Chapter Twenty-Nine: Studies
The two wizards sat facing one another, not a full meter between them. They were as still and as silent and as unmoving as the furniture of the somber room. The blank features of their faces masked the ensuing battle within. With their backs held rigid and straight, chins raised high, that look of intensity shared in either of their eyes was the only thing to betray the mounting enmity.
One flew forward, slicing through and destroying each and every barrier as fast as the one sweeping backwards in retreat could erect them.
"Focus, Potter!" that voice boomed, not breaking the absolute silence in the room, but in his head, through the connection binding them. "You must clear your mind!"
"Where have I heard that before?!" Harry huffed, seemingly out of breath via the mental pursuit. It was the constant mantra of all those who have tried schooling him in Occlumency. Well never mind that. There was no clearing his mind, not with all that haunted him.
As the invader of his mind skirted across his memories, trailing his fingers through their waters, awaiting for the best one to pluck clean, Harry desperately grasped at each, ripping them in turn from his ever reaching tentacles, all the while flying backwards in escape. He did not wish to share.
Though he may not be able to empty his mind, he was not left entirely defenseless. He'd learned a few tricks through his training. These were his memories, his to remember and interpret... and manipulate. As the invader's grasp lashed out to grab hold of his next memory, Harry flung one forward for him to consume. It was a memory of the one before him, of their first encounter. It was one which Harry would not soon forget, and one he had no trouble in recalling now. As he plunged forward, taking the bait, the invader brought the memory back to life.
The floor suddenly gave out, and he collapsed down in a heap of stone and wood and broken mortar to the level below. "Aghh!" he cried aloud with a sharp pain piercing his leg, and something crushing into the left side of his ribs.
The pain was as real and as vivid now as it had been then, but Harry was counting on this.
The world around him fell to black. "What in the... Bloody hell!" he cursed, frustrated, struggling to free himself from the debris.
Whatever it had been, it came at him again with a blinding light through the black, sweeping like a wave of insurmountable energy. He and all else that had fallen were blown back, separating from each other as they were strewn about like helpless drift to be laid out upon the beach by the in-tameable tide. As he laid prostrate in the darkness, various limbs and other bodily parts throbbing, that deep voice broke the otherwise silence.
"Your first lesson in survival , Mr Potter-" it thrummed.
"Constant vigilance," Harry heard himself mock within the memory in that strained, injured voice. "Yeah, I know," he groaned.
"Constant vigilance..." the voice repeated. "Yes, I like that," it revealed a hint of amusement at his answer. Harry witnessed a shadow move over him, extending out a hand. Harry took it and grunted as the man helped him to his feet.
"Hans Krieg," he introduced himself with a heavy German accent. "Teacher," he added bluntly.
Harry felt Krieg realize his error and attempt to pull away, but Harry pushed the memory onto him, dousing him with it, the tide now turning.
"The pleasure is all mine," Harry winced with sarcasm as he collected himself as best he could. "You know, they say your position is cursed. Lasts only a year..."
"And only the time I intend," Krieg informed him cynically .
"That wasn't exactly fair..." Harry complained as he dusted himself off and struggled to lift his heavy lidded eyes to study the man before him.
From what he could make out in the dim light, Krieg was a large man, older in years, but still fit and radiated a certain air of strength and nobility. His gray hair and beard were cut short. He was dressed in fine, smokey gray robes with his wand in hand. His face was stern and features sharp, a hint of danger in his crystal clear, blue eyes. They all told of a man of action, a Warlock if he'd ever seen one.
"Battle never is," Krieg said simply. "Your education, Mr Potter, begins now."
The pitch black chamber began to spin as Harry was suddenly lifted from his feet and the world began to swirl about him. It lasted only briefly, but having lost his bearings in the whirlwinds, Harry tripped forward when his feet found the ground once again. When he was finally able to get a hold of himself, he found that Krieg had either apparated them, or transformed the room about them into what appeared to be some sort of dark forest.
Raising his arms in a fluid motion, and as if on cue, a clasp of thunder rattled the skies as Krieg's hands met overhead. Not a second later, a torrential downpour followed, immediately soaking Harry to the core.
"The first priority of survival, Mr Potter?" Krieg demanded of him.
"Getting the hell out of this!" Harry turned his face to the heavens, as if to search out the gods beyond the limb and leaf of the canopy above to ask them, 'why?'
"Wrong," Krieg responded flatly, flourishing his wand he slapped Harry with another spell, sending him spiraling onto his backside. "How can one defend themselves, whether it be through fight or flight, if they are injured as such? Your first lesson is self aid. If one cannot protect themselves or treat a serious wound in the field, nothing else following matters."
Raising his head, Harry glowered at Krieg. However, not to be out witted, Harry crawled up onto his knees, before pulling out his pouch from beneath his robes. Retrieving two vials, he quickly consumed both, balking at their foul tastes, but following some quick wand work, he was as good as he needed to be.
"Good," Krieg offered as much of a compliment to Harry as he ever would. "I see you are not completely helpless. Now then, the second priority, as you so gracefully put it, I would consider getting the hell out of this," Krieg no sooner warned than a hail of red curses rained down upon him from all directions of the shadows of the tree line.
Before, Harry had broke for the cover of a fallen trunk, only to be struck down once again in the process. What had followed had been one of the most grueling lessons he'd ever learned, but that was then. This was now. Krieg was in his mind, his territory, where no matter how strong his nemesis was, here he was master. Harry took hold of the memory and held his ground. He did not so much as flinch as the curses arched about him.
Sensing the change, Krieg pulled even harder to extract himself, but Harry forced his image of Krieg to the forefront.
This Krieg likewise ducked away as Harry remembered the dastardly spells aiming for him. Instead of himself, it would be Krieg who would be cut down by the curses. Without control, Krieg reeled from the stings of curse after curse, spinning him about.
Seizing the opportunity, Harry took the opening and cast off Krieg's grip on his mind, and struck back with his own attack. It would be a futile attempt, he'd tried this many times before. It would hurt like hell, and it did, but Harry did not let it stop him. As he ran smack dab into that wall of Krieg's sealed mind, a thousand spears seemed to pierce down into him at once in defense, but Harry did not relent. The pain was not real. Like that of the Cruciatus, it was all in the head. He distanced himself from the intense pain, separating it and cornering it like a wild animal, he pushed it aside, making it an abstract, and there by containing and bearing it. Harry struck at the wall like sledge hammer, intent on tearing it down. A crack began to form...
"Huughh!" Harry sucked in a desperate breath of air as the feeling of ice water washed over him from the sudden withdrawal. Krieg had managed to pull away.
"You failed," Krieg chastised him. "You must learn to clear your mind."
"I got you out, didn't I?" Harry managed a response. "You're just mad I beat you again!"
"You beat nothing," Krieg said calmly, but a hint of warning underlined his tone. "Tricks will only get you so far," he said as he abruptly stood, turning his back to Harry to move and collect his things.
"Where are you going?" Harry asked indignantly, put off by Krieg's never ending refusal to recognize anything Harry was able to accomplish. Over the last two months, from that very first meeting, save for his three other lessons with the other professors each, Krieg had become a constant in his life, inevitably forming some sort of bond between the two.
It was a love - hate relationship. Hate in that Krieg's consistent snide remarks forever reminded him of Snape. Hate in how Krieg forever pushed and drilled him, no matter how far he'd come, it was never enough. Hate for what his life had become, ceaseless training and studying, never a break, never a friend, none but his professors and the ever present Krieg, no purpose other than to master his next lessons, to reach that next step... but for what?
In the same breath, though, Harry could recognize what Krieg was, what he was offering him. As much as Krieg reminded him of Snape - a powerful wizard in his own right - Harry'd never met a more intriguing nor powerful wizard short of Dumbledore himself. In these last two months, Krieg, together with the others, had taught him things he'd yet to fathom. Whether Krieg wished to acknowledge them or not, Harry could see them, and they were drastic, and as much as he hated Krieg for what he was doing to him, he could not help but... had he known all that he did now, had he been this capable before the war... Harry was all too aware of what still awaited him out their beyond Hogwarts' walls.
"I have a meeting with the Headmistress," Krieg answered, interrupting Harry's thoughts.
"About what?" Harry had no qualms about butting his nose in.
"Should it concern you, Potter, you would be invited," Krieg likewise snubbed him. Harry paused, appraising his teacher for a moment. He had a sneaking suspicion that these random rendezvous of Krieg's with McGonagall did in fact have everything to do with him. He'd try to shadow Krieg before, use what Krieg himself had taught him on spying and eavesdropping, but not even his best of spellwork could undo the silencing charms about the Headmistress's office. It was always a fruitless endeavor as Krieg was no fool.
"I will see you at midnight within the Pitch," Krieg left him with that.
. . . .
"Hey, there you are!" Ron dropped his stack of books down on the table with a loud thud before collapsing into the seat next to Hermione. "What are you still doing here, it's already past ten, you know?" Ron needlessly informed her.
"Thanks for your concern, Ron, but I've still to finish my essay for Professor Binn's, and I've yet to start on our Transfiguration assignment, not to mention the Alchemy and Runes' homework. Our project for Slughorn took up most of my evening."
"Yikes!" Ron bit, not wanting to get her going. "You know, sometimes I think Harry had the right idea."
Hermione's head shot up for the first time at this, glaring at Ron with warning.
"S-sorry..." Ron rolled his eyes away. Hermione always got like this when someone mentioned Harry around her. "Just don't remember the lessons being so bloody hard is all. I swear, this new Transfigurations professor! Ten sheets of parchment, just on turning a beetle into a bagroot?! Not even McGonagall had been this mental!" Ron complained.
"That's because you're a senior, Ronald. They're supposed to be more difficult."
Ron gulped when he heard this. Just like his mum, Hermione would use his full name when she was about to give him a proper lecture.
"And a Prefect on top of that, you should be setting an example. Besides, as one of the world's saviors, this should all be but a cinch for you anyways," she smiled smugly at him.
"Geez, Herms, lighten up will ya?! I was just venting a bit!"
Hermione shook her head at him disapprovingly.
"Anyways..." Ron tried changing the subject. "What are you reading about?" he attempted being clever, baiting Hermione with one of her weaknesses.
Hermione could not suppress a laugh at this. There were no bounds Ron wouldn't stoop to and he knew her too well. "I was hoping you'd ask!" Hermione put on a cheery facade. "We're covering Ancient Magi's of the Seventh Century in history, and I thought it would be fun if we could get together tomorrow after dinner and discuss the differences between Groeger's and Demetri's philosophies on proletariat equalities," she batted her lashes at him tenderly.
"Er..." Ron's eyes grew wide with fear before Hermione broke and began laughing hard at her own jest. "Not funny!" Ron shook his head at her, letting out a deep sigh of relief.
"Hmm..." Hermione studied him, "and here I thought you were generally interested!"
Ron shivered as he thought about ol' Professor Binn's class. He'd been lucky enough to dodge that one. "About as interested as you are in hearing about my Quidditch."
"I always listen to you about your Quidditch, Ron," Hermione turned back to her book.
"Not like you want to..." Ron grumbled.
"Look, if you came to study, fine, but I don't have the time to do this with you right now. I've got a twenty sheet essay due on the Byzantine Wars and I've only got thirty-six pages done so far and I have yet to begin on the Arab conflicts."
"But... never mind," Ron decided it best not to argue her logic, this was Hermione after all. Leave it to her to turn a twenty sheet essay into a fifty sheet one.
"So..." Ron contemplated a different approach. "Have I ever told you how charming you look while studying..?" he pulled his mouth into an eek at saying this, hoping it would work.
"I'm not doing your Transfiguration's essay for you, Ronald. Your N.E.W.T.'s will be here before you know it. You should try learning something for a change."
"Ah, come off it, Hermione. I'm swamped with all our other classes, the Halloween feast is tomorrow, and then we've got that big match against Ravenclaw on Friday, which could very well decide who gets the Cup!" he pleaded.
"Well then, I'd suggest you get started!" she opened his Transfiguration book for him. Ron grumbled while pulling out some parchment and a quill.
. . . .
It being so late and past curfew, the vast and otherwise empty library had grown eerily quite as the two scribbled away at their homework. Ron jumped when the large clock, tucked away in the far corner, first chimed to mark eleven o'clock.
"Merlin!" he gasped. "Getting too..."
"Sshh!" Hermione hissed, spinning her head about to look back behind them.
"Huh?" Ron in turn looked quizzically in the same direction as the chimes tolled on. She did not respond.
Dong! The silence ensued through the sixth chime.
"Did you hear that?" Hermione finally whispered under her breath.
Dong!
"Hear what? It's called a clock, Herms." Ron looked at her like she had something on her face.
Dong!
"No..." She stood to face the direction at which she was looking.
Dong!
In the silence following the ninth toll, Ron finally heard something too. A thud, like a book hitting the floor, and then the scuffle of feet.
Dong!
"What was that?" Ron looked to Hermione, but she did not answer, staring intently off into the void.
Dong! The final bell tolled, and then... nothing. Absolute silence as the two stared away into the darkness.
They waited. And... nothing.
"Hello?" Hermione called out, piercing the eerie muteness of the empty library. "Someone there?" Of course, there was no response.
"Probably just Filch's cat," Ron said a bit nervously, his eyes darting back and forth amongst the endless shelves of books. The long aisle cloaked in darkness leading towards the exit suddenly did not look too appealing. "Come on, let's-"
"Homenum Revelio," Hermione abruptly cast.
"A little paranoid, are we?" Ron chuckled tensely as the tiny bead of light sped away, disappearing finally amidst the shelves. "You don't actually think someone would be-"
"Ron." She said his name quick and sharp, stopping him short. His eyes followed hers back to the shelves. The little bead of light had not returned. Its faint glow could just barely be seen perhaps some twenty aisles down, now moving slowly, but steadily amongst the rows.
"Shite..." Ron sighed breathlessly, a hint of fear now evident in his voice.
"Luminos," Hermione cast, raising her wand to give them some more light, but the air in the room seemed to be thick and smothering, restraining her spell within a tight globe.
"Hermione!" Ron gasped, grabbing at her arm as she stepped forward. Her head snapped back at him, eying him wearily. "What are you doing?!" he hissed.
"Someone has been spying on us, and I intend to find out why," she stated matter-of-factly.
"Bloody hell," he cursed. "OI!" he shouted now, calling out into the distance. "We know you're there! It's past curfew, you little shite! Show yourself and maybe I won't take fifty points when I find your little smarmy arse!" he tried. His eyes were locked onto the dim glow of Hermione's charm in the distance, just as it was snuffed out. "Shite," he repeated in a whisper.
"Come on," Hermione said, pulling him along. "You take this aisle," she motioned down the center one. "I'll go over this way."
"Hermione, you can't be-"
"Don't be childish, Ron. It's just another student," she cut before pulling away from him to take the side aisle. Ron could only stand there, gripped by something he had not felt in a long, long time. Hermione disappeared as he did battle with his feet. He did not want to face it, but he was afraid. Something about this just felt all wrong.
He seemed to forget himself as he stared down that ominous looking aisle. He'd frozen. He'd yet to take a step when he heard the anguished, piercing scream of Hermione.
"Hermione..." he snapped out of it. "HERMIONE!" he finally found his footing, charging forward with his wand held high. "NO!"