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Chapter title attributed to English poet Alexander Pope. "Tis education forms the common mind. Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined."
Chapter 9: As the Twig is Bent, the Tree's Inclined
Harry awoke at a good time in the morning. After his nightmares, which were steadily becoming stranger and stranger, he had had one of the best sleeps of his life. Not having a psychotic megalomaniac attempting to flame-grill your mind will do that to a person. He pulled on a bathrobe ad entered the bathroom he shared with Hermione. She wasn't using it right now, unfortunately for him and his morning wood, but given that the shower was still coated with water droplets, she couldn't have been in there long ago.
Harry showered, changed into his robes, and headed downstairs. There was a heavy book on the coffee table in the common room. Perhaps Hermione had come down in the middle of the night to read. He cautiously exited the tower, wary of violent reprisal from Ron. It didn't come, which was either a good thing or a very bad thing. In the Great Hall he was treated to near-total anonymity, since most students would be sleeping late on the first day after the summer break. He did see Hermione, near the far end of the Gryffindor table, and Ron, closer to the middle talking to Ginny about something. Harry skirted the duo on his way up. "Good morning." He greeted semi-cheerfully as he sat, grabbing a few pieces of toast.
Hermione looked up at him, then glanced down at Ron. "Debatable." She muttered. A few feet down the table Parvati and Lavender were hailed over by Ginny. Hermione scowled. "Now the entire school will think I'm Harry Potter's personal whore." She took a long draft from the mug of coffee at her elbow.
Harry, who had seen what she had seen, grinned sympathetically. "Somehow I don't think so." Hermione glanced up at him, obviously confused. "You've helped so many people with their homework over the years, the only ones who will think anything bad about you are the ones who already think you're…who are already of that opinion of you." He couldn't bring himself to say it, not when he had been doing such a good job of cheering his best friend up. It worked. They ate their breakfasts in silence, until Hermione noted the schedules that had appeared in front of all the students.
"Defence, Transfiguration, lunch. Transfiguration again, study period, Potions." Harry recited, a slight frown creasing his face. A tiring day, but then the whole year promised to be tiring. Hermione told him that she had the same thing, and he noticed her eyes flick towards a certain professor wearing a bright pink tie. "You aren't taking Runes, or Arithmancy this year?" he asked conversationally.
She shook her head. "No, there just isn't time. On top of the training Mad-Eye wants us to do, and our own private project, we need all the free time we can get." Harry felt bad about it, seeing as she had given up two of her favourite classes, but she reassured him. "Don't worry about it. The way I see it if Voldemort takes over, none of it will matter anyway." The sentiment was oddly comforting. The two friends simultaneously went for their watches, which was worth a chuckle, and discovered they should probably get up to Defence.
***
Mad-Eye, or Professor Moody as he must now be known, had set up his room in a most peculiar way. Correction: if it had been anyone else, it would have been most peculiar. The bulk of the room was simply empty space. A fine layer of dust covered the blackboards at the front, and the desks were arranged in a wide semicircle. Harry and Hermione took two seats at the end of one 'arm' of the shape, nearest the front. Several others were already seated, and many more were filing in. Ron entered last, noted with apparent distaste the seats of his former friends, and sat at the last available seat, directly across from them.
There were several minutes of confused silence, until the uneven footsteps of Alastor Moody carried him into the room. He looked over every one of them, snorted, and began. "Alastor Moody." He jerked a thumb towards himself. "Sometimes called Mad-Eye," he jabbed the thumb towards his magical eye. "Formerly head Auror, and your Defence Against the Dark Arts professor." He surveyed the class again, evidently satisfied with what he found.
Moody began to pace, turning his back on them to face the blackboard before he spoke again. "Most of you probably think you know me, because some two-bit death eater acted like me for an entire year. YOU'RE WRONG!" Moody spun around forcefully and shouted his final words. The entire class jumped. Mad-Eye clomped up to the desks rapidly, removing his dark leather cloak and throwing it over to his desk. He was wearing Dragonhide armour over a plain white shirt and dark trousers. A quick movement of his left arm found a yew wand drawn from its holster on his belt. He pointed it straight out, panning it over the students. Each one of them flinched away when it pointed at them, except for Harry Hermione and Ron. The tip finally came to rest on Harry. "Potter, front and center!" Mad-Eye barked. Harry complied, drawing his wand in the process. "Mock duel. No Unforgiveables, or physical combat, and fire at me only, no other objects." Harry agreed to the terms. In accordance with the ancient duelling customs, according to Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry bowed low. A fraction of a second later he had to roll to the side in order to dodge a reductor, and another, and another. It was all Harry could do to keep weaving away from an endless barrage of curses. When his stamina gave out, he switched to the shield charm.
After endless deflecting there was a brief pause. With no such hesitation, Harry sent out a spray of severing charms. They had no visible effect, but the empty desk that Harry had previously occupied flew towards him. A quick blasting curse made short work of it. By that time Mad-Eye was nowhere to be seen. A cursory glance around revealed nothing, until he felt a blunt object crumple his legs. He fell back to see Mad-Eye Moody, a wand pointing at his face. "Take your seat Potter." He was instructed, a wand flick conjuring a new desk for him. Moody pulled his cloak back on and addressed the class. "Three things wrong with that scenario. What are they?" he demanded. There was absolute silence for a moment, until Ernie Macmillan timidly raised his hand. "Macmillan."
Ernie took a deep breath, presumably to steady himself. "First you broke the Duelling code, by attacking your opponent before it was time." Mad-Eye nodded, which gave the oft-pompous Hufflepuff new heart. "The other two are when you broke your own rules twice. First by launching a desk at Harry, and again when you tripped him with your wooden leg."
Moody grunted, sounding genuinely disappointed that anyone had gotten it right. "Got it. Fifteen to Hufflepuff." He admitted grudgingly. "Yes, I broke the rules. And that is exactly why I'm here." He glanced over the class' generally confused faces and sighed. "I am here, because Death Eaters do not play by the rules. They do not duel, they fight. So the only way to defend yourself against a Death Eater is to fight." He explained slowly, stressing the last word. "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" the class jumped again. Moody began to pace around the inside of the ring of desks. "This year you will learn three things from me. First you will learn offensive magic. Nott, can you tell me number two?" he barked.
The weedy student, who had been engaged in low conversation with Zabini, looked up and blinked stupidly. He looked at Moody with genuine fear, and shook his head silently.
Mad-Eye grunted again, this time satisfied. "Didn't think so. Ten from Slytherin for not paying attention. Now shut up, both of you, unless you want to be in the next demonstration." Nott quieted immediately, but Zabini just looked irritated. "Longbottom, number two."
"Uh…how to fight?" Neville answered timidly. After the experience with the fake Mad-Eye, he was understandably frightened of the former Auror.
The real Mad-Eye almost smiled, but not quite. "Exactly lad." Harry noticed that the professor's voice was slightly more kindly when he spoke to Neville, probably because his parents had fought with Mad-Eye in the first war. The almost sentimental moment passed. "And third: CONSTANT. NEVER. CEASING. VIGILANCE!" Each word was punctuated by the clomping noise of Alastor Moody banging his wooden leg on the floor, hard.
What was left of the period was spent discussing tactics, advantages of crushing, cutting, and blasting spells, and various other details about magical combat. Mad-Eye proved to be an extremely competent teacher, though he was more than a bit intimidating. As the class filed out after the bell, he promised to show them a real fight as soon as he could. As expected, Ron didn't spare his friends a glance as he left. Slightly dejected, though not surprised, they headed for the Transfiguration classroom.
The class, somewhat less sizeable than the Defence class, filed into the room. The desks were arranged in a grid, as was usual, but the front wall was a floor-to-ceiling blackboard. Harry at first thought the room was empty, until everyone had taken their seats. As soon as that had happened, a tall and thin portion of wall on the left-hand side of the classroom slowly solidified, growing in definition, until it turned around and transformed from dead stone and mortar into the very-much-alive Dr. Iain Menzies.
"Good morning. I would like to start by taking a roll, if you don't mind." Menzies glanced over the class with a look of polite curiosity, and smiled when he saw no objections. On the desk by the door was a long roll of parchment, which was picked up. "Abbott, Hannah? Brown, Lavender? Brocklehurst, Amanda? Bones, Susan? Boot, Terrence?"
"Terry." The Ravenclaw's voice called from the middle of the room.
"I do apologize." The Scotsman sounded genuinely apologetic, which was very unusual. "Corner, Michael? Finnegan, Seamus?" he paused, and Harry saw a slow smile grow on his face. "Granger, Hermione?" For the first time since starting the list he looked up, and Harry saw his and Hermione's eyes connect. He could have sworn he saw the Scot wink. "Greengrass, Daphne? Nott, Theodore? Parkinson, Pansy? Patil, Parvati? Potter, Harry?" When Harry didn't answer, being used to professors knowing who he was, Menzies looked up. "Harry Potter? Is he here?" the rest of the class were regarding their new professor as though he were insane, which he quite possibly was. Harry finally raised his hand. "Thank you Mr Potter. Thomas, Dean? Weasley, Ronald? Zabini, Blaise?" Having completed his primary task, he sat on the corner of his desk. His kilt mercifully fell between his legs.
"Now that we have that behind us, I thought we could just spend this period as an ice breaking session. So, how about we go around the room and everyone will stand up and tell a bit about themselves." He gestured at Dean, and they began. The class was once again astonished when he insisted on Harry standing and telling his story. A flicker in the back of Menzies' brown eyes indicated to Harry that the professor was not nearly as ignorant as he acted, but Harry appreciated the gesture. There was little interesting said during the exchanges, so they will not be recorded. "Now, it's my turn." Menzies rose, and stood perfectly still with his hands clasped behind his back. "I am Dr Iain Menzies, with a great many degrees following that name. I am Scottish, as many of you have no doubt surmised, but I've been travelling for the last several years. I am muggleborn," Zabini and Nott snickered, and Menzies smiled politely at them. "Mr Zabini, Mr Nott. Would you care to share your source of amusement with the class?" He asked them genially. Nott shook his head, but Zabini stood up.
"Why yes sir, I would. I was just commenting on how likely it was that a mudblood could actually teach us anything." He sat down again. Nott hid his sniggering behind a hand, but Pansy had no such qualms. She openly laughed, causing Daphne Greengrass beside her to hide her face in embarrassment.
For his part Menzies took the barb extremely well, and his expression of polite amusement never wavered for an instant. "Mr Zabini, I would like you and Ms Parkinson to come see me after classes today. Mr Nott, you will join them I think." He turned to scribble a note to himself, so missed Zabini's non-verbal suggestion that he was not likely to do any such thing. "And Mr Zabini? If you fail to come I will personally drag you to my office." He added. Turning to face the class again, he opened his arms wide. "Any questions?" No one raised their hands.
Menzies never stopped smiling politely, but the ringing of the bell interrupted any further interrogation. "I'll see you all after lunch. Until then." He bowed, formally but not stiffly, as his class fled the room. Ron in particular was near the forefront, but he hit an invisible wall and stopped. "Mr Weasley, I'm sorry for cutting into your lunch but I'd like to speak to you in my office." Harry and Hermione were similarly stopped on their ways out. "Mr Potter and Ms Granger as well, if you don't mind." They were finally allowed to leave the room, and headed for what was formerly Professor McGonagall's office.
Harry's first impression of the office was that it was the kind of place Hermione would love. Every square inch of wall space was filled with bookshelves, each one overflowing with literature in a variety of languages. Harry saw English, French, Italian, Latin, and many types of runes. An entire shelf of the English section was devoted to a man named Stephen King. The back wall was the only one to break that trend. It was adorned with a large segment of a tree, engraved with something Harry's couldn't make out. Two black and white muggle photographs flanked the wood. The first showed a man crawling down a field, many more men piled on top of him. The second was another man, on ice skates, firing a black disk into a kind of sports net with a long wooden stick. A slow, beautifully written harpsichord piece was playing from a corner, beside the desk at the far end, where Harry could see a vinyl recording disk spinning in midair.
The desk was cluttered with papers in foreign languages, but Harry noticed a few unusual objects. There was a picture of a tall male teen with messy black hair and brown eyes, another with long rust-coloured hair and dark eyes, and a young woman with dark brown hair and green eyes. The first wore the blue and bronze robes of Ravenclaw, whereas the other two wore Gryffindor colours. Also on the desk were three books. One was a well-thumbed paperback depicting the main street of a typical 60's small town. At the end of the street was a large Ferris wheel, a depiction of the sparrow-track peace sign enclosed within. The title bore the legend Hearts in Atlantis by the author Harry had seen earlier, Stephen King. The second book was by a man named William Golding. The cover art was a simple jungle sketch, with some crudely drawn humans at the bottom. The title at the top was Lord of the Flies. The final was unmarked, bound in handsome red leather. Harry flipped it open, only to find that it was written in Italian.
"It is the Divine Comedy, by Dante Alighieri. You have never been to Florence?" Harry turned around quickly, and saw the upside down head of Professor Menzies smiling at him. The professor was literally standing on the ceiling. By some unusual, and merciful magic, his kilt stood straight, as though he had been standing on perfectly flat ground. He glanced around at the walls covered by bookshelves and frowned slightly. "Alas, I could have designed this room a bit better. No matter." To Harry, Hermione, and Ron's immense surprise the professor dissolved into a fine powder, his dust floating down and reforming back into the shape of a man. "Now then, let us have a chat." A flick of his eyes in the right direction and the volume of the music lowered significantly. He strolled over to his desk, in no large hurry, and sat down.
"First off, I would like you to call me Iain. If we're going to work together I don't want you to have to bother with this Professor nonsense. I'm a doctor, not a teacher." All three of them agreed to this. "Second, there seem to be some unresolved tensions between you three." Harry and Hermione glanced at Ron, who was pointedly examining the floating record. Iain sighed. "Mr Weasley, Ron if I may, I would like you to look deep into my eyes. Thank you. Now, You have had two brothers be Head Boy, is that correct? Good. Think hard now; did either William or Percival brag about having a separate dormitory? No? Well I didn't expect William to, but focus hard on Percival." Iain's eyes sharpened and lightened in colour, even as Ron's dulled and darkened. It was as though the elder Scot's browns were leeching colour from the younger teen's blues. It only lasted a moment, and when it was over Ron faced his friends slowly.
"I'm… I'm sorry." It was hard for him, Harry could understand that. "I don't know what I was thinking when I called you…when I said what I said. It was heartless, thoughtless, and I didn't really mean it. Forgive me?" he spread his arms with a lopsided grin. Harry was ready to forgive him, sensing honesty, but Hermione had one thing to do first.
She closed the distance between the redhead and herself, as she had the night before, and punched him in the jaw. He dropped like a ton of bricks. "Apology accepted." she told his unconscious form primly. Iain looked on with a light smile.
"He means well, you know. He just need to think more before he reacts." Hermione snorted. "Whatever happened to the sweet little girl who would bounce on my knee, tried to tie my shoelaces together, and called me 'Uncle Iain?' Is she still in there somewhere?" he asked with light amusement, an edge of weariness creeping into his voice. Two firm, but comfortable armchairs appeared and Harry and Hermione sat.
"She lost her favourite uncle, found out she was a witch, and began fighting the forces of evil with a teen celebrity and a moron." She responded scathingly. "What happened, and why didn't you say anything?"
Iain held his hands up in a placating gesture. "All good things to those who wait. I do believe we owe poor Mr Potter a brief summary of our history." Harry was indeed more than somewhat confused by the exchange between the two. "I met Hermione's parents in medical school, in fact I was the one who introduced them. They made me their daughter's godfather, and I knew right away that she had one hell of a future before her. I helped raise her, but I didn't think I should be around to draw attention to myself when she found out she was a witch. So, I left. I've always been watching, though." He addressed Hermione at the last. "Now while your friend is passed out on the floor, excellent punch by the way, we need to have a very serious talk. If I were you I would be very careful. There are those who would do a great deal to harm either of you, and public displays of affection are a sure-fire way to attract them. Be careful." Harry did not really want to know how Iain had know the details, but Hermione didn't question him so neither did he.
"As for the lesser things, I'm sure Alastor has already spoken to you. My task will be teaching you wandless magic, leglimency, and occlumency. Be forewarned however, for it takes an enormous amount of magical power to even attempt the first. Also on my list of tasks is teaching you non-magical combat. Any questions?"
Harry glanced over the back wall, and Iain understood. "The engraving is of a poem by American poet Robert Frost. It reads: I shall be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence; Two roads diverged in the woods, and I- I took the one less traveled by. And it has made all the difference." He gestured to one of the pictures, the one of the pile of human bodies. "That one is of Bronko Nagurski's comeback game. The other is Paul Henderson's final goal of the 1972 Summit Series" Iain's eyes took on a distant quality, as though he was somewhere long ago. It only lasted a moment, and then he was back. "But neither of those stories are appropriate at the moment."
He pulled a polished brass pocket watch from his vest and snapped it shut quickly. "Now, I wouldn't want to keep you from lunch. Ron should be waking shortly. See you this afternoon." Ron stirred, the music swelled, and none of the three could get a single reaction out of the Scotsman. Eventually they simply gave up and left for a late lunch.
The meal passed uneventfully, and soon enough the three of them were back in Iain's classroom. This time however they were greeted by a man-sized stone statue of an angel, his wings drawn before him like a cloak. A message on the blackboard, written in an elegant hand that was machine like in its regularity, instructed them to take their seats, and that Professor Menzies would be arriving shortly. Unsurprisingly Nott, Zabini, and Parkinson did not turn up, leaving Daphne Greengrass to chivalrously stand alone for Slytherin.
When the students who did come to class had settled in their seats the door closed eerily, and the blackboard erased itself. A low, rolling mist spread from the base of the statue to cover the room. The statue itself, well. It wouldn't be fair to say it glowed, because it didn't. In fact, no words that Harry knew could accurately describe what happened to it. The closest he ever came was that it grew. Not physically, but its very presence increased dramatically. And then it began to move. The bowed head rose up, the wings spread and became arms, and the entire figure stepped lightly off its pedestal. Once more Harry was struck with a loss for words. Suffice it to say that the figure simply changed, flakes of stone falling, becoming Dr Iain Menzies in his entirety. He brushed a bit of dust off the shoulder of his jacket, and smiled benignly at the class.
"Good afternoon. Can anyone tell me what I just did, beyond the obvious wandless magic of course." His smile widened as a great many hands went down. Surprisingly the three that were still in the air belonged to Hermione Granger, Terry Boot, and Harry Potter. "Mr Potter, could you tell us."
Harry cleared his throat, this being a new experience for him. "You transfigured yourself. Literally."
Iain frowned slightly. "Continue." He requested slowly.
Harry took a deep breath. "Well, what we learn is just changing what something looks like, or what it does. If we transfigure a match into a needle, it's still a match. It's thin, shiny, sharp, and can't light anything, but it's still a match." He took another deep breath. Something about Iain's gaze was vaguely troubling. "But you, you actually turned yourself to stone. You really were a statue."
Iain smiled broadly. "That's it exactly. Ten points to Gryffindor." Hermione beamed at him. Terry just looked sour. "For many of you this is an unusual concept. I offer no fault to Professor McGonagall, she is extremely competent and I have a great deal of respect for her, but she has her way and I have mine. There are differences between the two, and I could fill this entire wall," He gestured at the wall of blackboards behind him. "with equations to show you how and why. However, I feel that the best way is simply learning by doing. If you would all pair off please." Parvati instantly appeared beside Ron, which was a little startling. Ron didn't seem to mind. Iain produced a box of small mice from nowhere in particular, and one floated around to every pair. "Your task is to turn this mouse into a kitten. And I don't mean a mouse that looks, thinks, and acts like a kitten, I mean a real kitten. Like I said the differences are subtle, but I find the easiest way is to just stretch out with my perceptions, and change the mouse in that way." He considered his words for a moment and shrugged with a half-smile dancing on his lips. "I apologize if that doesn't make much sense, but try it and see."
Harry personally was quite sure that the professor was insane, but he tried it. Amazingly it was easier than Iain had made it sound, and he could actually feel the mouse. A tap at the door interrupted the powerful flow of magic he was feeling. Iain opened it a crack, then flung it wide.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present my teaching assistant for the year. She is a Hogwarts graduate who needs no introduction, and I believe she hopes to one day supplant me." Some scattered chuckles. Whether they were laughing at the joke or at the professor may never be determined. "Allow me to present, Miss Cho Chang." He stepped back, and the Asian beauty who Harry had been briefly infatuated with strode into the room. Harry felt his jaw drop, and Hermione stiffen next to him.
"What is she doing here?" she breathed down his neck. Harry shrugged. The way her brown eyes immediately sought him out did not make him feel particularly comfortable. She smiled broadly, her gaze never leaving Harry.
"I don't know, but I have a very bad feeling about this."
A serious comment, if I may: I am aware of some large parallels between my Iain and JKR's Dumbledore. I want to assure you that it is purely coincidental. Iain is actually an amalgamation of several characters from other books and movies. Top three are Dr Hannibal Lecter, voted by the American Film Institute as the most memorable villain in a hundred years of film history, Ted Brautigan from Stephen King's Hearts in Atlantis, which influences a lot of what I write, and Simon Dermott, Peter O'Toole's character from the 1966 heist film How to Steal a Million.
For you die hards out there, I am aware that Hearts in Atlantis hadn't been writted in 1997. That is not a mistake, but it is intentional that a piece of the future should be there. It adds to the mystique of Iain's character.
You can look up the two sports stars on Iain's wall, but for an accurate description of what I was trying to accomplish with Bronko Nagurski, I suggest you check out the film version of Hearts in Atlantis. I'm sure it's on YouTube.