Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lessons
He could see all from his solitary perch, the Threstral drawn procession winding its way through the winged boar gates,
the row boats laden with First Years skimming across the lake. Off in the distance, within the reflection of the
Moon's ghostly light, he witnessed several long tendrils of the giant squid worm their way out of the lake's
otherwise placid waters, curling and bending to clutch at something that wasn't there. Beyond was the blacker than
black, daunting Forbidden Forest.
So far, McGonagall had kept up her end of the bargain. Apart from the stunning view of the grounds, his quarters were spacious and well stocked, but more importantly, it sat at the top of a high turret at the very corner of one end of the castle. No one would come wandering here, much less know how to find it. Per his request, she had given him the portrait of Sir Cadogan to guard his portal.
Memories of the years past flooded his mind as he watched all the students arrive. Some where down there now were Neville and Luna, Dean and Ginny, Seamus, Cho, Lavendar, Padma and Patil, countless others that he once called friends, and then Ron and Hermione. Ron and Hermione...For the first time since his days in Dakhal, he felt utterly alone. He wished for nothing more than to be down there with them, laughing and reminiscing, but that was no longer possible. As Hagrid herded that last few through the main door, Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and made for his own door.
He had spent what was left of the previous day, after speaking with McGonagall, and this, reacquainting himself with his first, and only real, true home. He had been careful to avoid being spotted, even if it were only the professors, always remaining beneath his trusted cloak.
He'd gone back to the Gryffindor common room, taking a moment to sit in each of the chairs he had before over his years here, time spent studying, time with friends, times carefree. He'd stared at the fire place he'd once talked to his godfather through - other times not so carefree. He'd gone up to his old dorm and laid within his old four-poster bed. It was someone else's now.
He'd visited the girls' bathroom he and Ron and Hermione had once battled a troll in, smiling to himself at the memory. Had that troll just bashed his head in then... He'd gone by the bathroom that Moaning Myrtle called home and which led to the Chamber of Secrets, but thought better of disturbing her.
He'd gone down the corridor that had once been "off limits," to the room that had once held the giant three headed dog, ironically enough named Fluffy by Hagrid. The trap door they had disappeared down was still at its center, closed, holding all its memories within. Down there through that labyrinth, the Trio had faced their first real test together. There, his two closest friends had made their first of many sacrifices for him. Somewhere down there he'd faced Voldemort for the first time.
He'd visited the Room of Requirement, which oddly enough formed into a sort of library. On the far wall, there appeared to be a network of worn images of a family tree, much like the one at Grimmauld of the Black's, but all the names were illegible and the faces so blotched, one could not make any of them out. He lingered here for a moment, tracing his fingers across the silhouettes, feeling some sort of connection, a reason for them being here, but what? He left to find the empty classroom that once held the mirror of Erisend. Here, he had seen his mum and dad for the first time. Of course, it was not there.
Harry'd wandered the grounds outside, passing by the Gamekeepers hut. He'd thought of visiting Hagrid, but knew all too well of Hagrid's inability to keep a secret, so he settled for walking about it and through his garden. That solemn post Buckbeak had once been tethered to was still there, serving as yet another reminder of his always troubled days. His eyes drifted to the tree he and Hermione had hid behind, chucking stones through Hagrid's window to alert their alternate selves of the approaching Minister and executioner... Executioner.
He'd walked out onto the Quidditch Pitch, remembering better days, past days of glory, of innocence and days spent worrying over more trivial things. He'd gone to the Great Hall. So many memories. This was where it had all ended. This was where the new chapter had begun. This was where he went now.
He did not go down amongst all the other students, but to a secret balcony he had discovered in his recent wanderings. The Hall was unusually quiet for such an event, but then Harry noticed McGonagall at the front, finishing her prepared remarks. He did his best not to look for his friends.
With everyone's attention drawn there, and hidden within the shadows, Harry pulled off the cloak as he watched McGonagall place the old stool before the teachers' table and a worn hat atop it. With a sense of both amusement and bewilderment, Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall to watch this time honored tradition, the sorting. It began:
'Tis true I have seen a better day
With time my brim has grown dull and fray
But once again we've come to learn
knowledge which we seek to earn
So new to here come and sit
beneath my cap I'll judge your fit,
Perhaps to Gryffindor courageous and brave
the world could be yours one day to save
Perhaps to Hufflepuff you'll seed and grow
They're the most just and loyal I've yet to know
Perhaps to Ravenclaw with wit of mind
There are none smarter of their kind
Or to Slytherin you will belong
Where they shall work right the wrong,
The time has come to sort you out
Where you go, do not pout
For no where on this world's wide map
Will you find a wiser Thinking Cap!
The hall filled with a thunderous applause and Harry could not help but join in, the faintest of smiles curling across his otherwise pursed lips. So many memories past - not all so bad.
. . . .
He got little sleep that night, which was now nothing out of the ordinary for him. Many nights since Dakhal, he'd skipped it altogether. Just through those meandering hallways were his friends. So close, and yet, so very far away.
Instead of laying in the large, plush bed provided to him, Harry made himself a simple pallet on the floor and lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. Images of his dreams scrolled through his mind. There was no doubting it, these were of Dumbledore's life. But what did they mean, and why was he having them? And why, with every dream, did it turn into a nightmare with that demon always coming for him? Harry had found one answer, only to create a whole new set of questions. 'Dumbledore, where are you?'
And then there were the attacks on him, in Australia, Kolkata, and then in Duma. Who? And Why?Only more questions without answers. Harry clung to the pouch about his neck. Could someone have found out? But who? How? Only McGonagall knew he still had it, and surely she had not let anything slip. She had been the one to insist that he keep it. Had Voldemort said something to one of his Death Eaters? Highly unlikely, Voldemort trusted no one. Ron or Hermione? Not even they knew he had kept it, but even if, he found them as unlikely as McGonagall.
As Harry's mind tried to arrange all the pieces of the puzzle together, the dark began to fade with the coming light. Harry heard a slight crack issue from the dining room of his suite. A few shuffles, another crack, and then the wafting scent of breakfast. Harry ignored this, dressing in his robes before he left his dorm, letting the food once again go untouched.
McGonagall had promised and now she delivered. Harry's presence was to be kept anonymous to all except for she herself, who turned out would instruct him in Advanced Transfigurations, Professor Flitwick, who would help him delve deeper into the art of Charms, Professor Slughorn, who would show him the further sciences of both Potions and Poisons, and a Professor Krieg, the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry had been skeptical of returning, of what more Hogwarts could offer him. He was soon to be in for a rude awakening.
He did not have to go far. A large room had been prepared for him on the top most floor near to his dorm. His professors would come to him to avoid any unwanted interruptions or visitors.
As he entered, several torches along the wall lit up, as well as a rustic chandelier over head. Harry was impressed. The room was obviously bewitched, so cavernous that it could not possibly be its true size. It reminded him much of the Room of Requirement, prepared in a sense as that room had for his DA lessons, but here, Harry would be the student. Harry had arrived early, but Professor Flitwick did not leave him waiting for long.
"Good morning, Mr Potter, I am glad to see your eagerness," Flitwick said in his high pitched voice.
"Morning, Professor," Harry responded. "Thank you..." he began, but then stopped, short of what exactly he was thankful for. He did not want to be here. He was putting everyone in danger with his presence, but at the same time, he felt that odd sense of old security being back in the classroom with this talented wizard. Never mind his size, appearances were all deceiving. Harry had seen this squat man work his wand just as well as the most brazen of Aurors in that final battle.
"Shall we begin?" Flitwick was abrupt, depositing his satchel of books and parchment on a far desk against the wall.
Harry quirked a smile at this. He had been prepared to undergo all the theatrics of praise and the dodging of unwanted questions, but Flitwick was getting right down to business. Harry liked it.
"Wand out." Harry allowed his to slide from his sleeve into his palm. With a wave of his own wand, a bright light suddenly erupted at the center of the room, slowly forming into jagged edges and then finally into a solid mass as the light shed away. What was left was a massive boulder, the size of a small car, with a silvery, blue cast that shimmered in the candle light, and with cut, blocked angles across its surface.
"Do you know what this is?" Flitwick asked with a hint of amusement.
"A rock?" Harry answered blandly, shrugging.
"No," Flitwick cut, and Harry almost expected him to deduct ten points from Gryffindor for his menial answer. "It is metal. Osmium to be exact, in its raw form. The heaviest metal on Earth."
"Oh," Harry intoned, unsure where he was going with all this.
"I presume you remember our first lesson together?" Flitwick asked expectantly.
Of course he did, how could he forget? It was the first magic he'd ever performed. "Wingardium Leviosa..." Harry murmured.
"Very good, Mr Potter. Now, if you would please, with a swish and a flick," Flitwick motioned towards the huge bulk of Osmium.
With the said swish and flick of his wand, Harry repeated the incantation, this time louder, and... nothing. The massive piece of raw metal did not so much as budge a millimeter. From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Flitwick chuckling, rocking on the heels of his feet.
With a surge of resiliency and embarrassment, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry cast louder, applying more force, but alas, still, nothing. With Flitwick still watching him with that bemused grin, Harry cast again, this time outright shouting the spell, straining every muscle in his body until the veins in his neck started to throb and his head went light, and still the giant chunk of Osmium did not so much as tilt.
"Dammit!" Harry cursed, letting his magic go. The sudden purge left him tripping forward and panting. "It's impossible!" he complained.
"Not impossible," Flitwick answered simply, swishing and flicking his own wand towards the hunk of metal. The reaction was not immediate, for this truly was no easy feat, but there was no straining of his face, no bulging veins. Harry could feel the wizard's magic calmly flowing out of him, curling about the boulder, and, ever so slowly, it began to rise. One centimeter, ten, until it was a full meter in the air, Flitwick allowed it to spin in place for a moment before he gently guided it back down.
"Brute force, Mr Potter, is not always the answer. It can cloud your mind, and in the end, make you weaker. I think you will find more success with a more thoughtful, calculated approach," the professor instructed.
"Again, eyes and mind on the goal before you," Flitwick walked him through it. "Clear away all else. There is only you and the object before you." Harry, taking a deep breath and calmly this time, recast the spell. "Now hold it!" Flitwick interceded. "Focus yourself, push your magic onto it, let it wrap itself around it, encompass it to control it." Harry did, he could feel it. "Very good. Now slowly, but determinedly, push your magic beneath it."
And he did. It took a lot of restraint not to surge at it, he could feel the weight and the resistance, but Harry was just as resistant, and, once again, ever so slowly, the hunk of Osmium began to rise. One centimeter, ten, until he also had it a full meter in the air.
"Very good," Flitwick complimented. Elated, Harry lost his focus and control, and the boulder suddenly fell, crashing to the floor. The sheer force of the mighty collision boomed like thunder, and sent out of minor shock-wave of dust. The very floor beneath them cracked with its weight. Harry grumbled with this failure.
"No, no!" Flitwick corrected him. "Magic is not infinite nor capable of all things, Mr Potter. There are very few who could accomplish even that! The lesson, Mr Potter, is that it is not in strength alone. One must be focused, intent, and with control. Now then," he waved his wand and the block of Osmium was gone, replaced by six golden plates. "I would like you to lift the first."
Harry repeated the process, this time it being much easier. The first golden plate flew into the air, but teetered unevenly as he held it. "Control, Mr Potter. Grip it tightly."
Harry's eyes narrowed in on the plate as he focused. "I would like for you to take a moment to practice with it. Get a feel for the control," Flitwick instructed as he watched Harry spin, rotate and move the plate about the room. After a while of this, they added a second, then a third, until eventually all six were in the air, making a neat circle about Harry.
"The application of control over objects in one's proximity is most important for an accomplished wizard." Harry nodded, but was careful not to lose his focus or drop any of the plates. "Should you need to clear one out of your path, shield yourself..." Flitwick warned as a bead of red light formed at his out-held wand.
For this first application, Flitwick took it easy on him, firing his tamed stunner at Harry slowly and deliberately. Harry took the hint and jerked one of the plates to intercept this incoming curse. They met, the plate being blasted apart into a sparkle of pieces, but his loss in focus sent the other five crashing to the ground as well.
Success and failure. Harry stood wide-eyed at where the destroyed plate had just been. So much to still to learn. How had he ever survived to this point? And as Flitwick watched Harry for his reaction, Harry grit his teeth, flourished his wand, and brought the five remaining plates back up into the air, circling them about him as he awaited for Flitwick's next attack.
"Very good, Mr Potter. Determination."
Their session lasted two hours, and did nothing short than put Harry in his place. 'Perhaps I've gotten a little too full of myself...' he chastised himself for falling so as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Though the exercise was not physical per se, the mental challenge was taxing on him all the same, and Harry was nothing short of enthralled at the prospects of the term to come.
Before they ended the session, Flitwick had Harry attempt to charm a suit of armor and have it attack a wooden dummy, but with each first step it took, the pieces of armor would all come apart and clatter onto the stone as useless as a pile of junk. There was much more to controlling the many facets of interconnected, moving parts, than simply hoisting a heavy object or rotating simple plates.
"No worries," Flitwick reassured him. "T'was a good first day. We'll pick back up here tomorrow," he said as the door to the room opened, letting in the plump Professor Slughorn. Having been faced with a new challenge, and having failed miserably at it, Harry was not eager to stop, but so it was.
"I believe you have learned how difficult it can be to have various parts work together in unison, to move as one. For your homework, Mr Potter, I want you to review chapter seventeen of our text, Mobilizing the Immobile. Good day."
Homework... Harry smiled at this. Most students would grumble at such a prospect, but Harry felt a warm soothing run through him. He was back. He was home. Hermione would certainly find this most amusing!
"Harry, my boy!" Slughorn all but hugged him after Flitwick left. "I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it is to be instructing you once again, the Boy-Who-Lived!" he gleamed from ear to ear, but quickly corrected himself as he saw Harry draw away. "Yes, yes..." he had the wherewithal to see his flaw. "McGonagall has bid me to keep our lessons strict to business..." he waited here, perhaps in hopes that Harry might assure him that that would not be necessary, but if that were the case, he was left disappointed and it showed.
With the aid of Snape's books, and his studies and experiments at Grimmauld, Harry did not have high hopes for his Potion sessions, but Slughorn too saw to it that Harry's time would not be wasted.
Quite unexpectedly - and with a few grumblings from Harry - they would begin the first lesson with Harry blindfolded. He was to learn and memorize an assortment of various ingredients laid out on a table for him by touch and smell alone, and if he dared, taste. There was a lot, and it certainly was no easy task.
"Now then," Slughorn finally removed Harry's blindfold after about an hour of this. "Can you tell me what all these ingredients have in common?"
Harry stared across the table covered by countless ingredients, all of them he knew, but still was short for an answer. There were just so many. His pride at believing himself an accomplished Potionaire was stung. "I... I don't know..." Harry was forced to admit.
Slughorn smiled gleefully at this as he rolled back onto the heels of his feet, poking out his plump belly. "With these ingredients, one can create just about every potion needed to heal or treat a wound, or remedy a serious poisoning. Would you not agree, Harry, that these might be of some importance to you?"
Harry looked back to the table, across all the ingredients. Immediately, as he mentally lumped them together within their proper assortments, it all started coming back to him from his time at Kitsaka's: Golden Apple, Elderberry, Mandarin, and Psylium - for burns. Five-Finger Grass, Cinnamon Twig, Echinacea, Rosemary, and Yellow Gentian - to make a Blood Replisnishing Potion. Betony, Nettle, Salpeter, Bezoar, Bloodroot and Mastick - for most poisonings a bezoar alone could not handle. Castor oil, Dittany, Vera, and Flouride - to close a deep gash. Borage, Fennel, Geranium, and Peppermint - a Pepper-up potion. Chinese Chomping Cabbage, Puffer-Fish, and Scarab Beetle - to brew Skelo-Gro to heal a broken bone. Goosegrass, Kelp, Vitriol, Boomslang, Mint, and Moonseed - for internal hemorrhaging. Olibanum, Croakoa, and Silverweed - for a concussion. Vervain, Moly, Vera and Vinegar - to treat a bad rash. It was a lot, but Harry now recognized them all. He'd used all these before.
"Some take longer than others to prepare, so we will begin our brewing at once. From blood replinishers to Skele-gro. From Alovere for burns, to Temerarius for nasty rashes. There are several useful potions for common poisons that a bezoar alone cannot cure. We'll brew those as well. Let us begin!" Slughorn was most excited.
Harry was in his element and was both surprised and disappointed when Slughorn announced it was time to break for lunch. The two hours had flown by.
"I am not hungry, Professor. Can't we go on?" Harry asked in earnest, almost pleadingly.
"Tee-hehe!" Slughorn shined with glee. "Maybe not you, young man, but I must eat!" he rubbed at his bloated belly. "We've got plenty of time, Harry," Slughorn said, finding amusement in Harry's frown. He was nearly beside himself Harry was enjoying this so much.
"For your homework, I expect you to commit all these ingredients to memory. There is no telling when you might need them! Also, I want you to think of any possible ailment we might have over looked, with special care around poisonings. These can be most nasty and dreadful, and the worst of them take a very specific remedy. We will delve deeper into this tomorrow."
Harry nodded.
"Harry," Slughorn went on, now a bit timidly as he fumbled with the lining of his robe. "I am throwing a welcome back party-"
"No thank you, Professor," Harry saw immediately where this was going. Old habits died hard for Slughorn.
"Yes, yes, of course! I do understand... but if you change your mind..." Slughorn trailed off at Harry's overt glare. "Very well, excellent first day, Harry. Until tomorrow then," Slughorn took his leave.
Harry skipped lunch, continuing with the potions until McGonagall arrived for their afternoon Transfiguration session. She too took his studies to a whole new level.
"Well, Mr Potter, I trust your morning lessons have been insightful?" she inquired as she prepared to begin. Harry paused, studying her for a moment.
"Yes," he answered shortly after she raised a brow at him.
"Very well. We will back track now here a bit to review the four basic elements of Mother Nature. Can you tell me what they are?"
"The basic elements?" Harry asked quizzically. It was a simple thing, but Harry was still a little confused as to what they had to do with transfiguration.
"Yes," she was just as short with him.
"Earth..." he started hesitantly, feeling a little dumb. This was elementary, but they didn't exactly study muggle sciences here at Hogwarts.
"Go on."
"Earth... wind, fire and water..." he finished, a little unsure of himself.
"Precisely," McGonagall said, reciting each as she flourished her wand above the table at the center of the room, leaving a small hill of dirt, a glass of water, a bottle containing what looked like a swirling tornado within, and a simple flame, left burning, hovering over the table.
"A wizard's environment can either be a myriad of obstacles, traps, and dead ends, or a wizard's play ground. All is subject upon the level of wizard," she went on. "Now then, when attempting to manipulate one's environment, we must remember Gamp's Laws. I trust you have not forgotten these?"
"Gamp's Laws..." Harry was again unsure of himself. "Well... I know you can't heal certain dark curses..." he remembered George's lost ear.
"Correct," McGonagall said. "And what else?"
"You... you can't create food out of nothing..."
"Nor money," McGonagall added. "But that is a special and specific case. What I wish us to focus on, are the first three laws of Gamp's. To summarize, as you so eloquently pointed out, a wizard cannot make something out of nothing. So if we are to master transfiguration, we must become masters at manipulating the four basic elements, which will lead us to all else," she motioned across them. Harry simply nodded. "Wand out, Mr Potter."
They started off simple enough. Converting the dirt from earth to rock, from rock to wood. They practiced enlarging and shrinking each, multiplying and dividing them. Nothing too fancy, that is until she had Harry try running full speed at the brick wall while attempting to transfigure a section of it into a wooden door he could escape through while she was firing curses at him.
The first thirteen times he simply ran smack dab into it, before falling back over on his arse. The next twelve times he was able to transfigure it into wood, but not so much a door as simple planks he was able to crash through. His shoulder was well bruised and sore by the time he got it right. They moved on.
Harry learned that without the addition of other elements, there was little one could do with water other than freeze and unfreeze it. It wasn't the hardest of tasks to complete, again until she had him levitate it out of its glass. It took all the control he'd learned from Flitwick to simply keep the mass together, much less form it into several different shapes and sizes. It proved damn near impossible when she had him freeze it mid-air, and then struggle to keep it frozen while he hovered it over the open flame.
Wind, as well as fire, were both easy enough to create, but to control with any precision... Well, this was going to take a lot of practice, and a lot more time than they had this first day.
Their final lesson of the day moved beyond the basic elements, as she had him turn glass to sand and then the sand back to glass. This too was not beyond him, until she broke the glass into a thousand small shards and had him practice it while the sharp pieces were flying at his head. It was safe to say he would be needing several of the healing potions he was brewing with Slughorn before this lesson was over.
"Very good, Mr Potter," McGonagall smirked at him as Harry performed a small piece of mastery. Blasting the glass into sand, he used a pocket of wind to swirl the millions of tiny sediments together, before transfiguring them into two large bricks he sent hurdling at the wooden dummy he'd failed to attack with the suit of armor earlier, utterly destroying it. "Practice makes perfect."
"At least I did it," Harry grumbled sourly, tired, bruised, cut and worn. Whatever doubts he had about returning and what he could gain from it were gone. He now hadn't a clue as to how he, Ron and Hermione had survived this last year, much less defeated Voldemort, but he was glad he was back.
"I assume you'll still be here tomorrow then?" she asked as she began gathering her things. Again, Harry could not believe two hours had already passed.
"Yes," Harry said.
"Good," she replied. "You did well today, but I would suggest mastery of your control on the elements of wind and fire inparticular for your homework. The two are all too often overlooked by our kind, and can be so very useful," she glanced back at him with a smile before bidding him farewell.
"Professor..." Harry called to her as she was leaving.
"Yes, Mr Potter?" She turned at the door.
"Thank you..."
McGonagall nodded and closed the door behind her.
Worn from the long day, Harry summoned a chair from against the wall to collapse into at the desk so that he could rest his head over it. 'If everyone only knew what a lousy wizard I am... 'Harry oddly relished the thought. 'The Boy-With-Luck,' he bemused a new nickname for himself, 'and not some bloody savior!'
Harry's self admonishments were suddenly interrupted by a loud crack, like splitting stone. His head popped up, looking around for a house elf, right before the floor abruptly gave out beneath him.