The next day, Luna came up to Gates and told him that her father had nearly finished his article, and that it would be in print within the week. While she refused to disclose its details, she implied that it would involve a full background investigation into the Gates family affairs, and, in a much subtler manner, she said that it would call into question their self-proclaimed title of pureblood. Needless to say, Gates was choleric with rage.
"You won't get away with this one, child," he threatened, towering over a very unintimidated Luna Lovegood.
She gazed serenely up at him, a faint smile on her lips. "Why not?" she asked.
Gates glared down at her, his jaw working as if trying to grind out a response.
"I am doing you a favor, you know," Luna said quietly. "I lost my mother, too. I can see Thestrals."
Of all the statements Luna could have made, that one was the strangest, and for a moment, Gates was speechless. Then, his face contorted and his eyes turned to slits, anger cresting. "What do you think you understand child?" he snapped. "Don't think I can simply turn away."
Luna fixed her protuberant eyes on him. "I've seen your Boggart's face. You're madder than a Pordian Horse under the full moon," she said, and walked away, leaving Gates looking oddly stiff behind her.
Ron stared at her retreating back, muttering, "Nutters, that one."
Since Dumbledore's meeting with him, Snape had become resigned in Harry's presence, and never spoke unless necessary. Gone were the various taunts and insults that he muttered as he pretended to check Harry's progress during Potions, and he no longer even bothered to vanish his cauldron contents. In fact, Snape avoided Harry's corner of the room completely during class, and essentially pretended that he was not there.
While Ron had deemed this to be a step up in things, Harry could not help but be unnerved by it. He had not caught the entire exchange between Snape and Dumbledore, and he wondered what exactly the headmaster had said afterwards that had left the Potions master fangless. Granted, Snape still berated the other students ruthlessly, and, in some cases, more so, as if trying to make up for Harry's immunity by making his punishments more excessive.
One time, Harry had accidentally broken his flask on the stone floor, and he instinctively swept it under his desk with his foot to hide the debris from Snape view so that the Potions master would not take off twenty points from Gryffindor. However, Snape walked up, looked down at the bits of glass, and then quietly ordered Harry to dispose of it immediately.
The Slytherins, who expected Snape to give at least a detention, stared at him dumbfounded, until Malfoy spoke up. "Potter tried to cover it up, sir. I saw him." The other Slytherins murmured in agreement.
Snape turned, gazed at Draco curiously, and then blinked. "Well, I am sure he is more than willing to cover the expenses of damaging my stone floor and destroying the equipment," He turned pointedly at Harry. "are you not?" His tone suggested there was no room for negotiation.
Harry nodded dumbly, not quite sure of what to make of this exchange. Malfoy just gaped at him.
At the end of class, Harry came up to Snape's desk to turn in his vial of Cleansing Potion, and, fleetingly, his eyes met Snape's. The Potions master's mouth twitched and he jerked away, immediately beginning to sort through parchment on his desk. Awkwardly, Harry left, more perplexed than ever at Snape's behavior.
"I don't understand what he's doing," Harry said to Hermione once they were back at the common room. "First he's slipping Veritaserum into my drink, then he's giving me better treatment than the Slytherins. Even the Slytherins get detention for breaking classroom equipment."
"Maybe he's trying to bury the hatchet," Hermione said thoughtfully. "I don't know, but it sounds like this is Snape's way of being nice. I'm sure Dumbledore told him to make it up to you somehow, and now that's exactly what he's doing. Wasn't he supposed to apologize?" she added as an afterthought.
"Yeah," Harry replied. "he was, but Snape hasn't said more than a sentence to me ever since he threw me out of his office that day."
"And has, erm," she hesitated, as though unsure of how to proceed. "the Snape in your head said anything?"
Now that Harry thought about it, Pseudo-Snape had become rather quiet over the past few days. He only rarely spoke, and when he did, it was barely audible. Not that he was complaining, of course.
"No, nothing at all," Harry said. "Did you find new anything on the voice, though?"
"Well," Hermione said, raising her eyebrow. "I've found a few references to something called the Occlumensia Anomaly, which sounds a lot like what you're experiencing."
"The Occlumensia Anomaly?" Harry echoed. "What is it?"
"Sometimes, when a Legilimentist probes your mind, he leaves behind an imprint of himself. Sort of like a trace of himself," she said. "Most of the time this imprint is ignored and fades away by itself. Other times, however, it entrenches itself into the host mind, affecting it with a variety of symptoms. I think Snape left a bit of his own personality in your brain after all the times he entered, and it's manifesting itself in a voice."
"So you're saying that Snape is literally in my head?" Harry asked, a little fearful of the answer.
"Not exactly," continued Hermione. "As the imprint affects the host mind, the host mind affects the imprint. The resulting manifestation, or voice, in your case, is tempered by your own personality."
"In other words," Harry said slowly. "The voice is like a medium between my own personality and Snape's."
"Essentially, yes."
"If it's only a personality then how can it tell me how to mix Potions?" asked Harry.
Hermione tilted her head slightly, as though in a new train of thought. "I suppose because the imprint also contains some of Snape's knowledge, and it's carrying over into the voice."
Suddenly, everything made sense. He had not been hearing the voice lately because he had not had Occlumency lessons with Snape for quite a few days, and the imprint gradually faded away.
"The textbook that I read from only had two pages on the Occlumensia Anomaly because it's a reference book on mind maladies in general, and did not contain much specific information," Hermione continued. "So if we want to know the answers to the most important questions, such as how to get rid of it, you will have to ask someone who specialized in that area."
"Snape," Harry answered.
Hermione nodded her head.
The next time Harry had the chance to speak with Snape was during Potions that day, and, as fate would have it, Snape avoided him even more, preventing Harry from approaching him. Harry barely paid attention to his cauldron as he brewed an unusually tricky type of Cleansing Potion, and instead carefully observed Snape's movements, watching him slowly make his way around the room and then veer off suddenly when he came near Harry's desk. It was beginning to get slightly annoying.
At the end of the period Harry hastily slipped some potion into a vial, not really caring about delicacy, and strode up the front desk and set it down. He was planning to stay behind after everyone left, but Snape surprised him by calling him back to the rear of the classroom. The Potions master was rearranging some flasks and ingredient jars, determinedly not looking at him.
"Potter," Snape said coldly. "I have spoken with the headmaster, and your Occlumency sessions and detentions will restart this coming Thursday."
Old anger flared up. For some reason, he began to feel intolerant of Snape's begrudged attitude. Hermione was wrong. The old devil probably hated Harry more now because he was proven wrong. "Sir-"
"And one last thing," Snape said, ignoring him. He carefully set down the flask in his hand and turned to face Harry, his eyes glittering. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then paused, his lips and jaw twisting as though he was unsure of how to proceed. Finally snapping his mouth shut and opening it again, he said stiffly, "I apolog-"
"Save it," Harry interrupted heatedly. Snape recoiled as if struck. "You can go ahead and tell Dumbledore you apologized, but I don't want to hear it." At that, he whirled around and marched out of the room before Snape could recover and deduct a hundred points from Gryffindor.
As Harry left the room, he decided he would tell Snape about the voice in his head during Thursday's Occlumency lesson, when they would both hopefully be in a better mood.
The next morning, all thoughts of Snape's new demeanor were pushed out of his mind by Luna saying that The Quibbler would be delivering its issue on the Gates family this morning, and that she had ordered them all complementary copies. Eagerly, Harry watched as the owls dropped off their packages, and soon, they all held a freshly printed edition of The Quibbler. Apparently, even Gates received a free one, as he was already scanning it with his eyes, his pupils becoming darker as he did so. Harry recognized that look. It was rage.
Ron tore open his newspaper and Harry followed suit, wondering what Luna's father had written that would make the Hit Wizard so furious. When he saw the headline, though, the answer presented itself.
The Gates Family Line: How Pure Is It?
The Gates family has been widely considered one of the most ancient and pure lines in the world, and their lineage has been regarded as indisputable in many aristocratic circles. One of the last remaining wizards who carry the surname, and indeed one of the most renowned members of the entire Gates line, Alexander Vladimir Black Gates, claims that he possesses a family tree that accurately traces his family all the way back to the time of the Romans. However, such a tree has never been revealed, and, indeed, there is no proof that such a one exists. So is the Gates family line really as pure as we are led to believe?
While ministry officials have been tight-lipped concerning the Gates family records, The Quibbler has found several branches of the Gates line on different continents, and has even found astonishing inconsistencies in the little information produced by the family's public account.
Intense investigation has revealed that the Gates family line has produced an unusually high number of squibs over the generations, which cannot be explained away. Wide-spread beliefs dictate that squibs are more common in families that have muggles laced throughout their line. Indeed, several pure-blood families have already been disgraced for having muggle ancestors; which was done to avoid the excessive inbreeding that has run rampant in the families.
However, the official spokesperson for the family Gates said that we have no proof. Or do we?
A muggle programmer in America under the name of 'William Gates' is the owner of a successful business that is affiliated with something muggles call 'computers'. Why would a muggle share the Gates family name? Has the Gates family fortune influenced the muggle's success? What other lesser-known descendants are scattered about the globe, unknown but well-paid. Only time will tell, but The Quibbler is dedicated to uncovering the mysterious irregularities within the family Gates and will report its progress in the future.
See also 'Gates Manor Available For Auction' on page A4.
Harry looked up and saw that Gates was in a silent rage, his face contorted in a bizarre expression as though someone had thrust a knife into his gut and was slowly turning it. Luna smiled serenely from the Ravenclaw table, and she carefully placed a teaspoon of sugar into her pumpkin juice and stirred it. Fuming, Gates' eyes bored into her, as though contemplating whether violence would be an appropriate reaction for such an insult.
Just then, the great hall doors burst open and a man in sharply cut black robes bearing the ministry crest marched in, his bulk somewhat obvious against the fine robes, striding directly towards the staff table, wearing an unreadable expression. His face, coarse and unshaven, contrasted strongly with his attire, which was the epitome of neatness. He was heavy, his arms thick, his neck like a trunk, though not tall. Possibly his body weight could be attributed to muscularity, but the round face contradicted it. Short and plump, one would almost think that he was a jovial fellow, were it not for his eyes, which darted erratically around the room, the pupils piercing and hard, taking but not giving. Snake's eyes. Still exuding a strict and formal aura that rivaled Professor McGonagall's, he bowed to the staff table and stepped up the elevated platform with surprising speed for such a heavy man. Again, Harry could not help but notice the sheer precision in all of his movements, the deliberateness. His robes, which had a strange luster on them, barely swayed as he walked, almost as if they were cut personally for their owner. Everything about him was crisp.
Dumbledore stood and greeted the man, the rest of the professors following suit, and gestured to an open chair to his right. The newcomer bowed again, not as deeply this time, though, and sat down, his expression one of regality.
A few scattered murmurs arose throughout the hall, all of them concerning the identity of this stranger. The students at the Slytherin end, however, were rather quiet, and Harry saw a smirk on Malfoy's lips that nearly always were a prelude to something terrible. Harry stared up at the man, trying to judge his character, wondering if Rita Skeeter had managed to rouse the ministry with a combination of gold and public pressure.
The man whispered something to Dumbledore, who once again stood up and clasped his hands, waiting for the great hall to fall silent. When it did, he began. "My dear students," the headmaster said. "I welcome a guest from the ministry, who will be with us for the next several weeks."
To the groans of small cluster of Hufflepuffs, Dumbledore said: "Do not worry, he is no Dolores Umbridge." An expression of fleeting amusement crossed the ministry official's face, but vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"His name is Mr. Robert Alverton, and he is a high ranking ministry Auror. Mr. Alverton may approach you individually over the course of these weeks and ask you some questions," Dumbledore continued. "You may answer them if you wish. They will be concerning your experience here at Hogwarts, and your responses, however colorful some of them may be, will not be held against you." He smiled, and then returned to his seat, the twinkle in his eye still quite alive. He leaned over and engaged Mr. Alverton in conversation. As they spoke, though, Alverton's eyes flickered over to the place where Percy and Whams sat, as though in confusion.
Harry turned back to where Gates stood and saw that his issue of the Quibbler was blackening into ash before his very eyes, without flame. It looked horribly similar to an old horror film he saw when he was with the Dursley's, where a witch cursed a boy into dust with a single word. Of course, such an action on a living thing was impossible, even in the wizarding world, though it being performed on an inanimate object was still unsettling. Something smoldered in Gates' eyes.
"So what do you think he's about?" Ron whispered, gesturing to Mr. Alverton.
"He's here to find out more about Hagrid, of course," said Hermione instantly, reaching over and picking up a piece of bread. "And he's most likely going to grill us for information to see if there really is a giant in the Forbidden Forest. For clues. Regardless, it's a good way for Fudge to displace some of the pressure he's been taking on."
"Isn't that trial over yet?" Harry sighed.
"Not with the delay tactics Fudge has been using," Hermione continued. "He's really doing a great job of dragging it out, and I don't think he knows how much damage he's doing to the ministry - to everyone. While he ties up the courts and offices, the ministry is virtually powerless until it resolves the issue. Powerless to face Voldemort and the Death Eaters, that is, not to harass individuals."
"That's stupid," Ron said.
"That's ancient wizarding law for you," said Hermione airily.
***
When Harry and Hermione descended into the dungeons for Potions class, they completely forgot about Mr. Alverton and concentrated instead on recalling the instructions they must use to brew The Scourge, a common type of poison that is cheap yet difficult to produce. Snape had promised them that he would not be giving them directions this time, and their success would be dependent on their notes and chapter he had assigned for homework.
While Snape gave his usual threatening, deadly speech at the beginning of class, Harry subtly slipped the Quibbler article out of his robes and began rereading it, enjoying it immensely. Gates was probably going to have a hernia as the news filtered around the school and eventually to letters back to parents. That Hit Wizard had been wearing a sour expression on his face all morning, his own copy of the issue now little more than flaky ash.
Harry barely heard Snape continue the lecture. "While some of you may consider knowledge of poisons beneath you, I assure you that such experience will be vital no matter what field you go into. If you wish to become an Auror, you must learn to recognize it. If you wish to become a Healer, you must learn its antidote. If you wish to become a complete failure, you will ignore me and continue reading whatever irrelevant dribble that is printed in The Quibbler-"
Harry's eyes instantly shot up and he instinctively thrust the paper into the folds of his robes, but Snape was far too fast. The Potions master's wand was already drawn, as though he had prepared for such an opportunity to present itself.
"Accio parchment," Snape drawled, and the paper obediently flew out of Harry's robes before he could snatch it up again. Snape caught it with his free hand.
"What is the boy wonder up to now?" Snape said softly, causing the Slytherins to chuckle maliciously. "Have you been giving more interviews out, Potter? I daresay you like seeing your name in print. Perhaps you were planning on adding this to your scrapbook? Pity, you won't be having it back."
Almost indifferently, Snape scanned the headline, and a long, dreadful sneer came across his face. "Now what is this, Alex? The Gates family purity is being brought into question? Can't even hold onto your own manor, either? Dear me."
Gates stiffened in his corner, though remained silent.
"Yes, it appears that the purity of your blood is, indeed, in question, much like Potter's competence," Snape continued softly, yet his voice sounded much louder against the stone walls. He seemed to savor the fact that he had insulted both Gates and Harry in one blow. "Five points from Gryffindor, Potter, for not bringing in enough copies for everyone…"
Snape whirled his wand and the issue automatically multiplied until there was a small stack of newspaper sitting on the desk. Smirking, he resumed his lecture. "Now, if anyone wishes to read this unusually thought provoking article, by all means, take one on your way out…now, back to The Scourge…"
Harry let out a held breath, surprised that he had gotten off so easily, and, not wanting to test his luck that Snape was in a relatively good mood, brought out a piece of parchment and began studiously copying notes, transferring every last one of Snape's words onto paper.
Distantly, Harry thought he heard a faint murmuring in the classroom, as though someone was muttering under their breath or talking into the wind. Under the pretense of stretching his fingers, Harry glanced around, searching for the origin. Rather apprehensively, he saw Gates' lips barely moving, his face dimly visible in the shadows of the classroom, speaking in an incantation. Suddenly, his hands jerked downwards and the incanting abruptly halted, and the Hit Wizard expectantly turned his black eyes onto the Potions master, waiting.
For a moment, nothing happened. Snape went on discussing the various dangers and injuries that could result from mishandling The Scourge, and the hours of agony that they could look forward to should they foul it up. As soon as Harry thought Gates' spell was annulled, however, Snape's eyes widened in surprise and he instantly began trying to rip off his robes, plumes of smoke now beginning to billow out of them. It was like he was being burned by an invisible fire.
The robes now on the ground, Snape now stood in black silk pants and a matching silk undershirt. On his forearm, however, was a thick, tattered pad, that covered up most of the skin. Undoubtedly, it also hid the Dark Mark.
Once again thrusting his hands out, Gates muttered an incantation, his face becoming furrowed with concentration. This time, the smoke curled up from the pad on Snape's arm, and the sound of something like sizzling skin served as a background to the prominent silence in the room, interrupted only by Snape's sporadic grunts.
The Potions master struggled with the pad for a while, hesitating, and then wrenched it off, gritting his teeth in pain. During this time, he did not let out a shriek or any other noise that would betray the agony that he most certainly felt. The skin on his face was taut, his lips pulled back, but he bore it noiselessly, and Harry could tell this angered the Hit Wizard.
The pad fell to the floor, and Snape straightened, trying to cover up the black splotch on his arm, but it was already obvious to all that it was, indeed, the Dark Mark. The students exchanged horrified glances, the suspicions Gates had planted earlier in the year now proven beyond any doubt. The Mark was the only thing they noticed, somehow ignoring the fact that Snape stood half-naked before them. Malfoy looked utterly unsurprised.
No one laughed. Not a single person. Not even Gates. The Hit Wizard seemed to regard this as a delicious moment, something to be remembered and then savored in private.
Slowly and silently, Snape struck his clothes with his wand and the smoke abruptly stopped, the impression of heat ceasing to present itself. His face turned into a death glare, and he jerked his wand so quickly that it was little more than a flash of light.
A curse shot across the room, hurtling towards Gates at alarming speed. The Hit Wizard neatly brought his wand backwards in a wiping motion and shattered the curse, sending the fragmented shards to the floor.
"Everbero!" Snape spat, and another curse shot towards Gates. The Hit Wizard neatly dodged it and raised his wand in retaliation.
"Infligo!" incanted Gates, and a concentrated cone of light flew across the room at Snape. The Potions master conjured an opaque shield, and, leaning into it, managed to remain standing.
Gates looked up at Snape, smirking. "You don't learn, do you Severus? Do you want another duel?"
Snape snarled, gritting his teeth in indecision, hand still clutching his wand as if it was a dagger. His head jerked away from Gates, looking down at the students before him.
Wrapping the robes around him in a sweeping fashion, like a bat with its wings, Snape glared down at the class, his gaze momentarily resting on each and every individual in the room. When he was finished delivering his wordless threats, Snape waved his hand in dismissal, and the class practically fled out of the room.
"Not a word," Snape warned dangerously to the students' retreating backs. "None of you."
Harry caught one last glance of Snape before he left, the Potions master's back leaning heavily against his desk, hands gripping the edge.
Somehow, the air felt cooler than it was earlier.
***
Harry went down the worn stone corridor and up the crumbling steps out of the dungeons, coming into the main marble foyer, at Hermione's side. Knowing that Defense Against the Dark Arts was next, they climbed another floor and proceeded to the classroom, thinking absently of all the former professors that he had over the years. Quirrel…Lockhart…Lupin…Pseudo-Moody…Umbridge…and now Whams.
Strange how few of them were normal…but then again, how can you acquire extensive experience with the Dark Arts and remain normal?
Up ahead, Harry saw Mr. Alverton speaking with a couple of students, jotting down notes on a clipboard, the picture of professionalism. Sometimes, he nodded, occasionally asking an offhand question or two. Formal.
"Mr. Potter," Alverton said when Harry passed him. It was almost like he planned it to happen. "May I have a word? Only a few questions, I assure you, and I will provide a pass if I hold you for too long."
Harry was about to decline, but he noticed Mr. Alverton's eyes flicker briefly at Gates before shifting back, and this, if nothing else, piqued his curiosity. Harry wondered if Mr. Alverton knew Gates during the Hit Wizard's time in the ministry. The chance to receive new information tempted him.
"I don't mind, no," Harry answered hesitantly. "As long as I get to my Defense Against the Dark Arts class on time."
"Thank you," Mr. Alverton said, though it did not sound like he meant it. "Tell me, what do you think of Rubeus Hagrid as a teacher?"
This was a difficult question, and Harry felt Alverton's eyes probing his. "I like him. He wouldn't put any of us in danger."
Mr. Alverton frowned, creating several wrinkles in his smooth forehead. "It says here that he attacked Madam Umbridge during his term at the school, along with several of her colleagues. She may have been a distasteful woman, but there is no excuse for him to react violently."
"When she came up to his hut she was already planning to remove him forcefully," Harry countered gently. "She hated Hagrid because he is a half-blood."
"I see…" said Mr. Alverton rather stiffly, making a note on his board. "Have you noticed him acting differently lately? Have you seen anything unusual around the school?" Harry had the distinct impression that the official disliked him.
"Nothing, sir," Harry answered.
Mr. Alverton scribbled down a few lines of script and then turned to Hermione. "And you, excuse me, what's your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Yes, well, have you anything you wish to add? Anything out of the ordinary that you may have witnessed?" he asked casually.
"No, sir."
"And Alex," said Mr. Alverton, his eyes flashing fleetingly in the Hit Wizard's direction. Harry swore he saw disgust in his expression. "What about you? You were once an Auror, what have you seen?"
Harry stared at Gates, knowing the myriad of secrets that he may reveal at a whim. Instead, he merely shook his head. "I have seen nothing that would concern the ministry, Robert," he said coldly.
Mr. Alverton arched an eyebrow, then shifted his weight onto his right foot in an indecisive gesture. Harry looked back and forth between the two men, sensing the tension there, their mutual gazes almost tangible in their intensity. What history did they share?
"Any more questions sir?" Harry asked, checking his watch. If they did not leave soon, they would be late to class. Ron was probably wondering where they were.
The ministry Auror's eyes snapped back onto Harry, and a faint touch of color touched his cheeks, as though he was embarrassed. "Excuse me, but only a few more. How long have you known Hagrid?"
"Six years."
"That's quite a long period. Could you tell me your background with him?"
The conversation was becoming a little too personal for Harry's liking, and he was beginning to want to break it off. "When I was eleven, he took me from my relatives and helped me prepare for my first year at Hogwarts. He took me to my Gringotts vault and through Diagon Alley."
"Gringotts, eh?" said Mr. Alverton offhandedly. "You must have quite a sum if you have a vault there. Only old families hold vaults in Gringotts. You might not even have to work when you graduate. Must be nice."
Harry regarded him stiffly. The official's tone was tempered with barely detectable bitterness. "I plan on becoming an Auror when I graduate, sir," Harry replied in a wary voice.
"An Auror?" Mr. Alverton said, his face lightening considerably. "An excellent profession to be in. What were your O.W.L. results, Mr. Potter?"
Harry answered him, watching the official's face closely for his reaction.
"It's been a while since we've had anyone new enter the Auror division," said Alverton, studying Harry appraisingly. "And you've the grades for such a career. And you, Miss Granger, what about you?"
"I don't think I want to be an Auror," Hermione said meekly.
Mr. Alverton looked slightly disappointed. "Well, I can't say it's too surprising. Interest in Aurorships decreased since You-Know-Who disappeared. Though," he turned back to Harry. "if your abilities match your grades in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, young man, you will definitely have a good chance of joining." Once again, his piercing eyes swept over him, leaving Harry feeling vulnerable.
Harry was taken aback by this change in attitudes. First, the official seemed resentful towards Harry, but now he appeared to rather like him. "Thanks, I'll give it a shot."
Assuming you live that long, said a nasty little voice in Harry's head that did not belong to Pseudo-Snape.
"If you're still interested after you graduate," Alverton continued with a wink. "Come and see me. I'm sure we could work something out. Merlin knows we need some new blood in the Auror division. Just not enough capable people with interest in law enforcement anymore…"
"What do you mean, 'capable people'?" Hermione asked curiously.
Mr. Alverton's clipboard fell to his side and his posture turned casual, and his hand gesticulated as he spoke, the professional façade dropping to reveal a surprisingly personable man. "For one thing, you need the talent. For another, you need courage and strength of heart. Lastly, and most importantly, you need to be obedient. We've gone through a few Aurors because of that requirement. But when you finally do join, very rarely does anyone willingly quit." His eyes flashed towards Gates and then rested back onto Harry.
Seeing this, Harry said, "Didn't Gates quit?"
Mr. Alverton's face darkened at the mention of the Hit Wizard, and Harry realized that he was treading on sensitive territory. "Alex did not quit," he said in a low voice, as if he was telling a secret. Hermione leaned closer to hear better. "We let him go. Fired him." Harry glanced towards Gates, and saw that the Hit Wizard was well outside earshot.
"But didn't Ron's dad say he quit?" Harry asked Hermione quizzically. She nodded.
"Who?" he asked quietly so Gates could not hear.
"Err, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied. "Mr. Weasley works for the ministry and said that Gates quit."
Mr. Alverton shook his head. "He works in a different department, so he wouldn't know. Alex was fired because he refused to follow a particular order…frankly it surprised me. He had never shown the slightest hesitation before the incident. Even so, ignoring a direct order from a higher officer is disgraceful, and rather than openly firing him and tainting the name of the entire Auror division, we simply told him to say he left on his own. That we he loses no honor, and we don't lose any honor either."
"What happened that made Gates disobey an order?" Harry asked incredulously.
Mr. Alverton sighed heavily. "That, young man, is the question that has been bothering me for years now," he said sincerely. His face became very drawn. "Alex is a man who would 'disappear', as he called it, dark wizards without so much as hesitating. He entered dark towers that we did not dare ask any other to enter. Alex is a cruel man, but efficient. Yet-" He paused, carefully contemplating his next words.
"One time, we responded to a Dark Mark floating over a muggle house. When we walked in…" A shudder coursed through Alverton's body, and Harry felt a strange sense of foreboding at the fact that something could possibly unnerve a high-ranked Auror. "The Death Eaters had themselves a bit of fun, it seemed," he continued uneasily. "They didn't use any Unforgivables. When they use a Killing Curse, the bodies are clean, with no trace of violence. This time, however, they did it in a slightly…old fashioned way. The bodies were dismembered. Blood on the walls…ceiling…floor. Everywhere. We needed Alex in there to handle a rather nasty rogue gargoyle the Death Eaters left there and he refused to enter. I warned, threatened…he remained adamant. If there is one intolerable action for an Auror, it's disobedience. I was forced, for the sake of upholding standard Auror tradition and law, to disregard his achievements and let him go. I had to set an example to the others."
"Did he give a reason?" Hermione asked.
"None. I asked him why and he did not even respond," Alverton said. "That is the true story, and I would appreciate if neither of you spread that around. But, since you are going to be an Auror anyway," he smiled and nudged Harry with his thick arm. "I suppose I can let you on in a few secrets."
"Thanks Mr. Alverton," said Harry. "We better go-"
"Oh, right, of course," Alverton said hastily. "Sorry for keeping you so long. Wouldn't want to keep you from your Defense Against the Dark Arts class - you need that to be an Auror, of course. A fundamental requirement, actually."
They left together, and Harry managed to see Gates suspiciously gaze at Mr. Alverton before passing. From his reactions to both Percy and Mr. Alverton, it appeared that Gates gave ministry officials a grudging, if not tenuous, respect.
Just making it before the bell rang, Harry and Hermione went directly to their seats. To Ron's puzzled glance, Harry said: "We were held up by Mr. Alverton."
Over the course of the year, the classroom had steadily become more and more decrepit and cluttered. Unwieldy stacks of parchment and ungraded essays lay in piles on the floor, desks, and around the overstuffed waste bin. Forgotten bits of half-eaten donuts, moldy sandwiches, and curdled milk lay in hidden niches around the room, where Professor Whams had set them and never returned. Stained poster projects lined the front and side walls, some of them several weeks old, others freshly added with a sticking charm. Of course, in nearly every drawer was a pair of old dusting spectacles, the lenses cracked, or simply lost. While the smell was not quite as bad as the dungeons, the slowly rotting food added a foul odor into the air.
As a rule, Whams' classes never begin on time, but this one proved to be an exception. Professor Whams was already standing in front of the class, a hairline crack in one of his lenses, with a brittle sheet of parchment in his hand. A black splotch around the knees of his silk robes betrayed an accident involving liberal amounts of ink, the area around his chest rumpled and worn. Overall, he looked like he had just crawled through a mixture of old school supplies. Percy, however, had aged at least ten years. There were dark rings under his eyes and he watched Whams warily, as if expecting disaster at any moment.
"Hello class," Whams said with his usual cheer, a wide smile on his face. "I decided it is time we moved on to mind afflictions, and, more specifically, different types of possession."
Harry cast a furtive glance at Ron's expression, and saw that it was completely unsurprised.
"Perseus, if you will," Whams continued, motioning Percy to hand out a rather large stack of yellowed parchment. He went around the room, handing out the sheets. "Perseus will be passing out a vague outline of the topics we're going to discuss today, so you may take more accurate notes. It is important to distinguish the finer points between the types of possession, as, contrary to popular belief, there are more kinds than simply the Imperious Curse."
Harry accepted the parchment from Percy and scanned the paper, his brow furrowed with confusion. The script was running and distorted, as if it was placed on a sloping surface while the ink was still wet. While Harry could make out an occasional 'the' or 'and', the rest of the writing was utterly undecipherable. Looking around him, he saw that everyone had received parchment in similar condition. He set it on the side of his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet, deciding that it would be useless to try to interpret the words.
"So, while you're reading over that," Professor Whams continued jovially, oblivious to the looks of bewilderment he was receiving. "I will start this lesson with a question. What is possession?"
As always, Hermione's hand shot up. "Possession is temporary control of another's body or mind."
Whams blinked, then smiled. "Five points to Gryffindor. Yes, that is mostly correct."
At the mention of the word 'mostly', Hermione looked up at him, perplexed.
"A more precise definition would be control of any of the multiple aspects of the brain; such as memory, emotion, personality, or kinesthetic control. But exact definitions vary, depending on which textbook you read from. The one I assigned uses the one you provided, Miss-" He hesitated, then decided to settle for 'Miss'. "To start, I will begin discussing Direct Possession. As you are all already familiar with the Imperious Curse, reviewing that aspect would be redundant."
"Direct Possession is a type of control used by leaders to control their subordinates, and, essentially, effects all areas of the brain," Whams continued. "While Direct Possession can happen at any time, it requires an enchantment to link the master and the underling together. An example of such an enchantment would be the Dark Mark." Whams paused, almost for effect.
"So that means You-Know-Who can control any one of his followers at any time?" someone asked a little tentatively.
"Mostly," said Whams. "Nothing is absolute, and the Dark Mark is not, either. Through careful use of Occlumency, one can actually resist the link, or even control it, depending on their proficiency. However, such an attempt is dangerous, and often very, very difficult. When they wear the Dark Mark, Death Eaters can feel their master's emotions, moods, or even his thoughts, depending on the individual wizard's power. Both master and underling are bound together, and, at least in the case of the Dark Mark, nothing can sever that link."
Harry immediately thought of Snape. Was the Potions master actually reversing the link and going into Voldemort's mind? It would explain Snape's 'report' in Dumbledore's office. Perhaps Snape was strong enough at Occlumency to stop Voldemort's influence.
"Isn't that sort of stupid, though?" Ron asked suddenly in a rare display of interest. "I mean, why would You-Know-Who risk some of his followers to read his thoughts?"
Whams nodded. "It carries great risk for the master, it is true, but the benefits for him are far greater. He can keep an eye on all of his followers all the time, and, if required, take full control of their bodies should the need arise."
"The next type is Full Possession," said Whams, the gray whiskers on his chin swaying back and forth as his gaze swept across the room. "Of all the types of possession, this is the rarest and most difficult. It can only be performed by true masters of Legilimency, the subject of which I will not get into today. Indeed, though You-Know-Who is a skilled Legilimentist, not even He can perform a Full Possession. Full Possession involves the complete transfer of personality, memory, and essentially the entire mind into a foreign brain, effectively hijacking the body. Many times, this is done by wizards who are trying to attain some bizarre form of immortality, but, most often, they fail in the attempt and their minds simply vanish into nothingness. As it is so rare, you will likely never encounter it, but you must know it for your N.E.W.T.'s."
Neville raised his hand, surprising everyone except Harry. "What happens to the old body, then, if a wizard transfers his entire mind to another brain?"
Whams smiled his usual vapid smile. "An excellent question. It is discarded, of course. The brain becomes empty and the physical body becomes nothing more than an empty shell. Any other inquiries?"
The class exchanged disturbed glances. The act of usurping another person's body was an unsettling subject, indeed.
"Thirdly, there is Shadow Possession," said Whams in a tone that one might use in discussing a movie or play. "Somehow, in some way, a system of memories or a personality is contained in a nonliving thing, and imprints itself on a living mind. This can be done in a multitude of ways, and, as this is associated with the Dark Arts, it is quite illegal to own any such vessel that might have a personality or memory magically sealed within it, except possibly under strict control of the ministry."
Harry remembered Riddle's diary. That must be what happened to Ginny. Shadow Possession. And Ron, the brain he was attacked by was not alive, was it?
"Of all the types of possession, this is the most harmless, if you can call it that," continued Whams. "As there is no real living source behind the memories or personality, Shadow Possession will gradually fade away on its own accord, given time. On the account that, of course, it is not interfered with." Professor Whams' eyes flickered towards Ron for a fleeting instant.
"How difficult is it to create something like that?" Harry asked. "I mean, how can you put memories into something that is inanimate?"
Whams' eyes rested on him for a long moment in an unusually serious expression. "Quite difficult. Extensive training is required to perform Dark Magic of that level."
Without further elaboration, Whams went on to the next type of possession. "Lastly, there is Spiritual Possession, which is indeed nearly nonexistent. So rare is it that many wizards question whether it is possible at all." He sighed, folded his spectacles, and placed them on his desk. His eyes looked strangely small without the magnifying lenses. "It involves a nonentity literally entering the brain and taking control of it. This type of possession is experienced even by muggles, who often call upon priests to exorcise the supposed demon that is inhabiting the body. Of course, this has little to no effect. This type of possession is completely theoretical and unproven, but I feel obliged to at least mention it."
"Wait, so you're saying there's ghosts?" Dean said suddenly.
A nearby cabinet door creaked open and a foul odor wafted out, making several people wrinkle their noses in disgust. Harry looked over and saw that Whams had apparently left an entire meal in there by mistake. Percy strode over and closed it shut, using his wand to conjure a Odor Charm to clear the air.
Whams, however, was oblivious to the proceedings. "I believe the term 'ghosts' is inaccurate. It implies that these entities were once alive themselves, which we are not sure of. Bodiless, conscious entities would be more specific."
Harry shifted in his chair. The notion that bodiless beings could inhabit people sounded a little too much like something Trelawney would say for him to remain comfortable.
They spend the remainder of the class scribbling down various notes on each of the possession types, and, at the end, they quickly filed out, glad to leave one of the most unnerving lessons they have ever had. Or, at least, that is how Harry felt. He had too much experience with the different types of possession to be comfortable with it. Really, he was astonished that Ron had managed to keep a calm face during the entire class, especially when Whams described in explicit detail the Shadow Possession.
After class, he walked Hermione to the library, who decided she needed to study for Arithmancy class, which, she assured him, was as fun for her as Quidditch was for him, though Harry could not help but heartily disagree. To him, Arithmancy was the decoding of a few lines of numbers, something, it seemed, he could never find interest in. However, that did not keep Hermione from consistently trying to show him how fascinating it was, sharing with him the codes and numbers she had finished with. Though he still could not enjoy Arithmancy to the extent Hermione did, it was still pleasurable to be close with her, sitting next to her at the table, breathing in the air she exhaled.
"Harry, are you even listening?" she asked lightly, smiling, breaking him out of a short reverie.
"Oh, erm," Harry stumbled for the appropriate answer. His mind had locked up. "Yeah, 'course' I am."
Hermione closed the book and looked up at him, still smiling gently. "Did you ask Professor Snape about the Occlumensia Anomaly?"
Harry felt his face heating up. "Well, no, but I'm planning to talk to him about it tomorrow during Occlumency. I tried to discuss it with him yesterday but he was too busy being a git for me to mention it. He tried to apologize." Harry added in a mutter.
"He was going to apologize?" Hermione asked, slightly surprised. "What did you say to him?"
"That's just the thing," continued Harry uneasily. "I pretty much shoved him off. He wouldn't have meant a word of it anyway, so I just told him to save it and tell Dumbledore that he apologized."
Hermione grimaced. "I can't imagine that went over too well."
"I wouldn't know. I left as soon as I said it."
Involuntarily, Harry's eyes strayed over to where the Hit Wizard was standing, his black eyes glittering in the library's bright light. Madam Pince, disgruntled at having such a clearly distasteful man near her valuable tomes, watched him carefully from behind her oak desk, occasionally taking breaks to stamp the inside covers of the returned books. Her eyes were trained on the diamond necklace as though it was something revolting.
Seeming to sense Harry's gaze, Gates livened and stiffly walked over to his desk, his boots clicking against the hardwood floor, very much unlike the usual sound of Madam Pince's polished shoes squeaking against the waxed floorboards. When at last he stood next to Harry's seat, he spoke.
"Tonight we will have a lesson, Potter," said Gates. "The usual place, the usual time, so be ready."
"A bit of a short notice, isn't it?" Harry asked, arching an eyebrow.
The only facial response Harry received was a very slight curling of Gates' upper lip. "I'm sure you can manage. After all, this takes priority over everything else, this favor, that is. Wizards would pay hundreds of galleons for a single hour of such training. Your godfather demanded very great favors."
"And what, exactly, did he do for you in the first place?"
Gates' head jerked in one abrupt motion. "That is none of your concern, child, and never will be. It was scarcely a favor. It should have been expected. One would like to think that friends-" He spat the word. "-such as he would not require favors in return. But all blood traitors are shrewd in that way, aren't they?" He whirled and left.
***
It was not until that same evening that Gates spoke again, and when he did, it was low and venomous. "Come, Potter. The Room of Requirement awaits us."
He quietly told Hermione and Ron where he was going and she, despite his resistance, promised to wait up for him until he returned. He would likely not be back to the common room until around midnight, but she refused to listen, and Ron, stirring from his seat by the fire, matched her claim and said he would stay up until Harry returned, as well. After shaking his head exasperatedly, he went with Gates through the portrait hole and down the corridor, thinking of how lucky he was to have Ron and Hermione by his side.
"Have you been having any dreams?" Gates asked irritably.
"No," Harry replied. Gates arched an eyebrow but did not pursue it.
"Tonight, Potter," Gates began when they reached the carven oak door that marked the entrance of the Room of Requirement. "you are going to actually duel. Knowing how the throw curses and hexes is all fine and good, but irrelevant when it comes to fighting. You will need your wits this time."
"Who am I going to duel?" Harry said as Gates reached for the door handle. He certainly was not going to duel the Hit Wizard.
Gates' grin could only be described as sinister. "An illusion. A manifestation that can duel you without causing any lasting effects."
"A manifestation?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.
"This Room should have contained within it a shadow of Bellatrix LeStrange," said Gates. "I trust that seeing her face will give you all the strength you need to duel to a greater magnitude. You hate her, do you not?" He looked down upon Harry with malicious eyes.
When he did not answer, Gates swung the door open to reveal a relatively barren room, some clutter in the corners, but Harry hardly noticed it. His eyes were instead focused on the lone figure standing in the middle, wand held lazily in her left hand, face contorted with madness from her long term in Azkaban. A condescending, half-sneer played on her face, and her sunken eyes mocked him. It was, of course, Bellatrix, Voldemort's protégé.
"What's the matter Harry?" she said with a growing smile. "Is the little baby still crying over his dead godfather?"
The wand in his hand grew warm and old, repressed anger threatened to manifest itself in the form of a curse. Not just anger. Sadness. Bellatrix saw this and let out a peal of horrible laughter. What sadistic pleasure did Gates extract from seeing Harry confront his old demons?
"Not yet Potter," Gates said from behind him, his voice very light. He was obviously pleased with Harry's reaction. Maybe it was comforting for him to know that other people could hate as much as he did. "She won't attack until I give the command. First, I want to give you some instruction, so you don't screw up and inflict needless pain on yourself before I can stop it. As this is merely a reflection of LeStrange, it will not give you the same challenge that the real one would. This weaker one is more your level. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"Good," continued Gates. "As you duel her, remember what happened in the Department of Mysteries. You personally saw your godfather die, correct? Picture that, and focus it into your wand. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded tersely, intent on doing the exact opposite of Gates' suggestions. He had remembered that scene far too many times during Occlumency with Snape. He did not want to have to relive it during these training sessions as well.
"Look at me, Potter."
Harry glared up at him, trying to see what was behind those glittering black eyes. Eyes like cold obsidian.
"Hate is what you need you overcome your enemies," Gates said in a low and dangerous voice. "I won't have you wasting my time with your idealistic nonsense. The Dark Arts isn't power. Hate is power," the Hit Wizard spoke of the emotion with such intensity that Harry's body instinctively stiffened. "The greatest men in the world know hate, and use it. The muggle Josef Mengele, Grindewald, even the muggle Hitler-"
"And look what happened to them," Harry snapped before he could stop himself.
Gates' head jerked backwards and his hand clutched his wand. "Excuse me, Potter?"
"They all got their's, didn't they?" continued Harry savagely. "Grindewald by Dumbledore, Mengele vanished off the Earth, Hitler committed suicide-"
"They were men of power, Potter," Gates snarled. "Not necessarily leaders, but they were strong. How many men have ever become powerful, muggle or otherwise, on the account of love and mercy?"
Harry remained silent for a moment. "Dumbledore-"
"Don't let the old man fool you," interrupted Gates, his face twisting with either a grimace or a grin, Harry could not tell. "He's killed his share of wizards. And you don't kill without having hate in you, Potter."
"Let me tell you something else," Gates continued, bearing down on Harry like a hawk. "Love and mercy is exactly what brought about the Dark Lord's second rising. Your own weak mercy allowed the rat Pettigrew to escape from your clutches and return to his master. Bartemius Crouch Sr. let the love of his wife hijack his rationale. He agreed with his wife, after much pleading, to extract Crouch Jr. from Azkaban, therefore freeing a known Death Eater. Eventually, that love brought about his own death, and nearly brought yours. Indeed, that same love has indirectly killed over a hundred witches and wizards so far. What is your view on love and mercy now, Potter?"
"Maybe you should be thankful," Harry countered with malice. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me that love made you a monster."
Gates advanced upon Harry, eyes blazing. "Did he now?" he said in a voice just above a whisper. "I hate to hear that old Albus takes part in gossip. Yes, Potter, you proved my point, love creates evil. I already know I'm dangerous. To you and all the arrogant pure bloods who fester in the same gene pool like so many fish."
"And yet you're afraid," continued Harry, undergoing a revelation. "You're terrified."
Gates' face was slowly turning into stone. "I fear nothing!" he spat
"Then who was your boggart?" Harry said in a voice that sounded quiet against Gates' roar. "You were so overcome that you forgot where you were."
"Shut your mouth Potter," said Gates viciously, and he turned to Pseudo-Bellatrix, who currently watching this exchange with amused eyes.
"Is that what Snape meant when he said you're terrible at Occlumency?" Harry pressed, ignoring the warnings in his head. "That you have so many fears and memories that you cannot possibly keep anyone from examining them at any time?"
Gates' teeth were bared and the diamonds on his necklace filled up with light. "LeStrange! Commence dueling!" he snarled.
Harry barely had any time to react as a curse went flying over his shoulder, singing his robes. He drew his wand and deflected the second volley with a simple Shielding Charm, casting a brief glance towards Gates, the Hit Wizard's face twisted with fragile hilarity. Bellatrix advanced upon him, her wand flashing through the air like a sword.
"Ignis!" Bellatrix shrieked, and liquid fire shot out of her wand, spraying flames like water out of a hose. Harry dashed out of the way, feeling heat licking the heels of his feet, the burning inferno splashing onto the walls and floor.
Harry spied a roll of carpet leaning casually against a nearby wall, and then sprinted towards it, snatching it up an muttering the spell to transfigure the cloth into a substance like steel cord. He unraveled it and held it in front of him, his fingernails digging into the cold metal wires, using it as a shield against the liquid flame that came pouring out of Bellatrix's wand. Heat began to seep through, but Harry kept his grip firm. He nearly buckled under the force of the fire. She may be a reflection, but surely she would eventually run out of energy like any normal witch or wizard.
Soon, the rug's cords began to split and snap with a twang, the intense heat causing them to melt and break. A little flame flickered through, and, seeing no other option, Harry grabbed his wand and thrust the rug to the side, simultaneously diving in the opposite direction.
"Stupefy!" he yelled as he fell, and Bellatrix broke the stream of fire and sidestepped to dodge the Stunning Spell. He hurled another hex at her and saw Gates grinning widely from nearby. Enjoying it, was he? Well, Harry would find a way to get him involved.
"Crucio!" Bellatrix countered, and Harry leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding the curse. He slowly made his way in an arch, trying to be discrete, his eyes alternating between Bellatrix and Gates. If the damned Hit Wizard wanted to initiate this stupid confrontation, he would have understand the term 'collateral damage'.
Seeing that Bellatrix was preparing herself for another Cruciatus Curse, Harry made a final run behind Gates, effectively putting the Hit Wizard directly between himself and LeStrange. Bellatrix, without hesitating, shouted "Crucio!" and the curse slammed into Gates before he realized what was happening.
A strange thing happened. When the spell hit Gates' body, he was merely jolted, almost like he absorbed it. The Hit Wizard stared down at Harry, a grin on his face.
"Is little bity baby Harry scared?" she said in a mocking voice. "He's hiding behind his body guard."
"Silencio!" Harry shouted, pleased with the fact that her taunts had prevented her from dodging in time. The charm his her square in the face, rendering her mute. She looked positively furious.
Bellatrix made a slashing motion with her wand and a solid beam purple light fired out of it, leaving behind a trail of dusty particles behind it in its wake. Harry ducked, and the purple light smashed into the wall, creating a small, circular hole in the plaster.
Harry threw a Body-Bind Charm back at her, buying himself time, and ran sideways, feeling curses burn through the air behind his back. Thankfully, as she had not audibly spoken the curses, the spells were slow and inaccurate.
"Incarcerous!" Harry incanted, and ropes flew out of his wand and wrapped themselves around Bellatrix before she could move. Harry halted when he saw that she was thickly bound with cords, and he cautiously approached her, not at all eager to confront a cornered serpent.
Turning her wand at an awkward angle, Bellatrix mouthed out incantations but to no effect. The ropes frayed from the handicapped spells, but did not snap. She looked up at him and hissed through her teeth. Harry could only imagine the tirade of anger she would release had she use of her tongue.
"Deletrius!" Gates said lazily, and Pseudo-Bellatrix dissolved, leaving the ropes wrapped around thin air. After a moment, the cords vanished also, leaving no trace of the duel that had taken place there.
"She used Unforgivables," Harry said hotly. "What if she used a Killing Curse? Wouldn't that have ruined your precious favor?"
Gates looked at him as though he was a moron. "You can't create magic from nowhere, Potter. None of the curses or hexes she used would have had any effect on you, had they hit you. Notice when I was hit with the Cruciatus Curse that I was unharmed? It was merely an illusion, a weak one at that. For real curses to occur, you need to have some sort of magic in you, and reflections do not have any magical ability."
Harry mouthed a silent 'oh'.
"And Potter," Gates said a little more venomously. "What spells did you use during that duel? List them. All of them."
Harry was slightly taken aback by the question. "Err, well, I used Full Body-Bind, the Stunning Spell, the Entanglement Charm, the Silencing Charm, and, err, that's it."
"Exactly," Gates said very softly. "Can you tell me what's wrong with that?"
Harry's mind was blank.
"Let me answer for you," said Gates, his voice steadily becoming angrier. "For the past several weeks I have been teaching you various spells, curses, hexes, and jinxes to use in combat, yet, when you duel, you use ABSOLUTELY NONE OF THEM!" Gates finished in a roar. "ARE YOU TELLING ME I'VE BEEN WASTING MY TIME POTTER? WHY DID YOU NOT USE THEM?"
Harry stared, mouth agape, completely startled by the reaction. In truth, it had not occurred to him to use the Severing Curse, or any other curse that would have a rather grotesque result if used on a human body. Is that what Gates expected him to do? Gates' face, enraged, told him the answer to that question.
"I didn't think it was necessary to kill her," Harry said quietly.
Gates stared at him, then blinked several times. Rage was replaced with shock. "That woman," he said slowly, gesturing to where Bellatrix previously stood. "Killed your godfather, whom, I understand, you were close to. You're telling me you would not kill her, or wound her grievously?"
"No," Harry said. "but it wouldn't be for her benefit. It would be for mine."
"Is that so," Gates said softly. He seemed unable to grasp the fact that someone would not extract violent vengeance when given the chance. "And how would it benefit you?"
"Sparing her would stop me from becoming a monster."
Gates stared at him for a moment, then broke out with a horrible grin. "You say that now, but what will happen when you face the real thing?"
"I still wouldn't kill or maim her," Harry said, his gaze not wavering. "Perhaps she would be better off dead, though. Didn't you say that before? There are things worse than death?"
"You will never know how true that statement is, Potter, so don't bandy it about like you understand it," Gates said warningly, his eyes turning into black ice. "Now, we are going to review. Show me every last spell that I have taught you. Repeat each one five times. Consecutively. No screw ups."
For the next several hours, Harry practiced Severing Curses, Colliding Curses, and every spell that he had learned from Gates. The Hit Wizard drove Harry mercilessly, making him perform them until they were like second nature. It was not until he reached a level of skill that he was sure was above some Aurors that Gates was satisfied, and they then went on to the next spell. It was grueling hard work, and after they finished, Harry was exhausted. It was nearly midnight.
Staggering out of the Room of Requirement, he tiredly climbed the stairs and crawled through the portrait hole, his body aching and crying out for rest. If he did not reach his bed soon, he was going to fall and sleep on the ground. His mind was saturated, his fingers were cramped, and his legs protested their continual use. When he began to cross the common room floor, he fell to his knees and laid down on the warm carpet, taking his glasses off and setting them aside.
He would only stay here for a few minutes, he promised himself. There was no way he could possibly climb the circular stairway into the dormitories, and the act of opening his chest to put away his wand sounded like an impossible feat. It was not a delicious exhaustion, like the kind after playing an exerting game of Quidditch, but a painful type that demanded he receive some rest or his appendages will becoming mutinous and disconnect from his body.
He felt the tiny vibrations of Gates' boots heading towards his usual corner in the common room. Undoubtedly, the Hit Wizard would stay there until Harry went up to his bed and slept, in which case he would follow and stand over his bedside, nothing more than a silhouette in the moonlight. Or wraith.
Suddenly, he felt more vibrations. Softer ones. He wanted to look up and see who it was, but his eyelids refused to open and his neck was positively numb. Instead, he simply laid there, hoping that whoever it was would not notice him.
"Well, you weren't kidding about being out until midnight," said Hermione. Harry managed to open his eyes long enough to see that she was kneeling over him. "Ron stayed down here waiting too, but he fell asleep on the couch." He did not need to see her face to know she was smiling.
"Thanks, that was good of you guys, but I'm really very tired," Harry murmured into the carpet. He was very glad that the house elves, or whoever picked out this flooring, chose a soft textured type. It was like velvet on his cheek.
"I'm going to wake Ron and have him carry you up into your bed," Hermione said, sounding amused.
"No, no," Harry mumbled. He summoned his remaining strength and took her hand. "I will be fine down here. You go to bed, you shouldn't have waited up in the first place."
"What did he have you do to make you so tired?" she asked. She released his hand and moved. Harry was not really sure where.
"Went against Bellatrix," Harry said vaguely.
"What?" she asked instantly, alarmed.
Harry explained the lesson to her as clearly as his drained mind could remember it. Everything seemed so fuzzy. When he finished, the air was very still, and he swore he heard Gates shift his posture from the other side of the room.
"That's terrible," she whispered.
"Educational," he corrected with a hint of a smile. He found nothing about his session with Gates even remotely amusing, but he did not want Hermione to worry over his wellbeing. It was not any worse than the other ones, really.
"Don't try to be funny," Hermione said in a voice lighter than her words. "That was horrible what he did."
"It wasn't too bad," said Harry, letting out a yawn. Suddenly, he felt two hands on his back, rubbing his neck…his shoulders.
While he did not ask for a massage, he was not going to argue with her. Her soft hands moved up and down his backbone, releasing little elixirs of blood, unknotting his muscles, loosening his tendons. It sort of hurt, but in a good way. Exquisite. It sent a shiver down his back. Harry had no idea where she learned this new talent, but she was very, very good.
Probably from a book, he mused.
Hermione continued to massage the sore area between his shoulder blades. Harry groaned when she probed a particularly aching muscle, and then felt relief sweep through him as the heat caused by the friction warmed it, numbing it. She moved up his back and to his neck, making little circles with two fingers, her hands both gentle and unyielding. They seeked out all the tiny niches and rubbed the bits of pain that holed itself up in there, slowly easing his stiff neck.
"Where did you learn all this?" Harry said, not sure if he spoke aloud or not.
"I didn't," she said, sounding a little uneasy. "I'm just making this up as I go along."
Harry chuckled. "Careful, me and Ron are rubbing off on you. Or maybe it's- it's- what's that word?"
"Innate?" Hermione offered.
"Yeah, maybe it's innate."
Hermione bent down and lightly kissed the nape of his neck.
"Definitely innate," Harry murmured, and found that he could probably get to his feet if he wanted to, but was rather reluctant.
"Harry, what's been bothering you?" Hermione asked so quietly that he was not sure if he heard her right.
Harry's body instant tensed, and his mind jolted awake. He slowly eased his way out from under her hands. She knows, she knows. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to buy time.
"You've been acting…strange ever since you left the Dursley's. I understand about Sirius, but, you've been acting, well," she struggled for words. "You've been taking more risks than usual. I was hoping you would tell me on your own eventually, but you haven't said anything."
A part of him wanted to tell her everything about the prophecy…to finally let it out, but the other half wanted to lock the secret up and bury it somewhere deep. What right did he have to spread this burden onto her? If she knew, she would probably go crazy trying to help him, when there was no possible way to end it with the exception of killing Voldemort, or die trying. But he could not lie, could he?
"I've just been thinking of- of- the Department of Mysteries, that's all," Harry said somewhat uneasily, telling a half-truth. He could not look up at her when he said that. It was a lie by omission. And in addition, he thought he lied well. It was slightly alarming. Was he becoming so good at Occlumency that he could actually partially lie to Hermione? He was suddenly disgusted with himself.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No, I'm fine, I was just thinking. Nothing's wrong."
"If there was anything wrong, would you tell me?"
There was no way he could tell her what was truly bothering him. Rather than have her worry, he said, "Yes."
"Promise?"
Harry hesitated for a second. "Yes," he almost whispered.
He felt wretched. Unclean. Covered with filth that no shower could wash off. He lied and was good at it. He tried to ease himself out from under her hands.
His answer seemed to satisfy her, and that, more than anything else, made Harry hate himself more.
(A/N: Alas, Harry is sinking himself deeper into trouble without even realizing it.
There it is; for those of you who hate new characters, don't worry. Alverton and Carwin will be minor. By the way, I suggest you all look up Josef Mengele on google (The guy Gates mentioned during the training). This guy was extraordinarily messed up.
Remark on Harry's mindset: Right, I've been trying to establish this throughout the story, but evidently I havent been doing too well. The reason Harry appears so, well, reluctant to stand up against Gates isn't necessarily cowardice. He lost his godfather last spring due to his actions, and he is nervous about doing anything on his own…especially after the Forbidden Forest incident with Hagrid and Skeeter. He's terrified of losing everything, and, frankly, he has changed considerably. And, in a VERY subconscious way, he believes that Gates' presence is a sort of indirect punishment on him for Sirius's death. -in a VERY subconscious way-
Next Chapter: More Snape than you can handle. The illustrious Potions master discovers a few things that Harry would much rather have kept hidden, and we see a rather strange side of Snape. The complete truth of Pseudo-Snape is revealed, as well as the secret behind Harry's scar. (Which, by the way, I think will prove true in cannon as well in book 6 or 7. You will know what I mean when you read it)