(A/N: Comments, reviews; the more the better! I didn't really intend on releasing this chapter this early, but a strange mood struck me and I'm working on a whim. Chapter 15 next Saturday; I'm sticking to that day this time!)
The next two days passed easily, and Harry found that he could meet Gates's eyes without feeling a well of hatred. The small measure of revenge that Wednesday would bring glowed in his chest, making the Hit Wizard's stinging remarks brittle and blunt. For the first time, Harry did not care about Gates's absolute presence; he only knew that Wednesday would provide a much-needed retribution. Seeming to sense Harry's newfound mollification, Gates began watching him with a wary eye, unsure of his motives.
Harry called together the D.A. Tuesday, and they were able to practice dueling tactics to use during the upcoming tournament in November. He did not show them anything advanced, as most were still inexperienced, but corrected their postures and sharpened their reflexes by having the Room of Requirement fire stunning spells at them in sporadic intervals; letting only the most agile of members to escape unscathed. While several others were knocked out, they were usually revived by a spell an instant later. By the end of the session, the D.A. had a firm grasp on Moody's timeless law of 'CONSTANT VIGILENCE'.
Harry decided to push back his plans on having the D.A. fight against dark creatures. In a few weeks, after they had mastered some dueling concepts, he would initiate the lessons involving defenses against creatures such as Runespoors, Spinxes, and Boggarts. While they had already dealt with certain creatures, Harry figured that they should start with the basic ones before moving on to the more dangerous creatures. His main problem, obtaining and fighting the creatures in a relatively secure environment, was quickly solved when he discovered that the Room of Requirement could oblige nearly every request, and produced a wide room with a glass cage where the necessary creature could be conjured (Harry had no idea how) and battled without the human participant being endangered.
Coming down to Wednesday's breakfast in the great hall, Harry could not see how the day could be any better. When he entered the hall, he halted abruptly at the scene that had greeted him. Instead of the usual four separated tables for each house to dine out, there was now a single, long oak counter that ran in an arc across the hall. The cloth draped over it was plain, blemishless white rather than a respective house color. Shafts of light crisscrossed over it, covering it with a angelic air. Harry down awkwardly at the far end with a cluster of Gryffindors who appeared to be as confused as he was. Ron and Hermione soon joined him.
"Err, so what happened here?" Ron asked uncertainly, his eyes running up and down the length of the table.
Harry looked up at the staff table and saw that Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling brightly as he gazed across the great hall, his half-moon spectacles shining from the first beams of sunlight. His eyes fell briefly on Harry, and then moved to where a small contingent of Ravenclaws gathered nearby. The professors that had already gathered at the staff table, apparently having no foreknowledge, whispered to each other over plates of waffles and pancakes, anxious expressions on their faces.
A group of Slytherins, led by Malfoy, snorted and sat down on the opposite end, complaining loudly about being forced to sit with "Mudbloods and muggle-lovers". From the way they were huddled together, Harry guessed that the Slytherins were staking out their territory, warning outsiders to stay away. Everyone was all too happy to oblige.
"Don't you see Ron?" said Hermione, "He's trying to unite the houses. And what better way to start than with the dining area?"
Harry watched the Slytherins conspiratorially muttering to each other when a band of Hufflepuffs passed by. "This isn't going to go over well."
"There's no question about that," Hermione said matter-of-factly, "People always resist change."
Ron was staring expectantly at Dumbledore. "Well isn't he going to make a huge speech about it like he always does?"
"Come on Ron," Hermione chided, "He has more tact than that. Dumbledore made his point, he doesn't need to announce it."
Ron shrugged and extended his hand. "If you say so. Can I borrow your book again?"
"Here," Hermione said, pulling it out of her book bag and offering it to him with both hands as though handing over a priceless treasure. "We don't have Charms today so you can keep it until this evening. Then I need to work on my conjuring."
"Right," Ron mumbled as he flipped it open and immediately began to read. Occasionally, he would tap on a piece of parchment with his wand and mutter something, but to no effect.
A moment later, Luna Lovegood drifted across the hall and settled down in the chair next the Ron, staring at the book he was reading with intense eyes. Ron, seeming to be unaware of her presence, continued reading as though he was utterly absorbed in the text. Bringing his wand up once more, he tapped it stiffly onto the blank parchment and muttered something. Nothing happened. Frowning, Ron returned his gaze to the book. Luna's head was now directly above his shoulder.
"You're doing that all wrong, Ronald," said Luna, causing Ron to nearly jump out of his seat. "You have to add a backward twist when you touch the parchment."
"Really?" Ron said, recovering. He tried again. "I still can't get this, though."
Luna leaned over him and examined the text. Blood flowed and concentrated in Ron's face. "I've used the Narro Charm before for my father's newspaper. What do you need it for?"
"Oh, err," Ron cast a swift glance and Harry and Hermione then turned back to Luna. "It's sort of a secret."
"Secrets? I love secrets," Luna replied, and Harry was sure that she mouthed the words "-and you" as well.
"Do you think-" Ron began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck, "Would you be able to help me with the spell?"
"It would be my pleasure, Ronald," answered Luna, smiling slightly as her eyes focused on the book. "On the condition that you help me with some food this weekend."
"Help you with some food?"
"Father sent me some packages of Snockle-Lock beef and I hardly know what to do with it," Luna breathed. She was luring Ron in with food; an ingenious plan if Harry ever heard one.
Ron's response was immediate. "Sure, sounds fair to me."
"Then I'll be looking forward to it," said Luna, her eyes misting over. "Hogsmeade was wonderful, by the way, Ronald."
Harry was so engaged in Ron and Luna's exchange that he did not notice an owl swoop down and drop an edition of the Daily Prophet on Hermione's plate. Nearly tearing it open in haste, she unraveled it quickly and scanned the front page. Her grin slowly grew wider.
"So what's the good news?" Harry asked curiously.
Hermione turned towards him with shining eyes. "They've brought charges against Fudge. That makes it official. Let's see…" She began listing them off. "The specific charges are: Failure to provide reasonable security despite substantial forewarning, corruption of performance by personal interests, unlawful extensions of authority…the list goes on."
"So what're they going to do now?"
"Try him in front of a Wizengamot," Hermione said simply, "It will be weeks before we hear a verdict, but with the amount of evidence they have…"
"Did the article mention his replacement?" Luna chimed in.
Hermione did a double-take. "No, no one has been nominated yet."
"Well it's about time," approved Ron, nodding his head, "Fudge never did have all his marbles. When the ministry asked Dumbledore to take the position, they didn't expect him to refuse, so they nominated Fudge as a sort of a backup choice. Dumbledore declined the position, so the ministry ended up getting stuck with him."
"Any new attacks?" Harry asked with some trepidation.
Hermione shook her head. "Thankfully, no. There hasn't been anything new since Saturday."
"Good, though I wonder why…"
Hermione flipped the page, and her face went pale. "Oh no…" she murmured.
"What?" Ron and Harry asked in unison.
She flipped the paper over so they could see the page. Ron, sounding bewildered, said "Err, Hermione…what is it? All I see is an ad for quills and ink."
"Ink, Ron," Hermione snapped, "Don't you see? Their gouging the prices. Three sickles for a bottle of ink? Have they gone mad?" Her voice slowly became more high pitched and panicked. "They're just using the situation in the ministry as an excuse to throw their prices through the roof."
"I guess we'll just have to conserve more," Ron said simply, returning to his book.
"Conserve more?" Hermione retorted shrilly, "Three sickles for one bottle. I went through an entire bottle on my Charms report alone. This- This is illegal!"
Ron apparently could not fathom how anyone could become so riled up over a trivial issue such as ink. "I think we'll survive, Hermione. At least it's not parchment, right?"
Hermione began shooting through the pages, evidently searching for prices on parchment. Her face visibly cleared, and Harry assumed that the cost of parchment, at least, had not fluctuated.
"Err, Hermione," said Harry timidly, "If you ever need extra ink so you can write your five foot-long reports, just let me know and you can have some of mine. I mean, mine usually goes dry after awhile anyway."
Hermione's lip trembled. "You really mean that?"
"Err, yeah. Why not?"
Luna smiled and Hermione was on the verge of tears.
Harry was flabbergasted. What did he do now? "Err, I'm sorry I didn't mean anything-" Before he could finished his sentence, Hermione threw her arms around him and wrapped him in a tight hug. Harry, utterly confused as to what was going on, hugged her back awkwardly.
Pseudo-Snape, of course, butted in. Potter, you really are incredibly dense. I don't see how anyone could possibly read a mind that thick.
"You're the best Harry," Hermione murmured into his shoulder. Students began to stare curiously in their direction, sometimes grabbing their friends and pointing. A few first years giggled.
"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, and released her. Again, he felt an invisible line pull at his chest, and, for the briefest of moments, he felt sure he knew what it was. Then, just as quickly, it turned foreign again. What was wrong with him?
Harry turned and saw Gates wearing an amused expression. Luna, still smiling knowingly, gazed at Harry with her mystic eyes, her Ravenclaw intellect simmering just underneath them. Ron squinted, and Harry could tell that the redhead was dumbfounded. "Mental," he muttered.
Gradually, the various eyes that had been watching him fell away, until at last only one pair remained. After several minutes, Dumbledore turned away as well, the twinkle in his eyes brighter than ever.
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"Let's go, Potter, I don't have all day," Gates drawled as Harry followed him down a marble staircase. "We will use the Room of Requirement." The diamonds on his necklace glittered like tiny teeth as little tremors shook them.
Gates was making good on his second favor to Sirius, and this evening he was beginning their first session. Sirius had requested Gates to teach him some advanced dueling spells and curses, and the Hit Wizard, bound to fulfill the favor, complied. Harry was not at all comfortable with the arrangements, and he was wary of having Gates performing dangerous spells within his immediate vicinity. While Gates was could undoubtedly show him more than anyone except possibly Dumbledore, Harry would rather skip the training entirely. Gates, none too pleased with the second favor, was sure to make Harry's training hellishly difficult.
"Stay back, Potter," Gates ordered. He paced back and forth three times, and, on the third passing, the familiar door to the Room of Requirement appeared and he swiftly swung it open.
Harry crossed the threshold and was more than a little surprised at what he found. It was a bizarre cross between a dungeon and a library. Various shackles and chains were bolted on the rough stone walls, and there were narrow, black holes that led like pipes out from the upper corners of the room. A thin mossy substance dribbled out of it. There was a tall bookshelf on the far end of the room, packed with countless thick, heavy tomes, all of them seemingly irrelevant to the task at hand. (Harry had a strong suspicion that they would be used for target practice) The center of the room was barren except for an ornate Persian rug which appeared to be the lone vanity in the room. There were not portraits in the chamber, so there would be no way for Phineas Nigellus to watch their interaction. Huddled in a nearby corner, there was a table and two chairs, a flask of a dark red liquid and a foaming goblet sitting upon the counter. Shutting the heavy oaken door behind him, Gates swept over to the table and motioned Harry to sit at the chair opposite from him. A faint burning in his pocket told him that the bronze ring he received from the Sorting Hat found Gates untrustworthy, which was not surprising. The ring had been burning so much, in fact, that Harry had wrapped it in parchment to dull the irritation.
"We are here so I may complete your godfather's second request," Gates said serenely as he brought the flask and goblet closer to him. He sniffed the dark liquid with the air of a connoisseur. "Have you been preparing yourself Potter?"
"Sort of," Harry said uncertainly. He read through the Art of Dueling again and had practiced a few curses, but they were nothing compared to the spells that Gates obviously expected him to learn.
"Sort of?" Gates snorted, tipping the flask and pouring its contents into the goblet. The foam and the liquid mixed with a sizzle like water on flame. A curl of steam rose from it, and Gates began idly stirring it with a small steel rod. "I suppose we shall see what you sort of did, won't we?"
Harry nodded his head slightly.
Gates stared into the newly rising foam. It took on a reddish hue. He seemed oddly fascinated with it. "Do you know what this is, Potter?" he asked, referring to the drink. It was a confusing change of subject.
Harry decided to take a guess. "The Red Haze."
"Quite right," Gates said absently, still stirring the drink, "The Red Haze is actually both a poison and a beverage, as, when the dragon's blood is added, the drink slowly becomes lethal. You see how I am stirring it? If I were to leave it for exactly fifteen seconds, the mixture would become irreversibly poisonous and I would have ruined a perfectly good drink, and, if I was clumsy, my life as well. I believe this flask contained Norwegian Ridgeback, judging from its shade." He stared at it in silence for a long while, as though he was contemplating the meaning of life itself.
"Okay…" Harry said at length, unsure of what the Hit Wizard was getting at.
Gates jerked out from his reverie. "I will be showing and teaching you a variety of intricate and complicated curses, Potter. Many of these, you might know, produce ghastly effects, and, in the wrong hands, can be mortally dangerous." The Pravus necklace quivered, seeming to sense the surrounding gravity.
The Hit Wizard set down his stirring rod on the table. Harry counted slowly in his head. One…Two… He barely heard Gates's words, catching only occasional phrases. In fifteen seconds the Red Haze would be poison.
"-What you will experience in here will not leave this room-"
Three…Four…
"-Fully qualified Aurors are not all able to master the spells I am about to show you-"
Five…Six…
"-These are spells that can maim, spells that can destroy, spells that can burn your very soul-"
Seven…Eight…
"-Dark wizards are among the most cunning men on earth, and for that reason, you must know more than just curses and hexes-"
Nine…Ten…
"-Therefore, I will be teaching you every trick and tactic that I know of-"
Eleven…Twelve…In three more seconds the drink will be lethal.
"-Some of what I show you is considered immoral by the modern wizard world. However, honor dictates otherwise-"
Thirteen…Fourteen…
Gates stopped abruptly, plucked up the stirring rod, and swirled the mixture for one revolution. Without glancing into the goblet, he drank deeply. Was it safe? Gates had been cutting it close; Harry was sure that the Hit Wizard had only stirred the drink within a fraction of a second of the limit. Gates set the goblet back down, and then waited. After a moment, he continued, a new tone in his voice. Was it disappointment?
"If you obey me I can teach you more than any professor in this school, and you will learn enough to rival even the most powerful of dark wizards. Should you choose to ignore my instruction, well, you have only managed to waste my time. I don't like wasting my time, Potter. And for that reason, failure means pages." Gates paused and finished the last of the Red Haze. "Questions, Potter?"
"Err, no."
"I should hope not," Gates said softly, "Very well, stand up Potter and go to the center of the room."
Harry rose to his feet and complied. He turned and saw that Gates was eyeing him critically, his sharp hawkish features very evident in the dim light. Harry had the strange feeling that Gates was sizing him up, determining his strengths and weaknesses.
"We will begin with the Burning Curse-"
"That requires a ministry license," interjected Harry before he could stop himself.
Gates's eyes glittered. "Yes, I know. But do you think dark wizards stop and ask for your license if you perform an Edward Skinner? If you win, there's nobody around to turn you in. If you don't, well, it doesn't matter, does it?" He grinned maliciously. Harry swore that Gates looked ready to lick his lips.
"But-"
"Potter," Gates said in his silkiest and most venomous voice, "If you expected to come here to practice stunning spells, then you will be disappointed. Dark wizards can deflect that fifth year nonsense with a flick of a wand, and some can even build up resistance to such weak magic. You cannot expect dumb luck to save you." He paused, a sneer forming on his face. "This isn't a class, Potter. This is real, potent, strenuous magic that the Dark Lord holds complete mastery of. Now do not interrupt me again."
"How?" Harry asked simply.
"Watch," Gates commanded, and jerked his wand sideways. A book flew out from the bookshelf and landed a few feet in front of him. "Concentrate and make yourself believe that the book is on fire before you attempt the spell. I find it helpful if I imagine that I'm standing in hell. Now, say Exuro!" A bolt of orange shot out from his wand and connected with the tome, lighting it up in unreal flames. Despite his knowledge of the Burning Curse, Harry was hard pressed not to believe that it was an actual fire. All of his senses defied his reason.
"Finite!" Gates incanted, and the fire went out. "Try it, Potter."
Harry focused his eyes on the book and tried to pretend that flames were emerging from between the pages. He slowly raised his wand and bellowed "Exuro!" Rather than an orange beam, a white jagged light spilled out of his wand and vanished.
"That, Potter," Gates said disdainfully, "Was one of the weakest attempts at the Burning Curse that I have ever had the misfortune to witness. Again."
Harry inhaled, exhaled, and then raised his wand once more. He repeated the curse with the same result, and found that even attempting the spell was taxing his mind, testing his elasticity. He felt weary on his feet, and he needed a moment to recuperate.
Gates shook his head. "Potter, I want you to be practicing that curse on your own. If you continually try and fail, you will be too tired to move on to another spell and this entire session will end up a colossal waste of time and effort. Do you know the Severing Curse?"
"The Severing Curse?" Harry echoed, not really understanding Gates's words. His head was swimming and his temple throbbed. He had never known magic to be so straining.
"Yes, I believe it's N.E.W.T. level, if memory serves," Gates continued, "When performed properly, a horizontal disk of light should emerge from your wand and cut cleanly through anything in its path. It is quite useful for removing brush, walls, or other obstructions. And when you find yourself trapped in a locked room, you will find this curse extraordinarily useful."
Gates drew his wand and whirled it in the air. "Discerpo!" he bellowed, and a white disc shot out of his wand and connected with the thick tome, slicing it into perfect halves. Harry bent down and examined the book in amazement; the cut was as thin as a hair, and, when Harry gently touched it, the book fell apart like dried leaves. Hermione would be furious.
"How did you do that?" Harry inquired, standing up again.
"Easily," Gates answered, withdrawing his wand and studying his gloved hands, "It requires little focus and concentration. However, the pronunciation of the incantation is key, so don't foul it up."
"If this can cut through books," Harry persisted, "Can't it cut through flesh too? Wouldn't that make the curse illegal?"
Gates's expression did not change. "The Killing Curse is considered unforgivable for two reasons: It is impossible to deflect, and it serves no other purpose than to kill. It's complete and legal banishment from wizard kind is a relatively recent development, as the ministry outlawed it in 1745. There was hardly any need, though, as the Killing Curse was widely considered to be a shameful spell and is never used by those of us with any sense of honor. Unfortunately, honor has fallen to the wayside in recent centuries… Regardless, using the Severing Curse to kill another human will still earn you a life sentence in Azkaban, so only use it with caution and…discretion." He added, letting his true meaning become quite clear. Gates stepped backwards, obviously expecting Harry to proceed.
Harry nodded, then leveled his wand with the shackles on the far wall. Jerking his wand sideways like Gates had done, he shouted "Discerpo!" and a thin disc fired out of his wand, hurtling towards the wall with frightening speed. When it came in contact with its target, however, it passed through and vanished, leaving the shackles completely intact.
Gates, needless to say, was displeased. "You didn't say it forcefully enough, Potter," the Hit Wizard criticized, "You aren't ordering a sandwich, you're using a curse. Put something into it." He stood back and waited.
"Put what into it?"
"Think, Potter," Gates commanded. His necklace flashed and danced across his chest as he moved closer to Harry. "Don't you have something powerful to put into your words. You loved your godfather, correct?" Gates grinned grotesquely. "Think about seeing Bellatrix in front of you, her neck so very near, and force those thoughts into the enunciations of your words."
Ignoring Gates's advice, Harry raised his wand once more. This spell was absurdly difficult; students would not be learning the Severing Curse until late in their seventh year. Still, he had to produce something. Gates's words rang ominously in his head. Failure will mean pages.
He recalled what Dumbledore had said about governing emotions, and tried with some difficulty to think of how he could use it to his advantage. Didn't the headmaster say that his was love? Maybe if he focused on a memory that could bring about that emotion, no matter how rudimentary…
Well, he had loved his parents, but he did not have any clear memories of them; and, on the contrary, trying to picture his faces achieved only the opposite effect: it depressed him. Harry needed something strong, lucid, and not attributed with anything dismal. Gates cleared his throat impatiently.
He certainly loved his best friends, would that work? He summoned an image of them in his head: Hermione and Ron sitting by the lake, waving him over. Something tugged at his chest, and he let himself fall further into the memory. He remembered the cool wind that had skimmed bits of moisture off of the lake; the small tower of textbooks Hermione brought with her to read; the overwhelming innocence of the entire scene where there was no prophecy.
Harry readied himself to incant the curse, but hesitated briefly. In his memory, he turned to Ron and saw that he was no longer there. There was only Hermione now. Another, more forceful tug at his chest propelled him forward, and it was almost like he and Hermione were linked together by an ever-shortening cord. Harry walked forward and she smiled.
Touching, Potter, touching, Pseudo-Snape said.
"Discerpo!" Harry murmured almost serenely, and an opaque disc of white shot out of his wand, spinning at the targeting shackles with more vehemence than it had done before. When the curse reached the wall, it broke through the shackles and stone with a shriek like hissing metal. The shackles, glowing molten red at the ends, fell to the floor, now nothing more than a heap of twisted steel. The disc continued to slice through the grimy stone walls, making an incision an inch wide; far more than the hairline crack that Gates's produced.
"At least you know a few intermediate curses, Potter," Gates said indifferently, though Harry could tell that he was irresistibly impressed. "Perhaps you can yet be salvaged, we shall see. Let's move on to something more…interesting."
Gates drew a shiny steel ball from his pocket and held it up to the air as though he was offering it to an invisible deity. "Do you know of the Movement Charm?"
"Yes," Harry said, remembering the steel balls that Gates had used against Snape during the duel. "Though that's N.E.W.T. level too, right?"
"The Movement Charm is only effective in combat if you get your projectile to the optimum speed," said Gates, ignoring Harry, "While it is relatively simple to move objects at a slow pace, it requires much time, effort, and power in order to fling them like missiles. You will work with smaller ones first." He tossed the ball over to Harry, who caught it.
Harry studied the ball in his hands. It felt cool, as though it had come from the dungeons. It was completely unadorned, and this only increased the horror Harry felt when he thought about the damage and pain such a simple object could inflict.
"You know the incantation; you've seen how it's used," Gates said in a business-like way, "Again, it's all in the mind and the words. All you need to do in the wand movement is a simple wrist flick. Understand?"
"Guess so," Harry answered, not taking his eyes off of the steel ball. It seemed to only become colder as he held it in his hands.
"Then do it."
Harry scanned it once more, than tossed it lightly into the air. "Waddiwasi!" Rather than bolting away like Gates's had, the ball arced a few feet then fell lamely to the floor, rolling a bit and then stopping. Evidently, mastery of this charm was going to take more than a few attempts.
"What did I tell you about harnessing your mind and reigning in your emotions?" Gates spat, taking no effort to hide the contempt in his voice, "That was weak; even for a first attempt. Focus, Potter, or this-" He gestured towards the ball. "-will be a complete waste. Again."
Harry picked up the steel ball, sighing. Gates's expectations were impossibly high. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine that familiar scene by the lake. Once he felt the tugging in his chest, he raised the ball a little higher and sucked in his breath. He could do this, he knew he could.
"Waddiwasi!"
The steel ball jumped out of his hand, but quickly lost momentum as it flew through the air. Harry exhaled when he saw it land heavily on the ground only a few feet further than the last one. He might as well be trying to throw a bowling ball. There was no way he could perform the charm at Gates's level in one session.
"Potter," Gates snarled, and Harry turned to face him, his expression equally malicious. "What did I tell you about using your mind? Can't you envision Bellatrix? Do you need something stronger?" He licked his pointed teeth and his necklace shivered with anxious delight. "Even your damnable godfather was a modesty skilled dueler. He was a lying, filthy blood traitor, but at least he could hold his own. I can't say as much for you. You will be eradicated by the first Death Eater you stumble across."
Harry clenched and unclenched his hands, anger boiling in his stomach. The bastard was taunting him again, cruelly provoking him to satiate his own sadistic pleasure. A primal, uncontrollable force urged him towards physical confrontation, but Hermione's voice pleaded with him to calm down. His thoughts turned to tonight's excursion into the Forbidden Forest, and he relaxed somewhat as he remembered his plans for Gates.
The Hit Wizard, however, would not be deterred. He continued his verbal assault with growing ferocity, lowering his head down until his face was less than a foot away from Harry's. Gate's grin broadened. "What about your father? Didn't you know that he was as weak and as moronic as you? He single-handedly managed to get most of his family murdered by the Dark Lord. What sort of fool would place his trust in the rat Peter? Eh? Oh, yes, your father could scarcely walk without tripping over his shoelaces. I understand that you enjoy hearing about your father's past? Well, old Severus was right in some respects. He was reckless, unwieldy, powerful, and unbearably foolish. He could perform a few token spells, true, but what does that matter when he's too much of an idiot to use them properly?" Gates paused, lip curling, seeming to feed off of Harry's hate.
It took every ounce of restraint that Harry possessed in order to keep his hands at his sides. His heart pumped adrenaline through his veins, and he felt his head become hazy as primeval instincts wracked his mind, pulling and tearing at the fabric of his brain. He wanted so badly to lash out and smash and shout, but his rationale and pseudo-Hermione's soothing voice kept him at bay.
The Hit Wizard sneered further. "A coward now, are you? I know what you're feeling now, Potter. You're feeling hate in the most extreme sense, yet you refuse to act upon it. It's because you're a recreant who cannot get used to the feeling of holding a hot wand in his hand."
Gates moved his head even closer to Harry's. He could feel the Hit Wizard's hot breath on his face.
"There is something that will make you snap," Gates continued viciously, "I know you, Potter. I've opened your mind and dissected it and picked at the gray matter. I know how you've heard your mother's screams, and I know how you feel about that mudblood."
Something insider Harry's brain snapped, and before he knew it, his fist swung out and smashed into Gates's jaw; breaking with a satisfying crack. The Hit Wizard stepped back a pace, rubbing his cheek. He spat a bit of blood onto the floor and grinned. "Excellent, Potter. There is your hate. Now use the damned charm!"
Harry scooped up the steel ball, still feeling a hatred and rage that rivaled Bellatrix in intensity. He glared at Gates, and then grinned, selecting the tall Hit Wizard as his target. Without hesitating, he tossed it into the air and roared "Waddiwasi!"
The steel ball, despite the anger in Harry's voice, slanted forward slightly and then fell weakly onto the floor. Harry stared at it, dumbfounded. He expected it to crash into Gates. His body still trembled with a maddening rage, and, when he looked up at Gates, he saw that the Hit Wizard's face was choleric. Evidently he took Harry's failure as a personal insult.
I'm not like you, Harry shouted inwardly, I don't feed off of rage and hate like you do, you bastard.
"You aren't even trying Potter," Gates snarled, "This is going nowhere. This lesson is concluded. One page-" He whipped out the battered album and roughly tore out a page. On it were pictures of Harry when he was an infant. "-will be incinerated. Get out of my sight."
Harry turned away just as the page burst into flame in Gates's gloved hand.
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Harry and Gates were now trudging across the empty black field in front of the castle, making their way to Hagrid's hut. The sun was a little higher than the horizon, and threatened to drop down at any moment. In the distance, he saw a small pinprick of light and knew that Hagrid must be waiting for him. His pace increased.
The earth was soft as he walked upon it, as though it had just rained. Behind him, he heard Gates's black boots crunching dried leaves and twigs, sometimes pausing to brush away a snagging branch. They were skirting the edge of the forest now as they approached the hut, and Harry could hear faint growls echoing from under the thick canopy of the trees. Deeper into the forest, something moved and sniffed.
The wind seemed to inhale and exhale like a living thing, biting at the hem of his robes as he walked. It carried a vitriolic taste with it, as though it disapproved of Harry's actions. He looked up and saw that the moon was full, and wondered vaguely how Lupin was coping with his Lycanthropy. The air around him was cooling off, and Harry wrapped his cloak around him a little tighter. He began to recall the brief conversation he shared with Hermione after Transfiguration; her dire warnings about his safety.
"You can't be doing this Harry," Hermione had said earlier. "I can't believe you. You're going to end up…" She could not bring herself to say exactly how Harry would end up.
"Trust me Hermione, there I'll be fine," Harry assured her, the prophecy on his mind. "This is nothing. I'll make sure Hagrid is far away; so the only ones at risk will be me and Gates. You know what those Centaurs will do to Hagrid…I'm solving two problems here."
"You're not doing this for Hagrid," cut Hermione gently, "You're doing this for yourself. Don't you see that Gates's entire life has been one long journey for revenge? That's what you're doing…"
Harry shook his head. How could she understand? She did not see his parents' wedding photo be burned to a crisp by that bastard. "It'll be fine, I know it will." Harry restated, though now feeling a little less sure of himself. The Department of Mysteries scenario surfaced and he shuddered. She was right then, why not now?
She has not seen…
"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, her eyes showing concern.
Harry could not bring himself to meet them. How could he explain the deep, passionate enmity he felt for Gates? He could not. At least Voldemort was far away…Gates was always nearby, always sneering. "Nothing's wrong."
"Harry," Hermione said again, her voice quaking. She recognized the change in the emerald eyes, and it scared her. "Promise me you won't do anything rash if you go. I can't stop you, but please promise me."
"I promise," said Harry, and he meant it.
Presently, Hagrid's hut was now a short distance away, and the doubts Hermione had firmly implanted into him were beginning to fester. Hermione was always right; what the hell was he thinking? Regardless, it was too late now. The favors have already been exchanged.
"Hello Hagrid," Harry said.
Hagrid swung a massive crossbow over his shoulder and held a lantern in his hand. "Ready?" He looked to Harry, who nodded, and then to Gates.
The Hit Wizard seemed to be sizing Hagrid up, determining the half-giant's strength and formidability, and, apparently satisfied, he brought his hand down to his wand and drew it. Hagrid, taking this as a yes, grunted.
"You aren' sayin' anything, then?" Hagrid asked gutturally.
Gates regarded Hagrid with black ice for eyes. "No."
Hagrid looked down and smiled at Harry. "Come on, Harry, Grawp wants ter see yer."
Hermione Granger was sitting anxiously in the Gryffindor common room, a book propped up on her knees but not reading it. She bit her lip as she stared blankly into the fireplace, her thoughts focused on Harry and where he was and what might be happening. She checked her watch. It was too early.
Why couldn't he take my advice for just once?
In truth, she could find nothing strategically wrong with Harry's plan, but then again, that had always been Ron's department, not hers. Was she missing something? She checked her watch again.
The Centaurs were being far worse than she had let Harry believe. So far they had broken a few of Hagrid's ribs with their hind legs and left it at that. Soon, Hermione was sure, the Centaurs would go too far. She wanted to tell Dumbledore about the whole situation, but wouldn't that betray Hagrid's trust. He probably did not want the headmaster to know about it…but still. Then Harry came up with this plan, and she delayed. It sounded all right at first, but then doubts sprung into her mind. She hated it when he made her worry.
And I hate how dense he can be sometimes, she thought with a smile, But I love how dense he can be sometimes, too.
How else do you feel?
Now is not the time for this sort of conversation, she said to herself. When Harry was nearby something invisible tugged at her, and no amount of introspection could help her discern whether what she felt was an intensely deep friendship or…something else. Harry and Ron always told her that she was 'good with feelings', but when it came to understanding her own, she was baffled.
But she knew when she was missing something, and now was one of those times. Setting the book aside and leaning forward, she mulled over Harry's plan once more.
Hermione turned slightly in her seat, expecting to see Ron sitting at a nearby table, still pouring over her Charms book. Then she remembered that, since they did not have Prefect duties tonight, (Despite what Harry claimed to Hagrid) he would practice the Narro Charm with Luna in the Room of Requirement. He had left about an hour ago.
Harry should not have gone against the centaurs; the more she thought about it the more convinced she became. The shielding charm Harry was using was finicky at best. What if it failed?
I wish he would have just not gone. I would asked him to promise not to go but he would never have agreed. Or would he? He's changed so much since last year; he's become more…reckless? Maybe that's not the right word.
She should be doing her Ancient Runes work but she could not concentrate; a rare occurrence since Ancient Runes was one of her favorite classes. How was she supposed to focus on her work when Harry was out in the Forbidden Forest, doing who-knows-what. Gates was a monster, but he was not worth Harry taking such a risk. It was almost like Harry thought he was invincible.
Hermione stood up from the couch and, for the first time, began to pace.
Face it, Hermione, you're worried sick. Look at yourself.
Hermione went into the bathroom and glanced into the mirror. She was, indeed, rather pale. She had not even noticed how stressed she was becoming as her thoughts raced through her mind.
I've got to get to him. He can't be out there by himself.
She was gazing out the window when it hit her. "Rita Skeeter," she breathed. Hermione whirled and ran to Hagrid's hut, hoping desperately that Harry had not left yet.
Shafts of sunlight filtered down through the web of branches and leaves that made up the canopy of the forest. True, most of the leaves have already yellowed and fallen onto the forest floor, but there were still thick patches of stubborn greenery that refused to yield to the inevitable. It created a strange effect with the dim light, giving it a faint, almost imperceptible, golden hue that resulted from a combination of the sunset and the colored leaves.
It was not a pleasant stroll through the forest, however. Jagged thorn bushes snagged at his robes, and, while the trail was considerably wider than it was last year, it was still rough and uneven and had deep ruts carved into it from water runoff. Several times Harry tripped over a protruding rock, stumbling clumsily before regaining his stride.
Strange, alien howls broke through the eerie repetition of crunching debris, and Harry realized that this was how the Forbidden Forest must be like at dusk. Now that he had thought about it, he had never been in the forest at this particular time of day. The forest normally teemed with life of all kinds, but at the moment, it felt lifeless and empty, as though all the creatures had taken a permanent vacation. Somewhere, Harry knew, there were Centaurs. But they would arrive later; it would take them awhile to notice their presence.
Gates, on the contrary, was excited; almost thrilled. He held his wand lazily at his side, his icy gaze sweeping across his surroundings, like a predator searching for prey. Harry figured that the forest must be a no-man's-land to him; a place where he could do what he pleased no matter how sinister without retaliation. He was in his element; his niche. Men like Gates had no place in society, and instead belonged with the instinctive beasts that stalked the forest in the night. Gates passed under a dark shadow, and, for the briefest of moments, only his ever-shining necklace could be seen.
"Almost there," Hagrid said as he forced his way through a thick tangle of bushes, "Not much longer now."
The trail branched off into a fork, and Hagrid went down the right path, now becoming more cautious, throwing his lantern this way and that, casting light into the shadows. Harry guessed that this must be the area where the Centaurs most often attacked him. The area was fairly cramped with thorny brush, and Harry could see why the Centaurs would choose such a place. The dense growth would render Hagrid's size a disadvantage. Harry felt a fresh wave of anger come over him, and he tramped down the trail with more intent.
They finally entered a clearing, and Harry saw Grawp, Hagrid's little brother, serenely bending a massive pine tree back and forth as if it was nothing more than a sapling. When Grawp saw Hagrid emerge, an expression resembling something like joy crossed his face and he lumbered over as fast as his size could allow.
"Hagger!" Grawp rumbled, his dull eyes fixed on Hagrid, who was beaming at Harry.
Hagrid strode up to the giant, a smile like pride spread across his face. "Grawp, how're yer feelin'?"
A great, deep, dull murmur of assent issued forth from Grawp's throat, and Harry could only assume that it was a positive response to Hagrid's question.
"It's a runt," Gates murmured as he surveyed Grawp, his eyes looking the giant up and down. He appeared supremely disappointed. "Most giants are far bigger."
Grawp bent his knees and looked directly into Hagrid's eyes, questioningly tilting his head. He pointed a thick finger at Hagrid's chest and made some noise that only remotely resembled speech. "Hagger feel?"
If possible, Hagrid's smile grew wider. "I'm feelin' fine," He reached deeply into his pockets. "I brought sommat for you." He pulled out a large slab of meat wrapped crudely in paper. Grawp took it greedily and devoured it.
Grawp swallowed the meat and then turned to Harry. A faint look of recognition came onto his face, and his mouth twisted upward. "Har-ee?" he rumbled.
"He remembers you, 'Arry!" Hagrid said, face alight.
"Err, hello Grawp," Harry replied, waving his hand at the giant. When Hagrid had originally told him that Grawp was becoming better behaved, he was skeptical. Seeing the Hagrid's little brother in front of him now, though, changed his mind. He certainly seemed more civilized, and was even able to comprehend and articulate some human speech.
Grawp's eyes fell on Gates and his expression hardened. He extended his finger at the Hit Wizard and grunted shortly, his meaning clear. Who is he?
"He wants ter know who you are," Hagrid translated, looking pointedly at Gates.
When it became clear that he was expected to introduce himself, Gates cleared his throat and jerked a thumb at his chest in a sort of sign language. "I am Alexander Black Vladimir Gates."
Grawp's face turned into puzzlement, and he simply stared at Gates dumbly for a moment.
"You might wanna shorten tha'" advised Hagrid. Harry tended to agree. Though the giant was probably smarter than most of his kind, he did not look ready to pronounce anything longer than two syllables.
Gates looked affronted. "He may call me Alexander, then."
Grawp squinted at Gates for a minute, and no one said a word to interrupt the giant's thought processes. Then he pointed at Gates, and spoke in his throaty voice. "Al."
Gates gritted his teeth. "Alexand-"
"Al," Grawp repeated more forcefully. Harry tried hard not to laugh.
After another moment of silence, Grawp became bored and began pulling up great tufts of grass and dirt with his massive hands, sometimes pausing to pick something out of it and toss it in his mouth. Hagrid was ecstatic, Gates was annoyed, and Grawp was bored. So far, this meeting was going better than Harry had anticipated.
"So," Hagrid began a little awkwardly, "You introduced yerselves, so go ahead an' talk."
"Can this great brute understand anything more than grunts and gestures?" Gates asked in a voice tempered with mockery. Harry's head whipped towards Hagrid.
"You watch what you say abou' my lil' brother," Hagrid warned, taking a step forward, wearing a look reminiscent of the time Umbridge tried to ambush him in his hut.
Gates sneered, the mask of arrogance and pure-blood superiority possessing him. "Or you'll what?"
Hagrid clenched his fists. "Apologize to 'em"
"No."
Grawp, who seemed to sense the surrounding tension, lifted up and smashed his fist into the ground, leaving a huge print a foot deep into the earth. "Hagger?" He seemed confused and angry; a dangerous combination.
"It's all righ'," Hagrid said soothingly, forgetting about Gates as he stepped over to Grawp. "Don' worry 'bout 'em."
Harry looked over to Gates, who was glowering, over to Hagrid, who now had an expression of obvious contentment on his face. It was very obvious that he loved his brother.
I wonder what it would be like to get a piece of your family back like that.
"Sommats bin upsettin' 'em," Hagrid said at length. "Sommat in this forest." He gazed around the clearing.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked.
Hagrid shook his head, his shaggy beard blowing in the wind. "I don' know. He doesn' want ter talk 'bout it."
Another, stronger gust of wind scattered a pile of nearby leaves and dead grass.
Hagrid looked up, and saw that the sun was now halfway into the horizon. Frowning, he turned to Harry. "You can' be out here after dark."
Harry spoke up instantly. "Why don't you stay here with your brother, and we'll go. I remember the way back." He had wanted to suggest this later, but Hagrid had handed him the opportunity to mention it without sounding offhand.
Hagrid fell silent, evidently doing some heavy thinking. "Alrigh', you two coul' probably go faster withou' me. I always get caught up in the brush." He gestured to his tattered moleskin coat. "I'll stay 'ere with Grawp for a lil' longer, you two go ahead."
Harry said goodbye to Grawp and then departed, Gates in tow. When they reached the cool shadows of the trees, he distinctly heard Gates mutter, "A favor for this? Waste…"
He has no idea, Harry thought with a grin. Hermione's voice chided him for the imminent risk, and he was hard put to suppress it. Fleetingly, he wondered what happened to pseudo-Snape, as the Potions master had not made any comments for several hours; a new record.
Of course, Harry only jinxed himself. Missing me, Potter?
Harry sighed. Never.
Gates and Harry continued back down the meandering trail, easing their way through thickets and bristling shrubs. Harry was making no effort to be silent, and his ears searched for the telltale sounds of hooves. He reached down into his pocket and gripped his wand, readying himself, remembering the charm that would be necessary to ward off any advancing centaurs. Hopefully, they would instead focus on Gates.
Harry made sure he snapped ever branch on the path, and coughed and sneezed loudly from time to time. As he did not want to make his intentions so obvious that Gates would notice them, he worked subtly. Still, Harry heard no clapping of hooves that announced the centaur's approach.
Then, something out in the woods rustled, and Harry froze. A few more bushes and saplings shook and waved as though a strong gust had took them. Gates was jerking his wand wildly around, his eyes peering into the surrounding darkness. Voices drifted out from the shadows, hushed and hurried. The Hit Wizard murmured "Lumos" and the area lit up, revealing a group of centaurs around them. They stood statue-like on the other side of the bushes, none of them stepping onto the rugged trail.
"Centaurs," Gates breathed, his wand arms stiff and prepared. He takes a step closer to Harry.
"And still they enter our domain," rumbles the deep voice of Bane. "It has gone as I feared. First Hagrid, and now all the other mortals."
"This isn't yours," Harry argued. "Hagrid doesn't owe you anything."
A shudder of laughter ran through the centaurs, and again Bane spoke. "Do you know who guards the borders of that school? It is us. Foreigners have tried to pass through this forest many times…even now, one has succeeded. Hagrid's excursion three days ago stretched us far, and one passed through our net."
"Who are you working for, Bane?" Gates snapped.
The sudden surge of tension told Harry that this was a bad question. "We work for ourselves," Bane said in a deeply angered voice, "We keep out territory clean, not yours. You merely reap the benefits."
"Who passed through the net?" Harry asked quickly.
Bane eyed him critically. "We do not know. Whoever the foreigner was, their thoughts were malevolent. Now I order you both to leave this forest now and never return. This is the fourth time the younger one has come here. If it wasn't for what the heavens were telling us, you'd both be dead. Should you see Hagrid again, warn him never to come here. Our patience wears thin, and even centaurs can kill should the crime merit it." He stomped his hooves threateningly.
"Who are you to order us?" Gates demanded with an aristocratic air.
"The masters of the forest," a centaur called out. Others murmured in agreement.
"You are questioning our authority?" Bane demanded in a concrete voice.
Gates's tone might have been that of a prosecutor delivering his closing remarks. "Yes, I do believe I am." A cord twanged and an arrow embedded itself into a nearby tree. Harry felt himself chill as he realized with increasing dread that the encasing shield would not deflect physical projectiles.
"This forest is ours, Alexander Black Vladimir Gates," Bane responded so lowly that his voice echoed off of the trees. "Not yours. I will not tell you again. Leave this forest and never return."
"Let's get out of here," Harry urged to Gates, "Come on."
"We have nothing to fear from these mules," Gates snarled savagely, "What do they threaten me with? They're inbred beasts who live off of pretense."
Harry whipped out his wand as the surrounding centaurs reared up in fury. "Intolerable!" Bane roared in an uncharacteristically savage-like voice, "Take them both!"
"Contego!" Harry shouted, and a small, shimmering globe surrounded him, which emitted an unbearable whine that only centaurs could detect. He ducked and ran down the trail, barely able to see the path in front of him in the rapidly dimming light.
Nearby, one collapsed to the ground, writhing, while Bane screeched "Hunt them!" A loud rumble of hooves told Harry that his orders were being obeyed, and that the charm, while effective at close range, was little more than an irritation at a distance. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see the centaurs fall onto the path like a torrent of water, and Gates standing at the neck of the trail like a dam.
"Run Potter!" Gates shouted above the fray of centaurs and dust. He held his wand like a sword, ready to slash the first thing that approached. The line of centaurs did not slow; they were going to trample him. "Reducto!"
The spell smashed into the base of a tree, sending it toppling down across the path, temporarily cutting the centaurs off from any further advancement. Gates whirled and took off at a sprint, quickly closing in on Harry, who had briefly paused to watch the Hit Wizard's actions.
"Keep going you fool!" Gates bellowed, and Harry immediately complied. Bane and the others backed away and then leapt over the fallen tree, determined on catching their targets.
The centaurs landed in a cloud of dust and three quickly placed arrows in their bows. Simultaneously, they pulled back and released, sending the missiles flying down onto the escaping wizards. Gates spun around and flicked his wand, and the arrows halted obediently in midair. Whirling his wand once more, they jerked around and shot back at the charging centaurs. Two caught a centaur in the leg, while the third plunged into Bane's flank.
Gates grinned and brought his wand again. "Infligo!" he shouted, and the cone fired out from his wand, sending centaurs flying as it smashed into them, knocking them away like rag dolls. The few that managed to leap out of the way in time returned to the chase, charging Gates with increased ferocity. Bane drew his crossbow and took aim.
Harry halted suddenly at the fork, forgetting which direction to take. His brain was disoriented, and the enveloping blackness made everything more confusing and similar. He concentrated, trying to remember the path they took. After all, he had only visited Grawp once before.
You're an idiot, Harry roared at himself, You always have to think you know better!
He turned and saw Gates wielding a silver spear in his left hand, wand in his right, looking ready to fight to the death. A maniacal glint was in his eyes, and Harry was sure that it could only be madness.
Gate slashed his wand and purple light shot out of it, crossing Bane's waist and making the centaur's aim to go awry. The crossbow bolt fell from the shaft and Bane growled. The curse had made a deep gash along the side of his hip, and it now bled freely. He readied himself to meet Gates's spear.
Rather than impaling himself upon the spear, Bane kicked his front hooves and tried to knock Gates's weapon away to allow himself to more easily attack the main body. Gates crouched, and, as Bane's hooves came upward, he swung his spear around and brought the shaft smashing sideways into the centaur's side, cutting deeply into the flesh. Bane groaned and staggered. The trailing centaurs watched curiously from afar, as though witnessing a religious rite.
Harry turned and advanced upon the two struggling adversaries; the wizard against the centaur, both locked in what apparently was a mortal duel. Bane's wound was grievous, and he kept his left arm pressed strongly against the opening, trying to stop the flow of blood as he circled Gates in a ritualistic fashion. Harry stared, trapped in what he was seeing.
Gates's spear transfigured into a mallet, and the Hit Wizard sneered. "Come, Bane, let me take you closer to the heavens." He swung out with his weapon and missed.
"Your soul is misguided, Alexander," Bane replied, his voice a void. He stumbled once but recovered. He now carried a long, carved wooden cudgel, and he held it limply at his side. "You will never enter these woods again."
Gates snarled and lashed out once more, this time bringing the metal mallet down upon Bane's back. Again, Bane staggered away, his breathing heavy, his fur wet and matted. The loss of blood rendered him weak and slow, his back now arched over like an old croon.
"Tired?" Gates said, grinning, "Come now, there's more to you than that."
Bane summoned his remaining strength and brought his cudgel up above his head. Exhaling, he swung in down, aiming for Gates's skull. The Hit Wizard parried neatly and countered it with another blow to Bane's flank. This time, however, the centaur gasped and fell, his legs sprawling out from under him. The cudgel laid where it had fallen, and the surrounding centaurs in Bane's clan watched breathlessly.
Gates circled Bane's form, his mallet tossed aside like a trinket. "Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused. Gates's eyes locked onto the centaur's open wound and Harry swore that the Hit Wizard cringed.
Bane looked up and wore an expression that appeared to be the centaur's version of a sneer. "You wish to end my life and take me into the beyond?" He laughed. Harry had never heard a centaur laugh before, and it sounded something like you would hear in the wind during a storm. It seemed like the collective ages and years were all contained in the laughter, as though Bane was trying to spill his life into the air. It had an oddly disturbing effect that had little to do with mirth. The laughter fell and a look of silent foreboding replaced it.
Gates's tone was ice. "There are things worse than death, Bane," he said with a deathly seriousness. "What cause do I have to free you?"
Bane's face might have been carved into stone.
"You will no longer confront old Rubeus…ever,' Gates continued, "You will let him use this trail if he wishes, and you will never bother anyone who ventured on this path. Agree."
"On the trail, no further," Bane said, his voice and expression blank of all emotion.
"Then leave."
Harry saw the exchange and understood immediately. This was no benign act on Gates's part, this was the Hit Wizard insulting and humiliating the fallen centaur on his own turf. What greater insult was there for a centaur than to have others walk freely in his domain?
Gates whirled and strode away wordless, a look of pleasure written across his hawkish features. "To the castle," he muttered as he passed Harry. His wand was no longer in his hand, and had been replaced in the folds of his cloak. Taking one last glance at Bane, who was now surrounded by murmuring centaurs, Harry followed.
When they returned to Hagrid's hut, Harry found Hermione waiting for him, her face very pale. He walked up to her tentatively, her expression reflecting something like anxiety. When she saw Harry approach, she ran up to him, her hair flying out behind her.
"Hermione is something-" Harry's words were cut off as she almost tackled him in a hug that rivaled Molly Weasley's. He had been receiving a lot of those lately.
"Harry tell me you're all right. The spell didn't fail did it? What happened in there? I heard noises echoing out of the woods…"
Hermione rambled on for a minute and Harry just held her, reorganizing his thoughts. The sun had now fully sunk into the horizon, yet a few, blood-red rays still stretched across the sky. "I'm fine, Hermione, I'm fine," he said calmly, feeling a profound change in himself as he stood there. The connection was stronger than ever, and he did not want to let go.
"Poor Hagrid," Hermione murmured into his chest.
"Hagrid is fine," Harry said quickly. "The centaurs won't be bothering him anymore. Bane swore that-" He stopped when she saw her face. "What's wrong?"
"Rita Skeeter," Hermione said in a voice just above a whisper. She released him from her embrace.
That name rocked him to the core. How could he have forgotten about that woman? What she must have seen…If the ministry knew about a giant being in Hagrid's care, the results would be disastrous.
YOU'RE A FOOL POTTER, pseudo-Snape roared in his head. SHE WARNED YOU, JUST LIKE LAST TIME. HAVE YOU TAKEN LEAVE OF YOUR SENSES?
"What have I done," Harry said to himself, shock and self-hatred and fury rising up in him.
"Don't blame yourself," Hermione said, "It was bound to happen eventually. Hagrid knew he couldn't keep Grawp secret forever. It's that Skeeter woman; she's going to make it terrible for him. I hate her."
Harry stared at Hagrid's hut, not quite believing his stupidity. It had to be just a bad dream. "I should've listened…" Hermione did not respond.
"Don't do this again," Hermione said at length, "Not again."
Harry, not quite sure of how to interpret that, said, "Never again."
"I hate to interrupt," droned Gates. Harry wished more than ever that the Hit Wizard did not exist. "But it is time to go."
"Shut up," Harry said so softly that the words did not fully register in Gates's mind. Harry was hardly aware that he spoke at all. The Hit Wizard's expression was unreadable in the darkness.
"We have to tell Hagrid," said Hermione.
"And Dumbledore," Harry added. "Dumbledore will know what to do. I'll go see Dumbledore this evening; but first I want to give you something."
Hermione looked up to him, puzzlement on her face. "What?"
"Let me show you," Harry said, and then took her hand and led her up to the common room. Sirius's mirror once again resurfaced in his mind, and now he knew for sure who must have the opposite end. Hermione was invaluable, and he needed her to be within reach constantly. He did not want a repeat of his stupidity. He had ignored her twice so far, and the consequences had been terrible. Sirius lost his life, and Hagrid may very well lose his freedom.
Merlin, what have I done?
They reached the staircase to the boy's dormitories. Hesitating briefly, Hermione followed him.
Harry threw open his trunk and began digging through the contents, tossing old clothes, books, and parchment behind him as he tried to reach the very bottom. When he came upon a wrapped, oval-shaped object, he brought it up and tore off the paper. A moment later he held an ancient mirror; the old runes carved into the ash border newly-polished.
For a moment Harry just stared at it, lost in thought. Once again, Lupin's words came to mind and he knew immediately that he was making the correct decision. He possessed and innate understanding that Hermione was the only person who could have this counterpart. Harry needed sensibility, wisdom, and strength; and who better to provide it than Hermione? She was there…always. Ceremoniously, he offered it to her, and she wordlessly accepted it.
"It's a mirror," Harry said, stating the obvious. He wanted to speak to relieve the tension. "I need you to have it."
Hermione looked up at him, a slightly hurt expression on her face.
Harry looked back at her, perplexed, until he suddenly understood his mistake. "No, it's not that kind of mirror. I'm not saying you're ugly and you need a mirror - you're really pretty, I mean-"His face started to burn.
Pseudo-Snape's dry and irresistible voice crept up into his head. You always had a way with words, Potter. I have never known another human being to possess such eloquence.
Hermione began blushing furiously. "No, it's all right, I was-"
"It's Sirius's mirror, it's enchanted," Harry blurted out. "He gave me one half of the mirror last year so we could talk to one another. After he…died…Remus gave me his half to do give to someone else. I want you to have it, Hermione."
Hermione's eyes went down to the mirror in her hands, a change in them. "Harry I- I don't know what to say. I really don't. This was Sirius's?" she repeated, as though she could not believe it. The connection Harry felt in his chest became stronger than ever.
Harry nodded. "I can't be stupid anymore. Everything I do just turns out…" He gestured helplessly into the air.
"That's not true," Hermione said. "The Defense Association has turned out great, Harry. Don't devalue yourself like that."
"The D.A. was your idea, Hermione," Harry replied, "Not mine. And that's why I want you to have the other half. I will keep my end of the mirror on me all the time, and whenever I start something reckless, pester me until I listen. I'm serious." he added, seeing Hermione's slightly amused expression.
"Harry you act as though the world is going to fail if you make a mistake, that's all," Hermione said.
Maybe the world will, Harry thought. "No one else tells me like you do; and I trust you implicitly; even if I haven't realized it until now."
Hermione's expression became serious. "I can't believe you gave this to me," she said, and her voice trembled ever-so-slightly. "I thought you'd give something like this to Ron."
"You aren't Ron," Harry said simply. He did not mean to insult Ron, but he did not possess the necessary demeanor and responsibility that the mirror required. Plus, Ron was not Hermione.
"Thank you Harry," Hermione said quietly, once again gazing into the mirror.
"If you ever need to speak with me, just look into the mirror and say my name and I will be there."
Hermione nodded. "I'll always keep it with me."
Harry did not know how to respond to that so he said nothing. At length, he said, "Thank you."
(A/N: There's chapter 14; hope no one was too disappointed with the Centaur scene. It could've been loads longer, but frankly there was no need to make an epic battle scene, so I cut it short. But I think I'm done with idiot!Harry, so we can all breath again.
Here's a quick question that I feel I MUST address: Why did Gates let Bane live? Well, Harry claims Gates's own enjoyment of seeing other humiliated is the reason, while Gates himself claims to be doing it for Hagrid. While both of these reasons are true, to an extent, neither are the PRIMARY reason. Trust me, there's a much better reason for why Gates wouldn't kill Bane. You may even pick it up during the brief battle. It will be revealed in like chapter 24.
Chapter 15: A chapter that I've especially enjoyed. Very light, humorous, and not a trace of bizarreness in it. All I'm going to say is that Ron pulls a prank and Snape hands out detentions during Potions. Very light chapter before we dive once more into the main plot.
Quote from chp. 15:
Snape slowly brought up his clipboard and scrawled something that looked suspiciously familiar. His face was scrunched up, as though it physically pained him to do this.
"That's a zero," Harry said, positively furious.
"No, Potter," Snape said as though his throat burned. "It's an 'O', not a zero." Without another word, he strode away.)