that separated them.

They pulled apart, breathing rather heavily, and grinning rather foolishly. “Please don’t do that again,” Harry said, his face colouring slightly. “You have no idea how maddening it is.”

Hermione blushed, her mind still whirling, since he could be very maddening, too. Or perhaps irresistible was a better word. She was pleased with herself though; she’d never imagined herself able to draw such a reaction out of a male, just by eating.

~*~

There was a tunnel. A dark, narrow one. No light, absolutely no light could be spotted. It was as dark as death.

Yet, he could see: small cracks, stones, rocky outcrops, the roof above. He obviously had some kind of night-vision. He was rather big, he noticed, as his body glided across stones and gravel. A very long body. It made sounds. Scratchy sounds, as it moved across rubble and the un-even floor. He realised that it was his scales, rubbing against each other, which made that sound.

Here and there he heard the trickle of water.

A hissing sound made its way out of his mouth

It came so gradually that he nearly missed it, but suddenly he realised that it was lighter. It wasn’t so dark anymore. Somewhere in front of him there was some sort of light source. His head lifted higher, wavered back and forth. A tongue slithered out of his mouth. The air further up the tunnel was obviously coming from some bigger room. It didn’t have the heavy taste that filled the rest of the tunnel. It smelled dustier though. Less water apparently. The light seemed to come from just around the corner. It was very faint, only a certain greyness, which stemmed from glowing torches.

He moved forward. Something told him that the room was very big. Upon rounding the corner, he came out of the tunnel, and into a bigger space. Some kind of rock or boulder was blocking his sight.

His body slithered around it, and he looked into a room which seemed strangely familiar…

~*~

Harry woke up, his hand going to his scar immediately. It was stinging badly, but the pain was rapidly diminishing. He looked about in the dark room, automatically checking for possible enemies.

He moaned, and tried to remember the dream, trying to figure out whatever had made Voldemort so angry about that chamber.

Then he realised, that Voldemort hadn’t been angry. He’d been triumphant.

He swore. There was something familiar about that room, but he hadn’t seen enough of it to recognise it. But whatever pleased Voldemort so much about it?

“Harry?”

Harry shot up, his hand on his wand. “Hermione?” he said, confused. “Why –what are you doing here?”

“I sensed your pain,” she replied. “What happened?”

He slumped back into his pillows. “Nothing. Just a dream.”

She raised her eyebrows, well aware that it hadn’t been ‘nothing’. She laid her hand to his forehead, and he moaned softly again, but from pleasure this time, as her healing magic wafted through his body and left his body completely at peace.

“Do you mind if I make a Search?” she asked quietly. He grunted ‘no’, and forced himself not to block her out of his mind. He knew that her cool intelligence and logic could help him solve this riddle. Fortunately, she was very gentle, and he hardly noticed anything as she delved into his memory.

As she withdrew, he saw the expression he knew so well, the one she always had when she had a puzzle, and no answer. It showed her determination to get to the bottom, a will to continue searching until she found the correct answer. He smiled slightly, as he slipped back into sleep. His Hermione would never change.

~*~

When he woke next time, it was morning, and he was only slightly surprised when he found Hermione curled up beside him, sound asleep, and looking very, very cute. Gently, he brushed away some strands of curly, brown hair which had fallen into her face.

Silently, he got out of bed, and clothed himself. Outside the sun was shining, signalling that spring was coming. The snow had left a few weeks ago, but it was still rather cold, and heavy rainstorms were frequent.

Padding through the corridors, he arrived at an almost empty Great Hall. Oops… He thought, and decided to skip breakfast this morning, or else he would have to deduct points from himself.

He arrived three seconds too late, so it went un-noticed. Taking his normal seat at the edge of his desk, he made sure everyone had arrived. It was a group of fifth year Gryffindors this time, and after collecting their homework, (inwardly groaning at the work-load he would have to go through) he started on today’s lecture.

“Let’s start with discussing Parselmouths,” he said aloud. This immediately caught the class’s attention. “First, let get down some facts about them,”

“They’re evil wizards,” one of his students said.

“You-know-who is one,” another added.

“Harry Potter is one,” came a third student.

Christian raised an eyebrow. “Okay, that’s enough. I was only interested in one of those facts, really. It is common to believe that Parselmouths are evil wizards.” He looked at his class. “Why?”

The class was silent. Then Adam Peters raised his hand.

“They talk to snakes, sir.”

“And that makes them evil?” Christian asked, faking astonishment.

“Snakes are evil creatures, sir,” Adam added.

“Are they now?” Christian asked, and proceeded to draw a small snake out of his pocket, which he so banished to Adams desk. “This is a snake, a quite friendly little fellow, not dangerous at all.” The snake hissed at Adam, who drew back, paling considerably. Christian walked forwards and picked it up. “Touch it, Mr Peters,” he said kindly. “It won’t hurt you, you know.”

Hesitantly, Adam reached out and touched the scaly little head, before he smiled shakily. The little snake slithered up and curled around his arm, where it settled.

Christian hid a grin. “Could you take care of him till the end of this lesson?” he asked, and went back to his desk, not waiting for an answer. There, he found a basket, which had been hidden behind it. From it he drew a bigger snake; a Green Cobra. Those of the class who recognised it gasped, which drew the attention of the others, who realised that this probably was rather dangerous.

“This one,” Christian continued, unfazed, “is a Green Cobra, a highly poisonous snake.” He turned to the class. “Is it evil?”

The class looked at each other, and a girl raised her hand.

“Is it, Ms Vanne?” he asked.

“The snake isn’t, Professor. It is just an animal, who fights for survival. It was born poisonous, and had no choice in the matter,” the girl said.

“Correct, Ms Vanne. Why do we then assume that Parselmouths are evil?” He gave the question to the same girl.

“Because they talk to the snakes, and tell them to hurt others,” she answered.

“Do all Parselmouths do that?” he asked.

That gave the class something to think about. “I would say no,” Christian continued. “Not all Parselmouths misuse their gift, though we often hear only of those who do. Which brings us to the real point of this lesson.”

He paused and put the snake back in its basket. “It is commonly believed that Parselmouths are evil. I don’t think those who think so have thought very much about that, for it is a gift –or curse, you may say- the wizard or witch is born with. Does that mean that the little new-born toddler is destined to be evil, just because of something he or she is born with?”

The class shook their heads. That sounded terribly un-fair to them.

“Precisely, ladies and gentlemen,” Christian beamed at them. “Everyone should think on that matter; for it is not only concerning Parselmouths this is applied. Werewolves, for example, cannot get a job in the Wizarding world, because the law says so. Werewolves are dark creatures, but only a few days each month. I trust all of you remember Remus Lupin, who taught here at Hogwarts in your first year. He was a werewolf, but he’s never ever hurt anybody under the full moon.” Harry decided not to mention anything about his escapades as a Marauder.

“Also,” he continued, “here, at this very school, it is commonly believed, especially among Gryffindors, that the Slytherins are Death Eaters.” The Gryffindors looked at each other. “Does that mean that everyone who is a Slytherin can’t choose what he or she wants to be?”

“But Slytherins have chosen before they’re sorted,” one of his students told him stubbornly.

“Indeed. Did you have any thoughts on the matter when you were eleven, Mr Creevy?” Christian asked sarcastically. Dennis blushed and said nothing.

“You are what you choose to be, Mr Creevy. They say that Slytherins are ambitious and sly, not evil. There’s a little difference there,”

“But very many Slytherins become Death Eaters,” a girl objected.

“I know,” Christian admitted. “But some are doing it under pressure from their families, or choose that path as a result of their upbringing. For it is true, that very many purebloods are sorted to Slytherin, probably because they’re more ambitious than the Muggle-borns, who are trying to get used to a completely new society.”

The rest of the class went to discuss the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, and then he told them to write an essay, which they should head ‘Prejudices’. He ignored the little voice that told him that this hardly was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and decided to disagree with it. Being aware of the difference between Light and Dark was perhaps the most important part of the subject.

All in all, it was a very nice start to the day. The only minus was that he was going to do the same class with the Slytherins next lesson.

~*~

It was evening, late April. The students of Hogwarts were in a frenzy for the exams, which were only two months away, and the teachers were rubbing their hands together, being altogether vindictive and evil. At least from the students’ point of view.

Several of the teachers however, didn’t have exams on their minds. For almost two months there had been low activity among the Death Eaters. It was almost certain that something big was going to happen soon. The silence before the storm. The more silent, the bigger storm.

“So what if he tries to storm Hogwarts?” one of the Order members present asked. “Would he be able too?”

The staff of Hogwarts looked at each other, before Dumbledore shook his head. “It is a possibility, but Hogwarts has always been impregnable before. We have to be on guard though.”

Hermione was also present. Even though she was the Pectal, most of the Order looked at her as a little girl, so she spent the majority of the meetings listening. For Harry it was different; as Harry Potter he was still a child, who had spent two years on-the-run, but he was The-Boy-Who-Lived, and they listened slightly more to him than to her. As Christian Atos however, he was the Defence teacher, and a very bright young man, who looked older than his age, so they actually listened to him. That he hadn’t mentioned that he was only seventeen probably had something to do with it, too.

But today, Hermione wasn’t listening. She was pondering on a problem. Something nagged her, and she knew the feeling; she was missing something. Something important. But what?

It was that dream, she was certain of it. Every night since she’d seen that dream of Harry’s, where he was a snake in a cavern, she’d dreamt about caverns. For three nights, she’d dreamt about the same thing. She started out in a tunnel, and followed the snake on its journey, before she came into a big cavern, which actually had statues and columns supporting the roof. And there was some kind of fight. A small child was fighting the snake, but that seemed strange, for the snake seemed so much bigger all of a sudden. Then the dream would switch, and she would see the face of Voldemort, or a lot of dark robed wizards.

The dream scared her, and somehow she knew it was significant, and that her sub-consciousness was trying to tell her something.

She snapped into reality again when Harry nudged her shoulder. “Hermione? Is something wrong?” he asked.

Startled she looked around, and noticed that everyone had left except Harry and Dumbledore. Both were looking at her curiously, and Harry seemed a bit concerned. She found that quite cute and lovable.

She opened her mouth to say ‘I’m fine’, but found the words stuck in her throat. She sighed exasperated. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she said truthfully, and Harry became more concerned. “It’s a dream I keep having. I’ve had the same dream for three nights, and I keep dreaming about your dream,” she told him, and his eyes widened slightly.

“You dream about it?” he asked. “Could you tell me about it?”

She recited the dream for him, feeling a bit stupid for putting so much thought in a dream. When she finished, he was frowning deeply. Then he shook his head.

“I can’t decipher it. The clues are there, but there’s nothing to tie them together,” he said.

“It’s only a dream, Harry,” she said, fingering the hem of her sleeve. “I’m certain that it’s not important. I’m just being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” Harry said vehemently. He laid an arm around her shoulder. “You’re the smartest girl I know,” he said gently, and leaned in to kiss her.

Behind them, Dumbledore gave a discreet cough, and the two jumped apart, blushing furiously. They’d both forgotten that he was there.

“Perhaps we should try to figure out that dream of yours, Hermione,” he said, smiling his most annoying paternal smile.

“Er, well,” Harry said. “Firstly, Hermione, your dream is important. You have something called a Dream Talent, which makes you able to See certain things while dreaming.”

“You mean I’m a Seer?” Hermione asked, horrified.

Harry laughed at her outburst. “No, the Dream Talent is a very strange Talent. You have to know some facts, and then you dream about some facts you don’t know. You can actually see the cover and title of a book, and then you dream that you’re reading the book, and what you read is really what is written in the book.” Hermione looked delighted at that thought.

“But there are other aspects to the Dream Talent,” Harry continued. “You banished my nightmares just a few months ago. I haven’t slept that peacefully in years.”

And Hermione remembered other things that had happened. How she could have a nightmare and wake up practically screaming, and yet feel completely rested, and how the nightmare never came again. She had found that strange, since she had a tendency of having the same nightmare over and over again. She had had a nightmare following her since she was five. It didn’t come often, but she had it at least a few times each year. Now she remembered that she hadn’t had it for more than eight months.

And also… “I dreamt about you!” she exclaimed. “Before I found out that you were the Defence Professor, Harry, then I dreamt about you.” She clutched Harry’s hand excitedly. “My dreams tried to tell me about who you were, and that I-” She stopped. She had intended to say ‘and that I loved you’, before she remembered that Professor Dumbledore was in the room still.

Both of the two males had figured out what she didn’t say however, and Harry squeezed her hand gently. She looked down and turned red for the second time that evening.

“We have to look into that dream of yours,” Harry said. “But I don’t know how, and somehow I feel that we should do it as soon as possible.”

“But how?” Hermione asked, but Harry was as blank as she was. The only way they knew of, was going to sleep so she could dream again.

Luckily, Dumbledore knew what to do. “You could borrow my pensieve,” he suggested, and both Harry and Hermione agreed. That would be quick and reliable, and they would be able to see the dream from different angles.

~*~

Hermione stared at the silvery liquid in Dumbledore’s stone basin. That was her dream. Weird. She knew everything there was to know about pensieves, of course, but it was still weird to actually use one. With a deep breath, she touched the substance, and the floor tipped. With a lurch she was pulled into the pensieve, and landed on a dirty stone floor. A few seconds later she was joined by Dumbledore, and then Harry. Harry smiled reassuringly at her and took her hand. Then, they looked around.

Hermione looked up, as the snake slithered out of the tunnel she’d dreamt of. Of course, she realised. They couldn’t actually follow the snake through the tunnel, since it was too small for a human several places.

Harry had stiffened. “Nagini!” he gasped and the two others turned to him.

“Yes,” Dumbledore murmured. “Tom’s snake.”

Hermione turned to see if he could recognise the place, but just then, the scenes shifted to the one where the little boy fought the snake.

And now she finally understood. The boy waved a ruby-encrusted sword at a giant snake, who had blood running from its eyes, and a great golden phoenix flew about.

It was Harry, fighting the basilisk in his second year.

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Harry breathed.

And then, the dream shifted to the third and last scene, of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Startled, both Hermione and Dumbledore turned towards Harry, who was broad-casting his emotions all of a sudden. He was clutching Hermione’s hand so hard it hurt.

“Harry?” she asked.

“I dreamt about this,” he said absently. “Several months ago, Voldemort was having a fit, and he said something like ‘Nagini will find a way.’” His expression darkened. “It appears that she did.”

“You mean that Nagini has found a way into the Chamber of Secrets from the outside,” Dumbledore stated, and Harry nodded.

“She found it three days ago, and I dreamt about it. Soon Voldemort will be invading Hogwarts.”

Hermione shuddered at that.

“Then we must go back and prepare the defence,” Dumbledore concluded, his eyes void of the usual twinkle.

Harry didn’t answer.

For some long seconds he stood quite still, his eyes looking at something no one else could see.

“It’s too late,” he said at last.

~*~

====================

I just love cliff-hangers. Don’t you?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR, this story to me, and it’s beta-read by the-dreamer. Go us all.

Sorry about the cliffie, but I can’t help it. I get this kick when I write them. It’s sadistic, I know.

Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed. I’ll go send those e-mails now, and get this onto Schnoogle, too. And yes, I’m working the next chapter (eleven pages now) and will get it out as soon as possible.

JonClift: You stole my trademark! –accusing glare– Thanks btw.

Slypiad: Progress? What’s that?

Avalon: Why don’t use the ‘Notify Me’ button? Sorry I didn’t mail you this time. My trip to Germany interrupted my schedule… Thanks btw.

Sòven: Thanks. Swedish? Kjenner et par svensker… Går det an å si ’du er galen bra’? Won’t work in Norwegian…

NEVEHA: -deadpans- It was long. Okaaaaayyyy. Readers usually complain about the opposite. Well, I don’t mind changes. ;) Thanks, go you.

Kira: Okay, okay!

Eric Wilke: That is kind of the whole point…

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Go you.

Rachel

18. Breaking Storm

Chapter Eighteen: Breaking Storm

They felt it when they emerged from the pensieve. Hermione delved deeply into the earth with her mind, and got the impression of many big living things down there. Harry sent Air out, and caught the scent of many humans, panting and sweating in a deep tunnel, using their wands to slice through rock where it was too narrow or too low. The air was heavy and difficult to breathe in. But the air was getting lighter, and the tunnel soon widened into a big cave, where the Death Eaters didn’t have to use their wands to clear their way.

Both Harry and Hermione knew where it was.

The chamber of Slandrin Slytherin, more known as Salazar’s, where the corpse of the Basilisk still rested.

They both heard Dumbledore send out a telepathic message, and Hermione turned and looked accusingly at him.

“You never told us about that Talent,” she said, and Dumbledore winked at her. The situation was too serious, however, to dwell on such matters.

“There is still time, Harry,” he said. “I have stopped the members who haven’t left the castle yet, and those who live here at Hogwarts for the time being. A message has been sent to those who weren’t present, too. They will hasten to our aid.” Dumbledore looked at them gravely. “Now we must go to the Chamber, for we can not allow him into the school. We must meet him down there.”

The two teens looked at each other, and nodded gravely. Both knew with certainty that this was their destiny. Either they would die today, or Voldemort would. They hardly had the time to become frightened.

Harry took Hermione’s hand in his and drew her close. He tilted her chin and kissed her lovingly and tenderly. Their eyes meet, and Hermione smiled at him.

Their hands still entwined, they left the Headmaster’s office, hurrying towards Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

~*~

Harry paid no attention to the adults who were gathering behind him: teachers, Aurors, Unspeakables; many of them members of the Order of the Phoenix. His mind was on what lay before him, or rather, under him.

He hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Open,” he said, in the tongue of the snakes. More than one of those around him shuddered at the hiss that came from his mouth.

Again it lay before him, as it had several years before: the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Only this time, its secret was dead, and a far more dangerous foe was waiting for him.

He let go of Hermione’s hand, and crawled into the slimy pipe he had to slide through to come to the bottom.

The ride seemed much longer this time, and much darker. Last time he’d been here it had been to save Ginny, his best friend’s sister. This time, it was to meet his own fate.

He landed in a heap on the bottom, and got to his feet quickly, listening for sounds of a potential enemy. He Shifted his eyes into those of an owl, so that he didn’t need any light to see. He heard Hermione land beside him, and helped her to her feet. It felt good to have her here, even though he was afraid for her safety.

They moved out of the way as more people came down, and Harry did manage a flicker of amusement when he saw Dumbledore, wondering how he managed to look dignified, with every strand of hair in place, and not a stain on his robes after that ride.

“Show the way, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You’ve been here before.”

It was like walking in a dream. He saw, and remembered. He noticed the small skeletons of mice and rats and other small animals that’d fallen prey to the Basilisk. Water dripped from the walls. The tunnel twisted and turned while they walked in silence, the only sound being muffled footsteps.

In the end, they came to the place where the roof had caved in. When he was twelve, he had not dared to try to use magic to remove the stones, and now, when he was seventeen, he didn’t have to remove the stones. A simple charm cut into the stone like butter, and carved out an archway, wide enough to walk through.

Then, the muffled footsteps continued onwards.

They came to the last door, and Harry stopped in front of it. On the other side, was Voldemort. He knew it.

They had been quick, not all of the Death Eaters had come through yet, and he knew that if they attacked now, they could destroy the tunnel, and bury the Death Eaters still inside under many tons of stone.

He looked at Hermione, and she nodded, her face pale. It was a cruel act, but it was necessary. If one side was to survive, the other had to die. This was war, and war made its own rules.

A lot of people were behind them now. Almost a hundred. Most of them resided in Hogwarts for the time being, others were Order members who’d been in the castle, and Harry knew more would come. The Aurors were alerted, and so were the Order members outside Hogwarts. But they couldn’t wait.

“Open.” Harry’s hiss resounded in the tunnel, sending chills down spines. And the door opened.

There was a rumble. Hermione, who stood close to Harry, buried her face in his shoulder as the second tunnel collapsed, and more than two hundred Death Eaters were buried alive. Though, they didn’t stay alive for long.

With one single thought, Hermione had killed two hundred, and there were still many awful things left to do.

By now, Voldemort had noticed them, of course, and the battle began in earnest.

~*~

Hermione and Harry stayed close together. Even though a third of Voldemort’s forces were killed, he still outnumbered them by far. They caught a glimpse of Dumbledore as he sent a beam of bright red light at his attackers. Professor Flitwick was there, too, sending curses right and left. Professor Snape spun around and used the knowledge he’d acquired as a Death Eater to take down man upon man. Professor McGonagall transfigured stones and rubble into obstacles for the Death Eaters to cross, and fired stunner upon stunner against those who opposed to her.

Harry and Hermione did their part too, taking out as many as possible on their way, while trying to remain inconspicuous, as they probably were the main target here. They had to get to Voldemort.

But that wasn’t so easy, for he was at the far end of the chamber, protected by his minions, who were killing all those who came close enough to get a shot at him

The defenders had the advantage of skill.

The attackers had the advantage of numbers.

However, Harry could see people coming to aid their fight, people who had hurried to Hogwarts when they heard of the attack. At one point more than seventy Aurors had rushed through the opening and saved a small group of Order members, who’d been hard pressed by the Death Eaters. But it wasn’t enough.

He knew, as he watched the rage of the battle that it was up to him and Hermione now. It was upon their shoulders the fate of the world rested.

What a curious notion.

~*~

This was it, Ron knew. This was what he was born for. All events in his life led up to this. Why he didn’t know, but as Asham had said: ‘There are many things you don’t know. Don’t dwell on that, but concentrate on what you do know.’

He was in the void again, the small candles which were humans were obvious to him now, and he could see many of them gathered in one place, all of them burning brightly. But now and then, some of them suddenly burned out and died. Ron knew what it was. The one which burned with a black flame was Voldemort, and the two who where closing in on him, the two bright ones, which burned more brightly than anyone else, were his two friends.

He nudged the Element. He wanted to help. If he only could get his Element to pour some of its power into the Pectal and Citatio…

But Fire couldn’t do that. Fire had no favourites; it treated everyone equally. But then, the two bright candles drew closer, and Ron realised what was happening. Slowly, they merged, and became one.

The one flame grew brighter, bigger and stronger, and Fire engulfed it with its strength. For when something is created, one of the Elements always comes to rejoice about the new being.

~*~

Something was happening; Blaise knew it. She looked into the Lake of Water. Each little drop of water was a human, and she could see a group of them, locked in battle. How she could see that, she didn’t know, as she normally shouldn’t be able to tell one from the other. But this was no normal lake.

In one part of the lake, a dark, tainted puddle obscured the clear surface.

Suddenly, Water reacted. Fire had done something, and Blaise could sense it. And hadn’t all four Elements agreed on co-operating? Water lashed out, and a flash of bright light could be seen all over the lake, and Water encircled the new creation.

~*~

The Air apprentice watched as Air followed Water and Fire’s lead, and surrounded the two powerful beings, who had become one. He probed gently, and saw that there were two powerful minds, and the connection was not only between those minds, but they were tied by the Light Element itself, and through the Light, the four Elements of Fire, Water, Air and Earth.

~*~

The Earth apprentice watched as Earth did as Air, Water and Fire, and closed around Light’s Warriors. He, too, saw the connection between the two, and wondered.

~*~

They were noticed. Harry and Hermione stood back to back in the middle of the chamber, fighting off what seemed like hordes of Death Eaters. Harry had lost count as to how many times he’d had to recast the killing curse shield, and he was now sporting a powerful shield which stopped both magical and physical attack, while Hermione was cursing everyone who came close into oblivion. The cynical part of Harry’s brain reminded him never to get on her wrong side.

Fortunately, Harry and Hermione weren’t alone in the Chamber, and the Death Eaters had to fight off others, too. A group of Aurors attacked from the side, and drove off a good portion of them, making it a bit easier for the two.

It was then Harry spotted Sirus, locked in battle with three Death Eaters. He was fighting bravely for every inch of ground he lost, but would soon meet the wall, quite literally.

Magically enhancing his abilities, Harry jumped over ten Death Eaters and blasted Sirius’s opponents to the ground. Sirius shot him a thankful glance and ran to join a group of defenders, who were in a relatively safe spot.

It was then Harry realised his unforgivable mistake. In his hurry to rescue his godfather, he’d left Hermione alone. She was doing a good job of defending herself, but defence was defence, and she was being forced backwards, towards the far end of the Chamber, near the now collapsed ‘new’ tunnel.

He felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder, and rounded on the Death Eater who’d sent the curse, sending a blast of purple light at him. He stumbled to the ground without a sound.

The Cruciatus curse hit his chest, and he winced in pain, before he got control over it. With a bit of pain he could absorb the curse, even though he couldn’t shield against it. Hermione could do the same, but not as well, because women generally had higher tolerance for pain. She just couldn’t get her mind around to suppressing the pain properly, as her tolerance told her that she had to hold out. And if she wasn’t prepared, she’d just grit her teeth and scream, waiting for it to stop. It didn’t really make all that much sense to Harry, since the higher pain tolerance should, logically, make it easier for her than for him, but that was the way it was.

And that was what felled her. In her battle, she’d forgotten Voldemort. He came up behind her, and she didn’t notice. Harry did though, and froze.

That fraction of a second was all Draco Malfoy needed to send him crashing into a stone pillar.

He heard her before he saw her. Rolling to his feet, his heart cried out to her, as she writhed under the pain curse Voldemort had placed upon her.

The entire chamber became silent, except for the insane chuckle of the Dark Lord, and Hermione’s cries. After what seemed like an eternity he finally lifted the curse. Harry desperately watched the near-unconscious Hermione at his feet, but he knew Voldemort would kill her if he moved.

The Death Eaters moved in on the stunned Light wizards, and since they were outnumbered at least two to one, they could do nothing. Those who put up a fight were killed instantly.

Voldemort locked eyes with Harry. “Lower your shield,” he said, and Harry realised that he’d erected a shield without knowing it.

Harry’s brain felt like it was filled with mud. No thoughts managed to penetrate the thick fog that encircled his brain. He was staring at Hermione, transfixed. His emotions were in turmoil, and only one thing got through: Hermione!

There was a second.

And another.

A searing pain shot through Harry’s scar.

“Crucio!”

And Hermione screamed again. Her anguished cry rang through his brain and echoed in the far corners of his consciousness. Her mental cry was far worse than her vocal one.

Something broke inside him then, and several of the pillars in the chamber were reduced to rubble and splints. A powerful wave of energy washed over Voldemort, and he staggered backwards.

The curse was lifted, but Hermione didn’t leave his mind. A desperate part of her clung to him, and it felt like she was begging for him to do … something. But what?

And then, he understood. He saw his destiny laid out before him, like a plain, new road in his mind. And he embraced her presence in his mind, savouring it, empowering it, comforting it. It came to him, as a wonderful feeling of closeness, and he was certain he felt her hands on his chest, and her lips on his. Feather light touches and whispered words of love.

Voldemort had regained his footing, and aimed his hand at Hermione, intending to kill her with a powerful blast of magic.

Their souls burned as one, and together they lashed out. Calmly, Harry looked at his enemy as the deadly energy sped towards Hermione. He felt as it entered her, and consumed her, and he felt her pain, for she wasn’t she anymore. She was also he, and he was she. And as Voldemort tried to cut those threads which were her life, they reached out together, and grabbed hold of him.

Faster than the light, they shot back up, followed the stream of energy back to its caster, and realised that they could see the heartstrings which are the life of any living being. There were six of them: Light and Dark, Fire and Water, Air and Earth. All of them were tainted and full of repulsive energy.

One by one, they cut them and severed them and burnt them, and for each one, the Dark Lord screamed.

Those who saw it said afterwards that the three of them were illuminated in light; Voldemort’s light was dark and tainted, but Harry’s and Hermione’s light was white and pure.

Powerful shockwaves rippled through the chamber, as rings on a water surface. One by one the great pillars that supported the roof were splintered, and everyone was thrown to the ground.

The dark light faded, and a gentle, golden and silvery light cast soft shadows across the chamber.

And then, slowly, ponderously, the cavern that was the Chamber of Secrets cracked, shifted, and collapsed above them with a deafening thunder.

~*~

When the shockwaves rippled through the chamber, everyone except Harry (Hermione already being down) had been thrown to the ground. When the ceiling fell down upon them, Harry had managed to draw everyone close to him, in the middle of the chamber. How he had managed that he didn’t know; his brain and magic had acted purely on instinct.

He could still feel the connection with Hermione, though not as strong as it had been. She was still alive, though unconscious, and an enormous relief came with that knowledge. Later he’d have to kick himself for not protecting her properly, but he didn’t have time for that right now.

He assumed that his shield was the only thing between everyone in the chamber (both living and dead) and about several cubic kilometres of stone. He realised that Voldemort’s last outpour of power had been greater than he first thought.

The small cave Harry had made was low; he probably couldn’t stand upright. It was also very dark; no source of light got through. Suddenly, someone lighted a wand not far from him, and he stiffened. Quickly he probed through the minds of those around him, most of which were unconscious or only half-conscious. This made it easy for him to find those who bore the Dark Mark, and put them to sleep. It wasn’t actually sleep though; he just trapped their minds, a thing he wouldn’t be able to do with so many if they’d been awake. He certainly didn’t need to have to fight his way out of this situation.

The Light wizards were soon on their feet – or rather, their knees. Several lit their wands with the Lumos spell, and Harry rushed over to Hermione. She was laying only a few feet away from him, and seemed to be almost unhurt; her breathing was even and her heartbeat steady. He gritted his teeth at the thought of what Voldemort had done to her, and hoisted her up in his lap, cradling her protectively to his chest.

However, Hermione’s health, being stable, had to stand in line for the time being. Dumbledore, who’d gotten through the whole ordeal without a scratch, came over to him, and Harry told him what his magical senses had told him. Dumbledore immediately sent several spellcasters to try to find a way out.

“Harry,” he asked. “Which way is the tunnel we came through?”

Harry thought for a moment, and tried to feel with Air, but he couldn’t get through. He frowned, puzzled and worried. “It seems like this cave has no Air supply. It’s hermetically closed.”

Dumbledore frowned. “Then we’ll probably suffocate long before we get out,” he said worriedly.

Harry shook his head. “I’m an Air Manipulator. I can convert carbon-dioxide to oxygen, and maintain the nitrogen.” He looked around, seeing the walls dripping with water. “And I don’t think dihydrogen-oxide will be a big problem either, though the fine gasses might.”

“We will have to do without then. Just do your best, and give us the time we need to get out of here,” Dumbledore said. “There is a chance that the first tunnel hasn’t collapsed.”

They figured, with the help of a bit logic thinking and a point-me spell, that they had come from the north end of the chamber, and started getting the rock out of the way. During this Harry did his best to maintain the air supply, and he also had to expand his shield as the digging started. Soon they had a small tunnel, but the smell of burnt and melted stone was none too pleasant, so they tried to just move the rocks as much as possible, but some were just too big. Those who couldn’t help digging checked the wounded, and put those who had to be carried out of the cave in a stasis, so their condition wouldn’t grow worse.

Then suddenly, the strain on his shield increased. The diggers had found a rather big air pocket, only it wasn’t air.

It was water.

They realised why it was so wet everywhere. The chamber was lying directly under the lake. When the ceiling caved in, water from the lake had filled it.

Dumbledore came back to Harry. “It seems like we have some more trouble,” said he. “First of all, the tunnel has actually caved in, even though we don’t know how far, and then there is the water.” He looked grave. “The question is: how do we get out? We can’t carve our way back up the tunnel; it’s too far.”

“We can swim.”

The two males turned to the person who’d spoken.

“Hermione!” cried Harry, relieved, before he kissed her soundly on her lips.

“I’m glad to see you too, Harry,” she smiled when they came up for air. “But I think we have to get out of here.”

“And you propose that we swim?” questioned Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling madly once again.

“Why, yes. It’s a large fissure all the way up to the bottom of the lake – save that’s not the bottom of the lake anymore. A bubble-head charm with a strong protection and non-burst charm should get everyone up safely,” she answered.

Dumbledore looked at her, and then Harry. “Can you take care of the pressure issue? Rising that many metres through water is very dangerous.”

Harry nodded. “It’s easily done. I guess Hermione can help some too, as she’s a Water Manipulator.”

And so they did. Upon Hermione’s directions, they carved their way upwards for about twenty metres, and found themselves in water. Now several of the other wizards had joined Harry in holding the shield; the water pressure was giving them a hard time. The rock wasn’t difficult; it stayed relatively calm, and the rocks rested upon each other. Several places they didn’t even have to support the roof. The water however, was moving, and pressing towards their shields, making the job hard and energy-consuming.

Sirius went first. With his wand lighted, and a mental map from Hermione placed in his mind, he started upwards. Hermione followed him with her mind, and after fifteen minutes she announced that Sirius had reached the surface.

Harry laid his arms around her waist and told her in simple turns how much he loved her and how convenient it was to have such a beautiful, lovable, intelligent Earth and Water Manipulator for a girlfriend.

When it was confirmed that there indeed was a way out – a labyrinth of rocks – they started sending people up. They were sent in pairs; two and two, each having two dead or unconscious bodies in tow.

It took several hours, and in the end, Harry and Hermione were the only ones left. Harry because he had to hold the shield and Hermione because she refused to leave him. Standing alone in the chamber, Harry took a firm hold of Hermione (he refused to let her exert herself in any un-necessary way) and allowed the little shield he was still holding to evaporate. With the help of his and Hermione’s Water abilities, they made their way towards the surface.

~*~

Ron was confused when Asham pulled him out of the Fire. He knew he had done what he was supposed to do, but he didn’t really understand what he’d done.

“Well done!” Asham exclaimed. “You did it!”

Ron looked at the man, who he’d come to know as more than slightly eccentric. “Exactly what did I do?” he asked, irritated.

Asham laughed. “It was rather what you didn’t do that is the matter here,” he said, and when Ron glared at him, he sat down to explain.

“You see,” he said, “when you are the Guardian of an Element, you are the Element, or a physical manifestation of the Element. Your instincts are your Element’s, and you do what the Element wants. The only influence you have on it is you rational thoughts, which can help to change its mind.” Asham smiled widely. “You however, aren’t a Guardian yet, and you still have your own instincts and your own mind. Today your instinct was to help the Light to vanquish the Dark, while Fire’s instinct was to either ignore both, or help both. The Elements are almost always neutral, even though they sometimes will help the Light, like it did today, while not helping the Dark. They like the formulation of ‘silent support’ very much,” said Asham wryly, before beaming at him in pride – which strangely made Ron feel a small twinge of happiness.

“You, however, weren’t willing to help Dark, and somehow, the Element followed your will.”

“But it didn’t!” Ron exclaimed. “I wanted it to strengthen the Order, but it didn’t!” He was rather put out because he didn’t have the chance to be there and help. Perhaps he would have been rewarded for his courage.

“Yes, it did,” Asham replied. “While it didn’t empower the Children of Power, it allowed them to bond, and thus made them able to destroy Voldemort. All the Elements agreed, and every single one of them came to the ‘celebration’ of the bonding, thanks to the co-operation pact. Also, they allowed your two friends to kill Voldemort by cutting all Elements off. While they could have killed his physical body without this help, Voldemort was too little of a human to be killed completely. However, since the Elements actually did allow it to happen, he is now as dead as he can be, and won’t come back again. All traces of him, except his body, will forever be gone.”

This made Ron interested. “How?” he asked.

“All spells he’s cast – except those that have a lasting effect, of course, will be reversed. It doesn’t mean that those he’s killed will wake up though, ‘because they are dead. It’s not the spell that’s keeping them dead. It’s the same with removed limbs. The limb is gone even though the spell isn’t working anymore. It’s other spells I’m talking about, like protection spells he’s cast. If he’s ever magically built something, it will collapse, and the Dark Mark his minions are wearing will forever disappear.”

“What?” Ron exclaimed. “But how will we then be able to find them? The Mark is often the only proof!” And he who had hoped he could help there… He was sure Blaise would know some names. Without knowing it his eyes turned all dreamy and Asham had to hide a smirk, before he scolded the boy.

“Weren’t you listening boy? The binding spell is in the person. The Mark is only a tattoo.” He smiled smugly. “Won’t disappear in a while, that one.”

~*~

Harry woke up and found himself in a bed. Sleepily he blinked at the light, and turned on his side, wanting to sink into the comfortable oblivion of sleep once again. The mattress was comfortable and warm, and actually leaving this place wasn’t even on his mind.

It was then he felt a gentle hand on his forehead, and his eyes shot open, before closing again. Deep inside him, he felt something stir. It was a lovely feeling of affection and care. It was also distinctly feminine. The hand stroked gently through his locks, and he wondered if this was what a mother’s touch would feel like. Yet he knew it wasn’t a mother’s touch, even though it was a touch he craved and needed. Loved, even

Oh. His mind started working again. The connection. He couldn’t help but smile.

<What are you doing here, Hermione?> he asked.

He heard a soft laugh in his ear. “Watching you, of course, and waiting for you to wake up.”

He opened his eyes and rose onto one elbow. Now he recognised the place; a hospital. How unusual. But for a change, it wasn’t the Hogwarts Hospital wing.

He raised his eyebrows, and Hermione answered his unasked question.

“You’re at St. Mungo’s, Harry, and you’ve been out for thirty-six hours.”

He sighed, but was touched at the concern in her voice. There was something he had to ask, however. “Could you tell me what happened after we got out of the Chamber?” He would rather have liked to kiss her and declare his eternal love for her, and forget the world, but it was slightly important.

“After you fainted, you mean?” she asked, faint amusement tingeing her voice.

“Ha-ha,” he muttered. “Not my fault Malfoy felt the need to crush my rib-cage.”

Hermione’s now obvious amusement did nothing to his damaged pride. “Well,” she said, “the wounded were taken care of, and sent here, to St. Mungo’s, since the Hospital wing at Hogwarts couldn’t take them – there were other things to take care off at Hogwarts.” She looked pointedly at him.

It was true. He remembered what he’d seen once he’d emerged from the lake – before he lost consciousness. The water line was almost a kilometre below what it had been, and it had taken them quite some time to find a way up along the wet, slippery stones, with no path to follow. They had gotten some help – it’s difficult not to notice a lake in which the water suddenly disappears. Harry and Hermione were able to fly out, though, so they didn’t have too much trouble. That is, till Harry tried to transform back. His exhausted and wounded body – the wounds he had yet to notice at the time – said ‘stop’, and he actually managed to faint – faint! – there and then.

Humiliating!

“Yes, how did things turn out with the lake?” he asked.

“It will be filled with water soon enough,” Hermione said. “HH fdaflkjfThe worst is possibly that several of the inhabitants died. It was mostly fish, but also a few squids, grindylows and plimpys.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “What a loss.” Hermione smacked him, but did partially agree.

“What about the Merfolk?” he asked next.

“They’re okay,” she answered. “They usually keep themselves at the very bottom, and are able to breathe air for a short period of time anyway.”

He nodded at that.

“Also,” she continued, “they sent people down again, to check if Voldemort really was dead.” She sounded a bit miffed. “They could have asked me.”

Harry smiled. Both of them knew that Voldemort was dead, but the adults obviously found it difficult to look at Hermione as anything but a child, even though she did help to kill him.

Kill him. The smile disappeared from his face. While he couldn’t feel regret at killing Voldemort, he still was a murderer – and that was what he was going to be remembered for.

Knowing what he was thinking, Hermione laid a hand on his arm, and looked sternly at him. “Harry, stop those thoughts immediately! It was not your fault, and it wasn’t mine. We did what you had to do, and the world will always thank us for that. Voldemort wasn’t exactly a – thing – that should be allowed to live.”

The bond/connection between them reacted quite violently at this, and he knew what she was saying almost before she said it, even though he didn’t Mind-Search. Her emotion mingled with his, and he suddenly found himself agreeing with her. The bond apparently, had decided to play on the fact that deep down he knew it was true, and thus decided that it would be pointless for them to argue about it.

His eyes widened, and so did hers.

“Well,” Harry said after a little while, “at least we won’t disagree all that much in the future.”

Hermione frowned. “Is that altogether healthy? I mean, it’s quite normal for couples to quarrel a bit.”

Harry smiled at that. “I suppose,” he said, “that you are completely correct, and that’s why I was ‘convinced’. If you don’t like it, I could very easily raise a subject for an argument from time to time.”

She shook her head laughingly. “I love you, Harry,” she said.

He smiled, and sitting up he gently hugged her to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, too.”

He felt the connection between them strengthen, and wondered where it came from, and who had made it. It was that connection that had made them able to kill Voldemort. It had been strong then, and though it still was, he doubted it would ever open like that again. They had been one person in two bodies then. Now they were two persons in two bodies, but attached to each other in an odd but very nice way.

~*~

His next visitors were Sirius and Dumbledore. Remus had been rather badly hurt, so he was sharing Harry’s fate: a hospital bed.

“Good evening, Harry,” beamed Dumbledore, and Harry smiled back.

“Good evening, Professor,” he said, just as Sirius jumped forward and crushed him in a hug.

“Well done, lad,” said he.

For once, it was actually a pleasant visit, with no grave matters to discuss. They did talk about what had happened, of course, and what was left to be done. Harry was informed that the Aurors had already rounded up nearly a thousand Death Eaters, based on information given by the surviving Death Eaters.

“And you’ve got mail, Harry,” Dumbledore said.

“Thousands upon thousands of letters,” grinned Sirius.

Harry’s eyes widened. “What?” Then he groaned. “On no!” he said. “The find-me-not charm has faded!”

“You used a find-me-not charm?” Dumbledore asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. After it was discovered that I was innocent, I assumed that quite a few people would try to send me letters, so I protected myself from the owls. They can be tracked.”

“I guess you will have to re-cast the charm then, but I do recommend you to read the letters,” Dumbledore said.

Harry grimaced. “Why?”

“Because some might interest you. Like this,” –he held up a letter- “which is from the Ministry, wanting to award you the Order of Merlin, first class.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “As flippant as they are with that reward, I think I’ll refuse it.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled madly. “I don’t think anyone has done that before.”

“Good,” Harry said dryly. “I think I’ll enjoy being the abnormal one for once.”

“There are other recognitions waiting for you, too. Like the French ‘L'Ordre du Griffon’ and the German ‘Der Orden des Thorr’.”

“Oh.” Harry said. “Those are quite grand and renowned aren’t they?”

Both Sirius and Dumbledore nodded. “And their government isn’t quite as corrupt as ours used to be, and actually still is,” Sirus said. “It might have something to do with the fact that they’re younger and more modern.”

“They want to ennoble you, too,” Dumbledore said.

“I thought only the Queen could do that,” Harry said.

“Obviously not. It is something that’s been a part of the Wizarding world for a long time. Since Arthur and Merlin, actually. You will find that several of your ancestors were Ladies and Lords. Lucius Malfoy was one, too.”

“Speaking of the Malfoys-”

“Both died in the chamber.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause.

“There is one last issue,” Dumbledore said.

Harry raised his eyebrow suspiciously. “Yes?”

“This ennobling means that everyone you’re closely related to, your wife and your children will get your title: Lady or Lord.”

“Oh,” said Harry. “Is there really Wizarding nobility?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore answered, and when Harry looked questioningly at him, he continued. “The purebloods.” Then he sat back and watched as Harry spluttered with rage.

“They want to make me a pureblood!” he said. “How dare they! How can they! Encourage a condescending view of the Muggle-borns!?” He slammed his fist into the mattress. “No bloody way! I’m proud of being a half-blood, and I’m going to continue being that!” His jaw clenched and unclenched. “No way am I going to allow either Hermione or myself to be disgraced this way!” He continued to rage for a few more minutes, before he calmed down.

Then Sirius spoke up. “How would Hermione become disgraced?” he asked slyly.

Harry stiffened and paled. “What?” he croaked.

“Well, to me it seemed like you thought it would be disgracing to Hermione if you became a pureblood. I can’t really see why.” He rubbed his jaw and pretended to be deep in thought. “Unless someone should force the pureblood title on her, too, of course.”

Harry blushed an amazing shade of red.

~*~

It was a beautiful summer morning, and though the temperature was cool now, it would probably be much warmer later on.

But still it was early, and for the most part it was only the birds that were up, and they were singing their praise towards the sky.

Yet, there were some who obviously were morning persons.

Two teen-agers were walking across the grass in the early morning breeze, their hands linked together. They were indeed a very cute couple, and at first sight you would probably mistake them for a very normal young pair. But they weren’t. Both had an air which spoke of a maturity and experience which was completely ill-placed in two such young persons.

They stopped on top of the cliffs, and peered into what had once been the Hogwarts Lake. The water-level was definitely a good deal lowered.

“I’m glad it won’t be long till it’s filled again,” Harry spoke softly.

Hermione nodded. Though the war was over, they would both be happy when the fallen wall and the damaged Quidditch pitch were restored again. The battle and what followed had shaken the area quite firmly, and the Quidditch stands and Goal hoops hadn’t taken it too well. In addition, one of the outer walls of the castle had had several blocks of stone thrown off, but everything would soon be repaired. The scars would always be there, but they would fade in time. Luckily, Voldemort’s little earthquake had affected the lake mostly.

“But we will soon leave,” she said and snuggled up to his chest. He took the cue and put both arms around her, embracing her tightly.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Our days at Hogwarts are over.”

“Mmm,” she said. Then, “What are you going to do now?”

He raised his eyebrows towards her.

“You have to make a living, you know,” she continued. “You can’t live on being The-Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Dreaded-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

He smirked, and she read his mind as accurately as any Mind-Reader. “Don’t you think about it! I don’t want a Lockhart for a boyfriend!” His smirk widened and she blushed. “I was twelve, and he was rather handsome, so don’t look at me that way, Harry James Potter!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Hermione. I won’t turn into another Lockhart, I promise.” He paused for a few minutes. He had been thinking about staying at Hogwarts as the Defence teacher. While the job could be dreadfully boring, it was also very interesting, and he found a joy in teaching.

But if he did take the job, he would have to take it as Harry Potter, since Christian Atos was ‘dead’, and that made him less happy about it at once. He didn’t know if he could take the Hero-worship in addition to the endless test and homework grading he had to do. It had been Dumbledore who coaxed his students through their exams – and then dropped all the work onto his desk! “It is your job, even though ‘you’ are dead, Harry. Remember, I’m still paying you,” he’d said, with that devilish smile of his.

What could he say to that?

Hermione didn’t have that problem. With her Healing Talent and intelligence she’d decided to become a Healer. Her ambition was to have a clinic of her own once in the future.

“I guess I have to get a job,” he mused out loud. “Auror maybe. Or perhaps I’ll start studying.”

“Study!” Hermione exclaimed. She still hadn’t gotten over the fact that Harry in fact was more studious than she’d thought from the start.

“Yes,” he said mildly, ignoring her obvious jibe. “I like learning things, despite common belief,” and his tone turned slightly chiding. “It’s not my fault I had to hide my true potential.” He turned thoughtful. “Besides, Potions and History of Magic was dreadfully boring as long as I went here.”

She smirked. “I can imagine. Beauxbatons was better then?”

“Very much,” he nodded. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind studying Potions and Chemistry. I rather like it, and it greatly resembles cooking, too, one of my favourite pastimes.”

Hermione raised her eyes and looked at him, astounded. “Cooking?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s very stress-releasing,” he grinned at her.

“Oh,” she said, understanding his need for stress-release very well, before yet again turning the conversation. “When will you propose to me?”

Harry almost fell over at the abrupt change of topic, and Hermione smiled devilishly at him. “Erm…well, er,” he stuttered, before he caught himself. “I suppose when I’ve worked up the courage,” he said, not looking at her at all.

She raised her eyebrows. “Is the Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Defeated-The-Bloody-Dark-Lord, afraid of proposing to his girl?” she asked teasingly.

“I didn’t do that alone,”

“Doesn’t matter; the Wizarding world has decided to give you the credit anyway. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Harry fidgeted. “To be entirely frank, yes.”

“Why?” she asked. “What’s the problem? You get down on your knee, say ‘Will you marry me?’ the girl says ‘yes’, and you buy her this impressive diamond ring.” She looked at him. “Is that so difficult? I even know of a nice jewellery store.”

He blushed and refused to meet her eyes. “I-I don’t know, Hermione. I mean, perhaps we’re a bit too young yet.”

She turned serious. “Harry, look at me.” He did so, reluctantly. She saw confusion and uncertainty there, but also great affection and love.

“Love,” she said, “I know we’re young, but we are in love. I know it and you know it. And I don’t want to wait. I want to be able to present myself as ‘Mrs Potter’, and I know I’ll take pride in doing so.”

Harry laughed quietly and nervously. “And I thought you might refuse to take my name.”

“If a woman isn’t willing to follow a tradition so old, and proudly take her husband’s name, then she doesn’t love him enough,” Hermione stated. “She can talk about sex-roles and discrimination as much as she wants; I don’t agree with her.” Her voice softened. “I love you Harry, and I want to be yours forever. I want to wake up next to you every morning,” – she blushed and Harry squelched some dirty thoughts – “and be the one who makes your breakfast. I want to be there when you come home, exhausted from the day, and be the one to massage your shoulders when you’re stressed.” She paused.

“Don’t you see, Harry? I want you,” – both did their best to keep their dirty teen-age minds out of the way once again– “and I want to be the one who kisses you good-night and good-morning, the one who tries to rid you of your bad habits, try to form you after my own imaginations, and sigh exasperatedly at my failur-”

She would undoubtly continued to rant for a while, had he not silenced her with a kiss.

She was right, he realised, and he felt the connection between them. It had never disappeared after the incident in the chamber, and he doubted it ever would. He didn’t want it to, either.

But she was right. As always, she was more insightful than he. He did want her, as his wife, and he knew they belonged to each other now. She had only realised it before he did. Perhaps it was a grain of truth in the myth about the Citatio always marrying a Pectal, after all.

“So,” he said. “Where was this jewellery store you were talking about?”

~*~

And thus ends this story, about two young people who fought bravely against the shadows of darkness, and went through fire and flame for what they believed in, but seemed impossible; Peace.

A peace for which they struggled, with blood and sweat.

They crossed borders and stretched limits, both magically and emotionally, and found in each other the purest of all things, in the midst of a war, in a darkness where one could expect it to be forgotten: Love.

A love which goes ... beyond boundaries.

~*~

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Plimpy: The Plimpy is a kind of fish. It is shaped like a ball with two long, rubbery legs and webbed feet. If you happen to spot a Plimpy with its legs tied in a knot, you will know that Merpeople are around.

Grindylow: A grindylow is a pale green creature which lives in the weed beds on the bottom of lakes in Britain. It is also known as a water demon. Grindylows have long, brittle fingers which they use to grip their prey, sharp little horns, and green teeth.

Merpeople/Merfolk: Well, duh.

L'Ordre du Griffon: From my imagination only. It’s French (at least I hope so!) and means ‘The Order of the Griffin’. (Additional note: Firstly I wrote ‘Griffin’, but Sam8, the dear inhabitant of France, who also reviews my story, told me it was ‘Griffon. Go Sam)

Der Orden des Thorr: Also purely my own imagination and it’s German for ‘The Order of Thor’. Thor, or Thorr (Thorr being old Nordic) is the name of the Scandinavian God of thunder (and quite a lot of other things). As far as I know, this God is a part of German mythology too.

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Disclaimer: This story is written by Rachel Acorna Prongs and beta-read by the-dreamer. While the world of Harry Potter belongs to Joanne Kathleen Rowling, the plot is purely mine. However, I would never have made it without the help of the-dreamer, and her advice, humorous comments and useful suggestions, that have helped shape my story. Lots of thanks to her.

I will also thank all those who reviewed; without you this would never have been finished.

Thank you, or tusen takk, as we say in my language.

Rachel A. Prongs

PS. Go me. ;)