HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATH OF THE OLD RULE
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
CHAPTER 10
RETURN TO HOGWARTS
Harry was looking at the nervous first year student entering the Great Hall for the Sorting ceremony. He remembered vividly how terrified he had been himself on that evening, which now felt like such a distant memory. Granted, he had been anxious, and scared, but he had also been innocent, childlike, discovering day by day, hour by hour, this fascinating new Wizarding world. But now … Here he was again, seven years later, hardened, almost disillusioned, and carrying an enormous weight on his shoulder ” still ” even after defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard to be seen in the last one hundred years …
It felt incredibly strange for Harry to be sitting at the staff table. He had, for the last seven years, been down there ” comfortably seated at the Gryffindor table, enjoying the company of his friends and welcoming on the new students just sorted into the Gryffindor House. Being up here was somewhat different. He felt, more than ever, the sense of responsibility, the weight on his shoulders that he had never managed to shake off.
On his right side was an empty seat, and in the seat right beside that one was Professor Snape, who was looking at him with a cold, emotionless glare. Harry would have a difficult time getting used to this, and Snape ” who had become somewhat more civil and less cruel after Harry had saved his life in their sixth year ” was nevertheless as unreadable as ever, a stone monument that Harry figured was always thinking of some way of humiliating him. He smirked faintly, however, and nodded to Harry as a welcoming gesture.
To Harry’s surprise, he then leaned over the empty seat, and whispered, “Good evening, Potter … I must say that even I could NOT have predicted this outcome when your first came to this school …” He paused, his face now becoming grave and solemn. “Well done, Harry. Well done.” This was the first time Severus Snape had ever addressed him by his first name.
Harry was taken aback. He tried to reply, but found that he had a difficult time expressing himself properly whenever Snape was involved. “Er, thank you, Prof ” Oh! Hum, by what … title, or name should I call you now?”
Snape looked somewhat amused, and apparently gave the question a few seconds of thought. He then said curtly, “Well, I’m still a Professor, and you’re quite young to be addressing me otherwise… Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?”
Harry was almost relieved with this answer. He couldn’t picture himself calling Snape “Severus”, and still wasn’t ready to consider Snape anything more than somebody he didn’t like very much.
“Ok then! Thank you for the compliment, Professor Snape”, Harry said under his breath, hoping the conversation would end there. To his great relief, it did, as Snape immediately straightened up on his seat, turning his eyes towards the Great Hall.
The seat on his left was occupied by the new flying teacher, none other than his own best friend, Ron Weasley. Harry had been surprised to hear about the nomination from Ron’s mouth, but then again, he couldn’t help but feel extremely happy: at least, returning to Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron would feel very familiar. He elbowed him in the side, and turned to whisper in his ear.
“Doesn’t this feel weird? I mean, we’re on the ‘other’ side, now! We’re going to have to obey rules!”
Ron laughed silently, and looked at Harry. “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later … It does feel weird, though. We worked so hard to get through school, and now we’re back … at school! Wicked, mate, just wicked!”
Harry couldn’t help but agree with Ron on that. It now seemed they would never ever get away from Hogwarts!
Harry’s attention turned back to the long line of new students. He smiled with pride as he gazed upon Professor McGonagall, immediately followed by … their very own Hermione! They were both leading the cohort of new students down the center aisle of the Great Hall. Thanks to Dumbledore, Hermione had been given the same Assistant-Teacher position to McGonagall she had been offered before the Krum fiasco. McGonagall had accepted to replace Professor Binns for a year, teaching History of Magic. Somehow, he had disappeared over the summer, and no one ” not even the other ghosts ” knew where he had gone. Rumours said, however, he had finally realized he was dead, a fact that had never occurred to him before. The ghostly Professor had, well, moved on to the other ‘realm’ ”apparently ashamed of having never realized his state of consciousness.
As the line of new recruits made its way across the hall, and as other students started seeing Hermione walking down the hall, carrying the Sorting Hat, a growing roar of approval started following the procession, becoming louder and louder as they approached the foot of the staff table where laid the stool reserved for the old hat. When Hermione, by then sporting an unflattering shade of purple, finally laid down the hat on its stool, the crowd was so loud in cheers that one would have swore they were at a Quidditch game. Of course, only the first years didn’t quite know Harry, Ron or Hermione, and hadn’t witnessed their heroic exploits of the last two years. She looked up furtively towards Harry, who smiled at her and winked. He mouthed words silently, slowly to make sure she understood him: I love you. She was already purple, and couldn’t have blushed more, but her heart accelerated ever so slightly had the sight of Harry. With the events of the last few days, her feelings for him were overwhelming and apparently getting stronger as the weeks went by. She was hopelessely in love with him, and had a hard time conceiving that it was real. The best part was that she knew, by the intense stares he often gave her, that he felt the same.
The ceremony got under way right after McGonagall’s opening speech. The Sorting Hat broke into his usual song, with the same mentions of unity, of coming together, and other such admonitions. Harry’s old habit was to not really pay attention to what the hat said ” that was Hermione’s forte ”but his curiosity was nevertheless aroused with the last verse of the song:
“So you see, an old hat like me
is only here to tell you where you ought to be;
Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Slytherin or Hufflepuff,
It makes no difference in what you will be taught.
However, I will tell you this:
Old flaws die hard,
Ancient threats do rise again,
And once more, there could be war.
United this old school should stand, for from within lie threats unexpected.
The Brave and the Snake, foes of old,
Shall now be forever divided by blood.”
Harry was somewhat shaken by that statement. He looked at Ron, who seemed as intrigued as he was.
“Does that mean what I think it means? The ‘Brave’, that’s Gryffindor, right? And there’s no doubt that the ‘Serpent’ is Slytherin … So, there will be blood, or something?” Ron whispered to Harry, as the name “Abercrombie, Richard” was called first to go sit and put the Sorting Hat on. Ron vaguely noticed that it was Hermione’s voice calling the names this year.
Harry nodded, and replied. “Yeah, I think that’s what it means … Blood will be shed between the houses.” Harry tensed up and clenched his fists on the table as he remembered his promise to Malfoy.
“Gryffindor!” yelled the Sorting Hat, and Richard Abercrombie joined the cheering Gryffindor table.
The ceremony proceeded normally, and Harry was quite proud of the way Hermione was calling out the names, and taking her place as the rightful “heir” ” she would have said so herself ” to Minerva McGonagall. However, something odd happened when she called out one of the last names.
“Winslow, Thomas”.
A tall, skinny boy approached the stool and sat down. He had long, greasy black hair, somewhat reminiscent of Snape’s hairstyle. It was longer, however, and fell down below his shoulders. There was something sinister about him, something that could even be labelled frightening. Unlike the rest of the first years, he seemed cooled and collected, and his wand was tucked in his belt in the front of his robes ” something that first years didn’t usually do, having just purchased their first wand. He briefly looked up at the staff table, and stared straight at Harry. The moment the their eyes met, Harry’s scar erupted in white hot, searing pain.
“OUCH!” Harry shrieked, taken by surprise. His hand immediately went up to rub his forehead, and for a moment, he became the center of attention. Under such circumstances, Harry’s reflex would normally have been to use Legilimency to try to peer into Winslow’s thoughts. He could hardly do it, though, in front of the whole school.
“Nothing to worry about, it happens regularly now, just … go on! Please!” Harry said out loud, mortified that every eye in the room was now on him. Most students who knew him gave a worried look. They had learned, over the years, that pain in Harry’s scar usually meant trouble. Harry turned and purposely met Hermione’s eyes, and knew at once she was extremely worried. Actually, it was more than worry: Harry could distinctly read fear on her face.
“Slytherin!” the Hat yelled, without any hesitation. The boy named Winslow got up, and walked slowly to the Slytherin table.
The rest of the ceremony proceeded in a blur. The pain in Harry’s scar had subsided, but now a million questions were submerging him. Who was that Winslow boy? Why had he felt pain in his scar? Was he, in any way, connected to Voldemort or Maldemort? Harry was in the middle of these thoughts when Albus Dumbledore stood up and made his usual, brief opening statement, inviting everyone to eat well, and keeping his “back to school” speech for the end of the feast.
Hermione sat down quietly besides him, and remained silent for a while. She was slightly out of breath, as if she had ran to the table. She then turned to Harry rather abruptly.
“Who was that boy? How come your scar hurt?” she blurted with a slightly higher tone than usual.
Harry glanced around the room, and whispered. “I don’t know, Hermione. He stared at me, and that’s when my scar hurt. I’m as dumbfounded as you are …”
He shot a glance towards Winslow, who was sitting at the end of the Slytherin table. He was alone, and interestingly, he was eating with one hand, and keeping the other discretely on his wand. He seemed nervous and suspicious, almost as if he expected some kind of attack.
“Yeah, this boy is definitely something else”, Harry mused out loud, not noticing the growing fear on Hermione’s face as she looked at Winslow.
--------------------
Draco Malfoy awoke with a start, completely lost as to where he was, or how he had got there. He was lying on a bed, and a quick glance around told him he was back home in his bedroom at the Malfoy manor. He tried to get up, leaning on his hand for support. A piercing, horrendous stab of pain instantly shot through his arm and he fell back on his bed sideways, dizzy and disoriented by the intense throbbing that now radiated in his whole arm. He opened his eye, and saw the white gauze bound tightly around his wrist, stained here and there with patches of blood that had managed to seep through the cloth. In a flash, the painful memory of his last encounter with his “Master” came back, and he remembered all the gruesome details of how his hand had been torched because of his “mistake”. Unfortunately, he thought, this hadn’t been just a horrendous nightmare.
Someone, however, had obviously tended to his wound, because the hideous stump he now knew to be at the end of his right arm didn’t seem as swollen and wasn’t as painful as it had been when his father had exerted his “discontent” upon it.
Fear, rage and anger instantly mounted within him, and overtook him. How could he have done this to him? Yes, he was his “Master” and such, but Draco had had enough of that stupid game. He was, still, and always would be, his father. He just couldn’t believe that there wasn’t something left inside that told him he was still Draco’s father, that he had a son … How cruel and senseless could a man be to just … maim his own flesh and blood like that? Even Voldemort had not been this unforgiving to the Malfoys over the years, and Draco knew for a fact that his father had made his share of mistakes …
“All this would have never happened if Potter had not killed Voldemort!”, he muttered to himself, trying to sit on his bed without having to move his amputated limb too much. He found, much to his displeasure and discomfort, that it was quite difficult. But as much as he wanted to hate Harry and blame him for his fate, the real object of Draco’s rage was his father ” and he knew it.
The double glass doors to his suite suddenly opened, and Draco was startled to see his mother entering the room.
“Sorry, Draco, I thought you were still sleeping. I was coming to check on the bandaging. I’ve been treating your … wound with a magic liniment made especially for this kind of injury. It should heal within a few days, but it was still very much tender the last time I looked.”
Draco looked at his mother with interrogatory eyes, trying to gauge whether she was on his father’s side. Her face was quite difficult to read, but for a fleeting instant he thought for sure he saw pity, even compassion.
“Wound? Injury? Is that what he told you? Was I injured in the course of ‘battle’?” Draco was so upset at his father that he was ready to explode.
Narcissa looked at her son with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Yes, that’s what the Death Eater who brought you here said … But I know better …”
She looked away, pondering heavily what she was about to say. It seemed to Draco she was weighing the consequences of the words she was about to utter.
“This was the work of your father, wasn’t it?” she said softly, loud only enough for Draco to hear.
Draco’s fury erupted. “Yeah, it was! And what a piece of art it is, isn’t it! He took my hand, he burned it, and he enjoyed doing it! Is he that cruel and sadistic with you? I’m all for fighting for the ‘dark side’, but this is too much! I mean, his own son! HOW COULD HE?”
Narcissa just looked down at the floor.
Draco’s voice calmed down as he saw his mother trembling. She sat down at the end of his bed, and all of the sudden, she started crying.
“Mother? Are you all right?” Draco was not used to tears in his parents’ house.
Narcissa Malfoy got back up, composing herself really quickly, as if she had done something awful by letting her son see her tears.
But Draco was intrigued, and thought there might be a possibility to get back at his father for what he had done to him. Slowly, a plan crept its way into his mind, a daring idea that could allow him to really hurt his father, to exact some kind of revenge on what he had done to him.
“Mother? Let’s leave this place, and go into hiding. Whatever father has become, he is no longer who he used to be, and this ...” he pointed at his stump with his chin, “this is the proof that he no longer cares about his family!”
Narcissa examined him for a long time, obviously trying to measure whether he was serious or not.
“But Draco, your father has become very powerful. We can’t just leave, or fight him ” we’re going to be killed for sure!”
Draco smiled. “Don’t worry, mother … I think I may have a plan.” Indeed, the twisted, sinister plot was taking a more definite shape in Draco’s mind, and if he could just make it work, he would even kill two birds with one stone.
But Narcissa had already made up her mind anyway. She had been supportive and faithful to Lucius and his allegiance to Voldemort for almost all their married life. There had been times when she had questioned it, but despite his choices Lucius had always been loving and protective of her and Draco. But now …
He had forsaken them. By becoming Maldemort he had left his family behind. If she was going to die, at least it would be for her own convictions. Not someone else’s.
“All right, Draco. Let’s go. Let’s do it.”
--------------------
“The Old Rule”, said Harry pensively. “So that’s what this is all about?”
It was the morning of their first day of teaching. Albus Dumbledore was looking at them rather gravely. He had summoned an urgent meeting of the “new” Order of the Phoenix just before the start of classes, to give an account of some new information that had come to light.
“Yes, I’m afraid herein the Old Rule lies the motivation behind those last attacks … It’s funny, actually. But strange at the same time. You see, my inquiries were going in a completely different direction, but then I received an anonymous owl this morning that tipped me off. And it must be from someone who is ” or was ” very close to Maldemort, because the letter gives details that only someone on the inside could know.”
Harry was intrigued. “Like what?”
Dumbledore turned towards Hermione before he continued. “Like the mention of some details of the attack on Miss Granger in Romania … Certain facts have not been disclosed by any of us, Harry, so only a Death Eater present at the scene could have had this kind of information!”
Harry’s mouth fell open. He looked around at the others, and expressed out loud the obvious comment that everyone was dying to blurt out.
“So what you’re saying is that someone, on the inside, is leaking information to us? But … Why?”
Dumbledore smiled faintly. “Well, my feeling is that this Maldemort has displeased one of his followers, and the latter would like him defeated. We should be extremely careful, though, since it could also be a trap of some sort.”
Hermione interjected. “But what exactly is the Old Rule? You were about to comment on that …”
The Headmaster paused, and took a deep breath. “Yes, indeed … The Old Rule. Well, it is very difficult to explain in simple terms, because it encompasses a lot more than just the Wizarding World. Also, one must be careful when studying it, since it is so ancient that most of the manuscripts we still have ” of the Old Rule itself, and studies of it ” have been tampered with over the centuries. Furthermore, numerous wizards have written about it without really understanding it, or at the very least without grasping its essence. Only two reliable manuscripts of the Old Rule remain. One is kept here, at Hogwarts, in one of the underground vaults … A vault quite similar to the one where the Philosopher’s stone was once kept, a few years back.”
Smiles went around the room, but Harry didn’t notice: he was totally focused on what Dumbledore was saying.
“The other one has been entrusted to the care of the National Library of the Wizarding World, in London. It is heavily protected, and I would have heard about any attempt to secure it. My conclusion, hence, is that the ‘Old Rule’ by which Maldemort and his followers are being guided is a doubtful text at best.”
Hermione frowned at him intensely, still not clear about what the rule was about.
Dumbledore caught her eyes, and smirked. “But, as Miss Granger is about to remind me, I digress … The Old Rule was established a very long time ago, by the first wizards ” we call them ‘Founders’ ” who ever realized they had special powers separating them from the rest of the human realm. They were, history tells us, drawn together by the very oddities that set them apart. They were often thrown out of the emerging villages and communities of the Stone Age, and labelled as outsiders. Soon enough, some of them realized they had similar powers, and to make this elaborate story short, they started to organize into what we call today the Wizarding World. It ””
Ron’s mouth was open wide, fascinated as he was by the narrative. He couldn’t help but interrupt. “Excuse me, Sir, but why didn’t YOU teach History of Magic? I’m sure we would have found it quite interesting! And we never heard about THIS with Professor Binns!”
Hermione gave Ron a scathing look, and for a moment, it was exactly like they were students again. “Oh, Ron, you are so rude! And if you had paid any intention in History of Magic, you would indeed have found it quite interesting!”
Ron made to reply, but Albus Dumbledore raised his hand.
He winked at Hermione before continuing. “I am sorry you didn’t enjoy your classes more, Ronald, but I think there’s a bit of truth in what Miss Granger just said! But let’s get back to what I was explaining. Ah yes! So these wizards of old laid the foundations upon which our world could be built. It was a formidable challenge that extended over more than one generation. But one thing that our Founders quickly realized was the fragility of their status. They were still outsiders, and if someone ever discovered the basis of their affinity, they would be persecuted into oblivion. The key to survival, they thought, was to create an intimate association between Wizards and non-wizards ” Muggles, as they had already started calling them. So they concocted an extremely powerful charm, which was later transcripted and formulated into the “Old Rule” …”
He paused, and took a sip of water from the glass in front of him.
“The Rule had two unique properties: first, it was to self-transmit itself from parents to children. All it took was one Muggle family for the charm to propagate itself to the entire human race over the course of years and centuries. Second, it would allow children endowed with true Magical powers to be born from Muggle parents …”
Hermione gasped as she covered her mouth with both her hands. “So … That’s why I’m the way I am, then?”
Albus Dumbledore paused, peering at everyone with a gaze so intense that they were almost afraid of what he was about to say. He turned to Hermione, with a sudden paternal love in his eyes that he had only shown to Harry over the years.
“Yes, dear Hermione, that is how you got to have your powers … It was ” and is ” the working essence of the Rule. It insured that the Wizarding world would henceforth never exist without the ‘normal’ world ” and vice-versa.”
Dumbledore let the words sink in before he continued.
“Hence, they achieved this ‘balance’ by creating ‘cross-overs’ ” ‘Muggle-borns’, that is Magical children born from Muggles, and ‘Squibs’, people with no magical abilities born from wizards. In so doing, they knew that both world would eternally remain linked. The ability Muggles have to create bonds and relationships of love, a strength that is so lacking in wizards, constitutes the true foundation of the rule. The ability to love, forgive, and embrace differences above everything else will continue to transmit itself to the Wizarding World, insuring that it is never isolated and vulnerable … from without, but also from within.”
Harry’s mind was working furiously, but as he turned towards Hermione for feedback, he saw that her face was in her hands … She was crying. The impact of this new information was apparently overwhelming her. Harry got up, moved his chair closer to hers, and put his arm around her.
She looked around, and then up at Harry. “That’s why they’re dead, isn’t it?” She turned back to Dumbledore, desperately needing an answer. “That’s why my parents have been killed! It all makes sense now! That’s also why they tried to get me! Isn’t it?”
Dumbledore looked at her indulgently, with extreme compassion radiating all over his face.
“Yes, Miss Granger, I believe that IS in fact the reason for the murder of your parents, and the attempt on your own life. Somehow, Maldemort seems to think that killing cross-overs ” maybe all of them ” is the key to weakening us, and perhaps getting to Harry. Because make no mistake … Maldemort is only pursuing Voldemort’s quest: to destroy Harry Potter!”
Dumbledore paused, realizing like everyone present that Hermione was overwhelmed. The events of the preceding weeks had been so intense that she had not really had had the time to process the murder of her parents. But now, the emotions were coming back, and there was nothing to hide them under anymore.
Harry spoke softly. “Professor Dumbledore, maybe we should continue this at some other time, I mean, it’s hard stuff to take in, and ””
But the Headmaster seemed to have one more thing on his mind, and lifted his hand to interrupt Harry. “There is, I am afraid, one more information that I must share with you all, because it is extremely important … As I’ve said before, our new foe is working from a text that contains gross inaccuracies.”
Harry gasped, and with difficulty, composed himself. He was trying to fathom what Dumbledore was saying. Could that mean that Hermione’s parents had been killed for nothing? If so, now was really not the time to divulge that information. He replied with a certain anger mounting within him. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
Hermione was leaning on Harry, sobbing and shaking violently, trying to muffle the sound of her sobs into Harry’s sweater. He was holding her tightly, but was now ready to get up and leave.
Dumbledore spoke again, with the wisdom of his years as Headmaster and leader of the Wizarding world.
“It simply means, Harry, that they are missing two very crucial pieces of information from the original ‘Old Rule’ …” Dumbledore looked around the room at the puzzled faces.
He continued eagerly. “First, the rule is too powerful to be thwarted: killing cross-overs is not a solution. At best, it may weaken us. But secondly, only those who have read the original text would know that the Founders, in order for the Rule to remain strongly in effect, added one extra twist to the charm: in the midst of the 1,000th generation born from Muggles as a consequence of the spell, there would be ONE wizard endowed with an enhanced ability to bring love and emotions within the Wizarding community. It is prophetically stated by the Rule itself that this person will insure, somehow, that the Old Rule remain in effect for another lengthy period of time.”
Harry was curious now, and forgot about his anger. “And do you have a clue on who that could be?”
Dumbledore smiled, but then resumed a very grave face. “Well, for the longest time, I thought it to be your mother, Harry … I was sure that the incredible strength of the bond that saved your life could only be the fulfilment of the prophecy. Furthermore, it seemed to fit: your mother’s love saved you so that you could save the Wizarding world from Voldemort. The only glitch was, Voldemort’s quest had absolutely nothing to do with the Old Rule. So I waited patiently, and at last, the fruits of my research suddently took me in the right direction. I am now fairly convinced to have found the wizard in question …”
Ron frowned, and looked at Ginny, Luna and Neville with a quizzical look on his face.
“But that wizard is probably one in millions, I mean, how did you manage to identify him or her?”
“Well Ron,” Dumbledore continued, “there aren’t that many cross-overs. I mean, in your school years, there were only two or three at Hogwarts, so that means their numbers are rather small …”
Dumbledore turned to Harry before he continued with a smile.
“It is also my conviction that this person’s ‘powers’, if I may so express myself, have already been at work. That person has already established a connection of love strong enough to save a life, possibly initiating the destruction of those who would bring about the ‘death’ of the Old Rule …”
Harry frowned really hard, attempting to grasp what Dumbledore was saying. He was clueless, but then a ray of light flashed through in his brain.”
He replied frantically, “You mean that it … this person is someone we know, right?”
Dumbledore replied, very softly, his eyes meeting someone else’s in the room.
“Indeed, Harry … This person, as a matter of fact, is the very one you’re holding so dearly in your arms right now.”
--------------------
Harry was growing increasingly nervous as students ” first years from Slytherin ”were pouring into his class. At least, for his first lesson, he had the first years. He would have thought it dreadful to teach his first class in front of seventh years, most of whom he still knew from his school days, and some of which he still maintained a very close relationship with ” Ginny being a prime example of this.
Harry had prepared for his lessons, but there were a few factors he had not considered that were now making him anxious. For example, he had forgotten that being a Hogwart’s teacher meant he would have to teach students from Slytherin, the very essence of which he despised. He would also have to face the seventh years from Slytherin, and that would be very hard: a lot of those student’s parents were now in Azkaban, thanks to Harry. He didn’t quite know how to go about it: should he establish his authority with them through fear, or try to gain their confidence? But why would he even want to? It almost posed a moral dilemma for him, since if he had had the choice, he wouldn’t even have taught them.
It had bothered him enough to talk to Dumbledore about it. His suggestion had been helpful.
“Harry, you must remember that not ALL Slytherin students become Dark Wizards … Also, remember that you possess qualities that could have landed you in Slytherin, enough in fact to trip the Sorting Hat … Slytherin is about ambition, about striving to be the best and achieve great things. I would suggest that you look inside of you, and seek out those very qualities that are very much present in you. And as a teacher, your goal should be to have the Slytherin students tap into their full potential. The reason that most Dark Wizards come from Slytherin is that they are not willing to be sufficiently patient to reach their goals. And sadly, Dark Magic makes the empty promise of power, riches, and satisfied ambition, in a short amount of time.”
It is with this in mind that Harry, seeing the class full and no more students entering, launched into his opening lecture.
“Er, good morning, all of you. This is, in fact, your very first class at Hogwarts. My name, as probably many of you already know (there was no point pretending his fame hadn’t preceded him), is Harry Potter … Professor Potter, from now on.”
Harry let the effect of this statement sink in. He was surprised to read fear in a lot of faces. He had expected snickers, disdain and even anger, but not … fear. But then again, even Malfoy was scared of him now, and he was a lot more trained than these guys.
“This class,” Harry continued, “is devoted to defending oneself against the Dark Arts. I have spent the most of the last seven years, more by necessity than by choice, in a battle with one of the most powerful Dark Wizards of all times ” he called himself Voldemort.”
There was an audible shudder in the class. Most students, though quite young, had grown up learning to fear the name, and most would still not speak it.
Harry continued. “Now, the first lesson I’d like to teach all of you is not to fear calling things by their proper name. While it is true that Voldemort was a very evil Wizard, a lot of his power came from fear ” fear, for example, of his very name.”
Harry paused somewhat before he could continued …
“Now, my first encounter with him happened when I was one year old. Voldemort murdered my parents, and then, tried to kill me … but failed. The curse intended to kill me ” and which, incidentally, left me with that scar (he pointed at it with his finger) ” bounced, and almost did him in. Some actually thought he died. But he managed to hang on to life, and lived for ten years in the shadows, barely alive, in some kind of spirit form. During my first year at Hogwarts, he manifested himself for the first time by possessing a teacher named Quirrell. I thwarted his efforts to secure the Philosopher’s stone that year. He came back the year after in the form of his old self, Tom Riddle, preserved in a diary that was conveniently ‘given’ to a first year student … He managed to possess her, as well, and he almost succeeded in his efforts to come back to a human form. Once again, I had the best of him, and he was defeated once more. It took two years, after that, for him to come back, but he succeeded. With the help of one of his followers, he tricked me and another student, Cedric Diggory, into a graveyard where he had managed to regain his human form. Cedric, unfortunately, was killed. I fought Voldemort face to face, and barely escaped with my life.”
Harry paused and eyed around the classroom. Most of the students were captivated, following his every move. Not a sound could be heard in the very still classroom. It was as if everyone was holding their breath ” with the exception, however, of one. In the back of the class, the student with long and greasy black hair didn’t seem to be paying attention. He looked bored actually, and was looking away from Harry at the window.
Harry tried to ignore this, and continued.
“The following school year ” my fifth ” was almost my downfall. I neglected to listen to teachers and friends, and was defeated in a battle of the mind. Voldemort had found a way into my thoughts, and I didn’t bother learning the skill that would have allowed me to shut him out. There was, unfortunately, a terrible price to pay …”
Harry took a deep breath, and fought hard not to let a tear shine as he continued.
“Because of my stubbornness, my uncle was killed in battle as we were trying to escape Voldemort’s followers. He was the only family I had ever known, and because of my inability to listen, I lost him.”
He paused, and then looked up at the students with fire in his eyes. “When it comes to fighting the Dark Arts, NEVER assume you are above everybody else … Because it will cost you dearly! During the very same battle, I nearly lost my best friend, who was hit by a nasty spell as she was fighting by my side. NEVER assume you don’t need to learn to defend yourself, NEVER assume you know enough.”
A student timidly raised his hand.
“Yes, Mister …?”
“Thorpe, Sir, Donald Thorpe. Is it true that Voldemort has designated a heir, and that his power is rising?”
Harry had received clear instructions from Dumbledore about Maldemort. He was to not deny his existence, but to limit the amount of information that was transmitted to the students.
“We will discuss this in our next class, Mr. Thorpe”, Harry replied, now noticing the students shifting in their seats. Some looked interested, but others seemed downright happy and eager to know more about this new ‘heir’.
“Now, the war against Voldemort erupted fully after my fifth year at Hogwarts. There were numerous battles, often against the Death Eaters, his followers, and a few times against him directly. We were prepared, and in the end, we prevailed. In a final battle last summer, I managed to break the Cruciatus curse and defeat him ” he died permanently a few days after that.”
One student, unable to wait his turn to talk blurted out, “You … resisted and … repelled a Cruciatus curse!? is that even possible?”
Harry smiled. “I had help, but yes, it is possible. Which brings me to the topic of today’s ””
“Some say that you were only lucky, Professor. That if the Headmaster hadn’t rescued you so many times, you would be dead for sure …”
Harry’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the student who had spoken. It was the Winslow boy who had made his scar hurt at the Sorting Ceremony, the kid with long, black greasy hair.
“Mr. Winslow, is it? You should be careful … You can’t believe everything you hear”, replied Harry scathingly. He resisted the urge to let his anger dictate his next move.
“However … There is some truth in what you are saying, and it is a point I would like to make very clear today … Fighting the Dark Arts involves mainly three things: skill, which I will impart to you; help from others, which will only come as people unite to fight a common enemy; and lastly, as Mr. Winslow has so … aptly … put it, luck. Yes, there is a part of war ” any war ” that is successfully waged because of luck and opportunity.”
Harry took on a solemn face, wanting to make his next words count. “But I believe that a man creates his own luck, in a sense: by mastering skills, and surrounding himself with allies that will fight with him, his luck will improve greatly …”
He had said this looking directly at Winslow, staring him down with a blazing fury in his eyes, as if trying to peer in the boy’s mind. Winslow looked down this time, unable to withstand the powerful glare. He was starting to realize what he had risen up against.
Harry looked back at the class solemnly. “These three things ” skills, teamwork, and luck ” allowed me, I am convinced, to defeat Voldemort. That is what I will be teaching you, starting right now. I want everyone to stand, and to get their wands ready …”
--------------------
After a long but exhilarating day of teaching, Harry went to seek out Hermione, so that they could make their way back to Godric’s Hollow. A special Portkey had been set up by Dumbledore to allow them to go back and forth easily, and especially, unnoticed. The last thing they wanted was to attract attention on their coming and going, which would create opportunities for attacks.
However, he had looked everywhere, and she was nowhere to be found. He had tried her classroom, which was empty by now, and the teachers’ lounge, where he had only seen Professor McGonagall. It turned out no one had seen her since her last afternoon class. Increasingly worried, he had then gone quickly by the Great Hall, even stopping in the Gryffindor common room, thinking she may have wanted to see their old hideouts and reminisce about their student days. He also made a futile detour by the Owlery. His only alternative now was to go search for her outside, since she could only be somewhere on the exterior grounds. And even then, he could eliminate Hagrid’s cabin, since there was no one there.
Harry was hit by a chilly September wind as soon as he closed the doors of the castle behind him. It was cloudy, and the grayish hue of the sky worsened as the afternoon gave way to the early evening, the clouds becoming increasingly black and menacing. It was going to rain, for sure, the kind of downpour that only happened at Hogwarts during the fall. He looked around, trying to locate Hermione, or anyone who could perhaps tell him if they had seen her.
As he progressed towards the lake, he realized he was instinctively going towards the spot where they had often sat under a tree to study on sunny days. Harry’s heart suddenly leapt. Of course! She had to be there! He started jogging lightly, hoping that he would indeed find her ” he dared not consider the other alternative.
He came around a last group of trees, and from afar, he saw ” leaning against the tree under which they usually sat ” a mass of bushy brown hair flying wildly in the wind, on top of a big bundle apparently wrapped in a heavy wool blanket. He sighed with relief, and slowed down his pace to catch his breath. He wondered, for a moment, about the reasons why Hermione would come here on such a cold, nasty day.
Hermione turned her head, and saw him approaching. She waved at him, but as he approached Harry immediately noticed from the redness of her eyes that she had been crying. He sat down beside her, and cuddled for warmth. It was really getting chilly now.
“It’s freezing, Hermione … What are you doing here? I’ve been searching for you for almost an hour now!”
Hermione looked at him coldly. “Well, I needed to be alone for a while. Not everything in my life is about you, you know …”
Harry was taken aback. “Er, I’m sorry Hermione, it’s just that I was a little bit worried … With the events of the past few weeks, you know. But hey! Sorry for caring, I guess!”
Hermione’s eyes widened, and she immediately felt bad. “Gosh, I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I should have told someone, it’s just … I really didn’t feel like talking to anybody, I had a difficult time getting through my classes today.”
Harry started to have an idea of what she was going through. “So … How are you doing, Hermione? You’ve been through a lot lately ... If you want to talk, I ””
“Talk? No … I just want to stay here, and not move, and feel the cold on my face, and just … make it go away. Maybe, if I do that enough, I’ll see them again. Mum. Dad. They’re dead Harry. They’re DEAD! No more Christmas holidays, no more birthday parties, no more hugs and kisses … I can’t believe it! I feel so alone, and my heart hurts … but I don’t know how to make it stop! It’s like a big chunk was ripped out of me, with nothing to replace it. Oh, Harry, I’m so alone, empty … Why did they have to die? Why? This is all … my fault.”
She broke down completely, and despite the cold and the darkening skies, Harry knew he had to stay with her. He gently put his arms around her, and drew her close to him. She exploded in sobs, no longer able to contain her pain and grief. This was more than just tears, it was despair. Harry knew exactly how she felt … it was not too long ago that he himself had lost the only family member he had ever known, and at times he still felt the emptiness in his heart. He just held her, resting his cheek on her head, trying somehow to give her some sense of comfort, but knowing that not much he could say or do would help. This was not the time for clichés, or distasteful comments. All he could do was keep silent, and let her mourn. But he was relieved to see that she was finally taking the death of her parents in. He had been worried that she had been trying to ignore it.
The rain came down suddenly with the nightfall, in icy torrents, and though they were protected by the tree’s foliage, they would soon be soaking wet if they didn’t move to make their way inside.
“Hermione?” Harry whispered. “We have to go inside, this rain is freezing, and we’ll get pneumonia if we stay here to long!”
But all of the sudden, Harry thought he saw something move in the bushes further down the grounds near the lake. He was sure to have seen two eyes shine for a brief moment, and he jumped on his feet. Hermione, conditionned for swift reactions, instinctively got to her feet and drew her wand, almost automatically.
“Harry, what’s wrong?” she said with a very shaky voice, cringing her eyes to try to see something through the downpour.
“Someone’s there!” Harry shouted, and forgetting the rain he started running towards the bushes, convinced someone ” or something ” was spying on them. He was right: as soon as he started moving, the bushes shook frantically and a shadow seemed to escape from the back of them, disappearing into the night and heading for the cover of the Forbidden Forest.
“STUPEFY!” Harry screamed, and the red beam of light of the stunning spell briefly illuminated the stormy night. But Harry was astonished to hear, from afar, another voice that sounded vaguely familiar, although he couldn’t really place it.
“Protego!” The red beam bounced on a dark form barely visible amongst the rocks and trees, and then disappeared into the night sky. Harry, still jogging, turned around and saw Hermione just a couple of steps behind him.
“Did you see that? It’s a wizard!” Harry and Hermione, now drenched, continued running with more determination, barely able to see anything … They were getting scratches from the lower branches as they ran. They had to be in the Forbidden Forest now, Harry thought, having seen Hagrid’s cabin on his right a few seconds before.
“THERE!” Hermione yelled, her finger pointing towards her left. Turning, she immediately shouted, “IMPEDIMENTA!” but nothing seemed to happen. Harry bolted in that direction, where movement was still perceptible ahead. They were running completely blind into trees and branches. All of the sudden, Harry heard a crunching noise behind him, followed by a loud whimper and the sound of a falling body.
“Hermione!” he screamed, “are you ok?” But just then, a blinding bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, creating an eerie and frightening black and white scene reminiscent of some horror film. For a moment, the grounds were visible in a wide radius … The shadow of a man, wearing a black cloak and running crouched to the ground, could be seen in the distance. He was following the edge of the Forest. They weren’t, as Harry had thought, in the Forest, but had been zigzagging in and out of it. As the light faded to give way, once again, to darkness, to be soon followed by a deafening crack of thunder, Harry stopped running, stunned.
Bending forward and resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath, he slowly turned his head to look behind him. Miraculously, Hermione was catching up to him, holding her head with one hand, and her wand with the other. She was full of scratches, and as she lowered her hand he saw a ghastly purple bruise near her right temple.
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just fell and knocked my head on a root. But I’m ok, I think!”
Harry walked towards her, panting, and put his arms around her. They both didn’t move for a moment, catching their breath. Harry then looked back towards where they had been running, puzzled, his mind working frantically.
“What’s wrong, Harry? Who was that?” Hermione asked, wheezing from her run.
Harry looked at her gravely.
“Didn’t you see? The hair … It was long, black, and greasy …”