Harry shoveled his breakfast into his mouth, ignoring his stomach's nervous revolutions.
Today was the day. The day he finally got to begin training with Dumbledore. He wasn't even mad that it cut into his free time during the weekend.
He hadn't expected to have to wait until the middle of October to begin, but then again, prior to his meeting with the Headmaster, he hadn't expected it to happen at all.
He hoped he didn't manage to forget all the spells he had learned over the years.
Would he have to show off what he could do?
His fork clinked against his plate in an attempt to spear a sausage he had already eaten. He grabbed a few more from the nearby plate that held a small pile of them, then set back to worrying.
His useless anxiety cooled as the rush of wings signaled the morning post and Hedwig landed in front of him, snowy wings outstretched for a careful touchdown. She clutched a package in her talons wrapped in simple brown paper with a letter stuck to the side.
He held up his arm for her to jump off the box, then set her on the edge of the table between him and Ron. He plucked the letter free and opened it.
Harry,
I hope this is what you were looking for. It's the closest thing I could find that matched your idea.
And a bloody good one it was too. I'm sure she'll like it. Merlin knows I bought one for myself too.
I also made sure to check with Madam Malkin about your Christmas present. She said she can do the fabric easily, but the enchantments are beyond her. She actually suggested you try Professor Flitwick first, and if that doesn't work, she has one more recommendation.
Just talking about gifts got me excited for Christmas Day. Don't get me wrong, I'd have enjoyed an evening of just you and me at my house, but the place isn't exactly jolly. It'll be much more fun to spend the evening with the Delacours.
Speaking of, let me know if you think of any gifts for them that you aren't going to use yourself. It's been a while since I've picked something out for people.
Take care,
Sirius
P.S. Jacobson says things are going well, but he can't predict if I'll be cleared before the end of the year. I'll keep working on it and keep you in the loop!
Harry reread the letter with a faint smile.
"A nice letter?" Hermione asked, eying the package.
"A normal letter," he answered. He stood and tucked the gift under his arm. "It's Fleur's birthday on Tuesday, so I got something to give her when she comes to Hogsmeade."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione fretted, eyes opening wide in a panic. "Maybe…maybe I can pick something up in the village? Then give it to her when she's leaving?"
He thought back to the bursts of light that had been her letters during the summer. "She said she's got a sweet tooth. She'd probably like some chocolate."
"Who wouldn't?" Ron added with a nod.
"Even so, I'm not sure Honeydukes will have any sweets to match the quality of French chocolates," Hermione said, wringing her hands in front of her.
"I don't think that'll matter. I've got to go put this away, then meet with Dumbledore."
"See if you can get him to show you how to do a non-verbal silencer!" Ron called after him as he left. "Dead useful that'd be."
XxX
Purposeful steps carried Harry up the narrow spiraling staircase up to the Headmaster's office. Excitement bubbled inside him alongside pervasive anxiety that he felt like he might need to stop and throw up before he made it to the top.
A chill washed over him as he crested the final step, and he stopped in front of the oaken door to the Headmaster's office. Light spilled from between the door and the frame, casting the wood into comparative shadow.
He raised his hand to knock but hesitated as he began to pick out shapes in the woodgrain in front of him. The striations shifted in front of his eyes, gentle wavy patterns that became fury-filled faces. The ambient sounds of the castle, muffled as they were in the stairwell, took on a vocal cast, indistinct words floating to him.
They called to his oft-suppressed memories. Their formless words became rushing water, the wood grain shifted to frantic thrashing bubbles.
He tried to breathe, but his throat closed against the memory of water.
More sounds swirled around him while images stretched free of the door.
A face contorted in fury and pain, his scream a reverberant whisper in the air. His hand flared with burning agony as he stared at the dissolving face that had hosted a terror he knew but could not remember.
Two viscera-filled eye-sockets stared sightlessly at him, a tongue of woodgrain and shadow flicking out to taste him. To taste the mingling blood and poison shooting through his arm, lancing daggers of ice that reached for his heart.
The serpent's face twisted into a skeletal hand, reaching to grab coalescing light that was his godfather, prone on the ground. His impotent wand hung heavy in his hand, failing him again in his last desperate attempt for a Patronus.
The dementor's mouth twisted and boiled, expanding until the wood was smooth and black as obsidian. His face was reflected in it, lit from the sides by paltry hollow light. Dried blood caked his lip and welts wrapped around his shoulders, peeking through the edges of his collar. His hair sat heavy on his head, sweat-slicked and filthy.
His traitorous mouth opened, repeating the word that had overshadowed his name.
"Worthless."
And piercing through each memory; a noise that hung just beyond hearing.
It grew with another shift, a sound that sank into his bones to fill the holes the Cruciatus had burned away. He trembled and shook with that remnant pain, every nerve flaring to furious painful life as he watched the wood grain shift into a wizard reborn. It twisted its wand and a form writhed on the floor, a coiling mix of shadow and light. The sound roared to life, her scream piercing through his skull, sending him stumbling forward.
The door banged open as he fell through, falling to his hands and knees on the stone floor of Dumbledore's office. Sweat dotted the floor as he panted and lingering shakes pulsed through his body with each heaving breath.
A cool hand rested on his shoulder, pressing his damp shirt against his skin.
"Come along, Harry," Dumbledore said, helping him to his feet. "I have prepared a chair and something to drink."
He allowed himself to be led to a large cushioned chair and accepted a frosty mug of butterbeer.
"I am sorry for that," Dumbledore said after a moment, allowing Harry time to catch his breath and take a sip of the sweet drink. "It was, however, necessary."
Harry took another long drink, hoping to hide his incredulity.
"I will attempt to explain. Alastor taught you a number of spells that you were eventually able to cast with great efficiency, yes?"
He nodded.
"He and I are of…opposing magical methods…if you will. When he taught you a spell, you would attempt to cast it until you successfully performed the magic. From there, you learned how the spell felt in order to cast it with greater efficiency."
Harry took another sip of his drink, his breathing finally returning to normal.
"So it is my belief that it is more effective to focus on and to know yourself, rather than on a particular spell."
Harry frowned.
"What do you mean, Sir?" he asked. "How would knowing about myself make me better at magic?"
Dumbledore sighed, then dropped into his tall-backed chair behind his desk.
"We do not have time to dive too deeply into the specifics of magical theory. What I can say, is that magic is, undeniably, about the intent and focus of the user. It is the reason I can sit here and say 'Avada Kedavra' and neither of us is killed. It is the reason one cannot successfully cast a Cruciatus without overpowering hatred. It is why if you are unfocused or distracted, proper magic becomes unpredictable or impossible.
"Alastor preferred to focus on the spell first and the intention later. It is a faster method of learning than mine, but it instills bad habits that can take time to unlearn. You have already experienced the rudimentary principle of what I am describing already."
"I have, Sir?"
"Can you not think of a time when you noticed a significantly different result based upon your thoughts and level of focus?"
He paused, thinking back.
"The shield charm?"
"Precisely. Please forgive me for the assumption, but do you understand why the charm could not protect you but was able to create an impenetrable wall to protect your friends?"
Harry thought for a long moment. He hadn't had the opportunity to ponder the strange sudden shield that had survived every single one of Moody's attacks. The tournament had loomed tall over their time together, and he'd had to press forward.
If magic was about what you focused on…then what had he been thinking?
"The shield protected Ron and Hermione because I didn't want to see my friends hurt again."
"Indeed," Dumbledore said with a nod. "Though the verbiage is somewhat incorrect. Do you recall what you were thinking when you cast the spell?"
Harry nodded, the memory of Fleur's lifeless body hanging in his arms still painfully fresh.
"I was thinking about the times my friends have been hurt and I wasn't able to help them. I wanted to make sure they were never in danger again."
"We are getting closer." Dumbledore steepled his hands, faded blue eyes trained on Harry. "Do you see the difference? One is a desire, the other a determination. 'I don't want my friends to be hurt.' 'I will not let my friends be hurt.' Magic is will and focus made reality.
"That is the reason for your ordeal at the door. Similar to the age-line around the Goblet of Fire, it is a willpower line, of sorts. It tests you against whatever it is that may hold you back. It is different for everyone and rarely pleasant. I do apologize. It was necessary, though I know you possess a tremendous amount of willpower to have suffered as you did without losing yourself."
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, half-empty glass held in tight in his hands.
"No?" Dumbledore asked of his silence. "A more tangible example then. Do you know how many members of the faculty I would expect to be able to overpower an Imperius?"
Harry shook his head, face warm.
"Three; Professors McGonagall, Snape, and myself. You possess the capability for incredible feats of willpower, but the test of such things is not measured in a struggle between two wizards. It is measured in your consistent character over the passage of time.
"In our lessons, we will not only be discussing and practicing spells, but we will work on focusing your mind in order to perform each spell as effectively as possible. Is this something you feel that you can do?"
"I'll do whatever it takes to protect my friends."
Dumbledore didn't speak, instead standing and moving to lean on the front of his desk, a soft careful expression crossing his aged features.
"Keeping your friends and loved ones from harm is a laudable goal, Harry," he finally said. "But it is an unattainable one. It is imperative that you understand this."
"But…why?"
Dumbledore let out a long breath that rustled his long mustaches.
"Because of the caliber of people you surround yourself with, Harry. I doubt your closest friends would allow you to walk alone into conflict if it was at all within their power to stand beside you."
Harry stared down at his drink.
"I just don't want them hurt because of me."
"There is a vast difference between getting hurt because of your actions, and getting hurt because they are helping you. Put yourself in their place. Would it not tear you apart to be forced to stand idly by as they put themselves in danger to protect you?"
He could only nod, feeling the fragility of his voice.
"They, of course, feel the same way. You cannot take that choice from them."
Every fiber of his being rebelled at the thought.
"I just…"
Dumbledore raised a hand.
"I understand, Harry. Believe me, I do. It will take time for you to grow comfortable with the idea, but it is something that you must do."
Harry nodded and Dumbledore stood up straight with a quiet grunt.
"Come along, Harry. Allow me to show you where we will be holding our lessons after today."
Harry blinked and looked around the office.
"We won't be doing it in here, Sir?"
"There are quite a few fragile items in my office that I would not like to see exposed to spellfire. Please, follow me. We will be going to the seventh floor."
XxX
That evening found Harry, Ron, and Hermione sitting in three chairs in the middle of an expansive room. The walls stretched out of sight to their right, while the door to the room sat a few paces away on their left. They had, at Hermione's insistence, tried various configurations for the room. From a replica of the Gryffindor common room to a cozy cottage she had read about in one of her favorite books.
They settled on comfortable chairs after her fifth experiment.
"You didn't work on any spells?" Ron asked, flopping down into his cushioned chair.
"Not this time. He talked a lot about willpower and how it makes spells more effective."
Hermione lit up and Ron groaned.
"I had suspected that was a component to spell casting," she said. "It's something I've always wondered about. You can be mechanically perfect with your wand motions and intonations, but sometimes the result will vary. Especially in transfiguration."
"I think it's a little more than that," Harry said, thinking back to Dumbledore's dense lecture. "He said it's not enough to just want it. You have to will it to happen."
"What's that even mean?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Like the shield," Harry said. "I wasn't going to let you two get hurt, so it worked when I cast the spell."
"Interesting," Hermione breathed, then she shook herself. "I've been thinking, Harry. What if you showed us the things Dumbledore shows you?"
"I had sorta planned on it already," he said. "Though I don't know if I'd be a good teacher."
"Professor Polder is good, but she's no Dumbledore," Ron said. "Not sure how I feel about the idea of more homework though."
"You'll survive," Hermione said, her words rolling a fierce chill up Harry's spine.
That was the idea.
"It'll be almost like a study group," she continued. "We could even add more people if we wanted!"
"I…don't know about that," he said, rubbing at his eyes. "Just the two of you would be hard enough."
"We could ask Fleur," she said, then hesitated. "Except…"
"Except I'm not going to be able to do anything if I'm staring like an idiot," Ron finished for her.
"I might have an idea," Harry said. "She'd probably like to learn whatever Dumbledore teaches too. I'll ask her."
"Can she even come into the castle?" Hermione asked, before breaking out into a yawn. "I'm going to head back. I want to test this room some more, but I don't want to draw attention to it either. I'll see if I can think of anything that might help get Fleur into the castle, and you talk to her to see if we can figure out some way that Ron won't be affected by her."
"I'm gonna turn in too," Ron said with a contagious yawn. "Here I was excited to learn some new awesome spell, and you and Dumbledore just talked."
"Well, I thought it was fascinating," Hermione said. "You coming, Harry?"
"I'll be up in a bit," he said, glancing around the room. "I want to…think about things. You know?"
"Sure thing, mate," Ron said, rising from his chair. "See you back in the dorms."
Hermione offered her own goodnight smile, one so full of understanding and concern that it made him distinctly uncomfortable.
He sat in silence after they left, even the sound of his breathing vanishing in the cavernous room. He stared off into the distance, allowing his mind to wander away from extra lessons and the application of magical theory.
Unbidden, it went to a place it frequented often of late. He imagined the sun on his skin, the grass beneath his feet, and the comforting companionable silence shared with his friend in their clearing.
He hoped she'd like her gift. What had her other birthdays been like, surrounded by her loving family in their incredible home?
A breathtaking sense of longing washed over him as he thought of the comfortable home and that elusive sense of peace that he had finally begun to feel on his last days in France.
A pervasive sense of unease built inside him.
Hogwarts had always been his home. There was no need to long for somewhere he'd never truly belong. It wasn't his house or his family.
Even so, he felt hollow inside as he stepped from the room and closed the door behind him.
XxX
Happy Birthday!
Fleur paused in her morning ritual, hairbrush halfway through her hair's considerable length. She extracted it, careful not to tug too hard on any of the strands. She stared at the words for an immobile moment, her mind casting back for the last time someone outside her family had wished her a happy birthday.
Maybe...her eleventh?
She set the brush back in its lacquered box and picked up her quill.
Thank you! Unfortunately, I am getting ready for work, so I cannot talk, but last night I had an idea for your dilemma about Ron. I will let you know when I am back home and we can talk more. Thank you for the birthday wishes!
Looking forward to it.
She set her quill next to the paper and grabbed her brush, careful to finish her gentle ministrations with care, despite her delay. Once finished, she turned and grabbed the shirt she had laid out and pulled it over her head. After pulling her hair from the back of her shirt, she moved to her closet to grab her sweater.
It hadn't been a surprise to find the Ministry to be a little chilly. She'd gotten used to it over the years. But upon the first day of her internship, she had found her modest collection of sweaters to be a little too old and a little too small. She had picked up new larger, comfortable sweaters that evening.
The baggier clothing had done little to discourage those of her co-workers who could wrangle up the courage to ask her out. She'd turned them all down, of course.
None of them seemed to…measure up.
To what exactly, she wasn't sure, but she knew she didn't have a spark of interest for any of them.
Thankfully, to a one, they had taken their rejection well and returned to their normal selves after a day or two of nursing their wounded pride. She found herself thanking the Ministry again for their mandate on workers having a passable proficiency in occlumency. She could handle interested men. An office full of enthralled people sounded like a nightmare. Especially today.
She let out a sigh as she moved back to her living room and grabbed a handful of floo powder. Her work might be the first step towards a job at the ICW, but the monotony of endless paperwork was already beginning to wear on her.
She cast a last glance over her shoulder at the paper before tossing the powder into the flames. A small study group with friends should help add a little excitement to her days.
XxX
Much to Harry's extreme dismay, the week felt the need to pass at its own luxurious pace, drawing out every minute that brought him closer to the weekend. Despite how nervous he felt about Fleur's gift, he still caught himself counting the hours until Saturday morning.
He found he wasn't the only one affected by the weekend's approach. Hermione had begun to fret about what to get her new friend. Her obvious anxiety had reached new heights on Tuesday, Fleur's actual birthday, and had only ascended from there.
It culminated, finally, on Saturday, when she became a bushy brown whirlwind, bouncing from sweet to various sweet, muttering to herself.
Harry stood by the door to Honeydukes, watching his friends do their shopping. He stepped to the side to allow a large group out and resettled his wrapped box beneath his arm. As long as it was taking Ron and Hermione to decide, he was glad he hadn't bought Fleur something heavier.
Ron finished first, dropping a few coins on the counter in exchange for a wrapped box from the clerk. He strode over to Harry and held it out.
"Would you give this to her?" he asked, thrusting the package into Harry's hands.
"I…sure?"
Ron nodded a couple of times, the tips of his ears turning pink.
"Would you tell her it's a thank you gift too?"
Harry looked down at the gift, then up at his friend.
"Yeah…but for what?"
His question earned him a pained look from Ron, whose face turned a spectacular red.
"For you, y'know? For helpin' you out when we couldn't."
Oh.
"Well, this will just have to do," Hermione said, interjecting her way through the awkward tension. She held out her gift for Harry to take as well.
"You could just give it to her yourself, you know," he said, taking the package anyway.
She grimaced.
"I can't," she said, ushering them out of the small shop. "Ron and I are on duty today. We have to walk the streets to keep an eye on everyone."
Harry stepped around a couple holding hands, twisting to the side to keep the gift from bumping them.
"You two sure are busy lately."
Hermione let out a short laugh that was echoed by a grunt from Ron.
"It's not quite what I had hoped it would be," she said, fingering the golden badge pinned perfectly on her robes. "It seems a little silly, to be honest. Knowing what happened and what's coming…"
She trailed off and looked up to the castle.
"It just seems like there are better things we could be doing with our time."
A pensive silence followed them to the Three Broomsticks where Harry bade his friends a quick goodbye with promises to pass along their well-wishes and gifts. He rented the same upstairs room from Madam Rosmerta and climbed the stairs.
Once inside, he set the gifts on the table between the two chairs and pulled his wand. A muttered, "Incendio," lit the fireplace, bathing the room in its soft orange light. He divested himself of his jacket once the room grew warm and hung it near the door. It hadn't been too cold a day, especially for the end of October, but he somehow doubted Fleur would agree with his assessment of a temperate fall day.
He moved back to the table and pulled their notepaper from one pocket, and a self-inking quill he had picked up from Scrivenshaft's from the other.
I'm here. I got the same room as before, so you can apparate whenever you're ready.
He set the quill down and spun as a soft 'pop' signaled Fleur's arrival.
"I was waiting by the paper," she said, an embarrassed grin spreading across her beautiful face.
As he had expected, she was bundled up for the weather. She had on a deep blue winter cloak and a silver scarf wrapped around her neck. The cloak whirled as she turned to move closer to the fire and its warmth and he smiled when he caught sight of a yellow ribbon tying her hair back.
"How's your new job?" he asked, following her to the chairs.
"Tedious," she answered immediately, pulling her cloak against her thighs so she could sit comfortably. "I know it is necessary to get to where I want to be, but filing reports may kill me before I get the opportunity."
"Sounds…boring."
"Very. Which is why I am glad to be here," she said. "It has been a difficult couple of weeks."
"Because of so many reports?" he hazarded.
"Well, yes," she said with a smile. "But more so because my allure is at its strongest this time of year. It is why I had to apparate directly here instead of walking through the village. I would have never made it otherwise. There would be too many people affected too significantly."
He stared at her a moment, his curiosity piqued. She had been open with him about her abilities. Maybe she wouldn't mind a quick question.
"Why is it so much stronger now?" he asked when he noticed that she was staring at him as well, her head tilted to the side.
She continued to stare at him for a moment, though he saw a spark of mischief alight in her eyes.
"My birthday is the day I was named," she finally said, stopping as though she had explained everything.
"What…what does that mean?"
She peered at him a heartbeat longer, then smiled.
"Do you know much of the stories surrounding fairies?" she asked instead.
He shook his head, captivated. Every new thing he learned about her abilities fascinated him to no end.
"For a fairy, their name holds power. If you know their true, full name, you hold power over them."
He frowned.
"But lots of people know your name," he said. "It was announced in front of the whole school. A few times."
Her grin grew wider and he had the distinct feeling that he had wandered into her trap.
"Ah," she breathed, leaning forward.
She rested her elbow on her knee and planted her chin in her hand, the light of the fire reflecting in orange bursts off silvery hair.
"What is my full name?"
He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a 'click.' Surely he had heard it at least once during his time in France.
Maybe?
"I…don't know," he said, failing to produce even a single memory of her middle name.
"You see?"
"But…tons of people know my name," he argued. It wasn't that strange to know someone's full name.
She arched a single eyebrow and he felt that trap grow tighter around him.
"And does it not hold a certain power over you?" She stared at him, unblinking. "All those people knowing about Harry James Potter?"
A powerful shiver ran up his spine as his name left her lips.
Maybe she was right.
"Perhaps I will tell you mine, someday," she said, sitting up straight again.
Her playful smile faded into a nervous frown.
"It is not an actual power, but a symbolic one. It has become a sort of tradition and we like to try to keep it alive."
He started, the shift in her mood snapping him back to reality.
"Speaking of birthdays," he said, nodding towards the packages on the table. "We got you some gifts."
"We?" she asked, plucking the smallest rectangular box from the top.
"Ron and Hermione each got you something too. They're busy with prefect stuff, otherwise Hermione would have given it to you herself. That one is Ron's."
"He got me a gift?" she asked, surprised.
She carefully undid the expert wrapping job the Honeydukes clerk had done for Ron.
Harry looked toward the fire, hoping it was just the heat of the flames warming his face.
"He said it's a thank you gift…for helping me."
She said nothing, but her careful unwrapping paused for a second before she resumed, plucking a black box from the paper. She opened it to reveal a small assortment of various chocolate seating in small paper cups. She smiled appreciatively.
"Tell him I said thank you," she said, picking up one of the sweets and popping it into her mouth.
She opened Hermione's next, exposing another slightly larger box of chocolates.
"I assume that I have you to thank for the gifts of chocolates?" she asked, grabbing one from Hermione's as well.
"They didn't know what to get you, and I remembered you saying that you and Gabrielle both have a sweet tooth."
"Well remembered," she said, setting the boxes to the side, leaving Harry's gift as the last.
His pulse began to race as she picked up the gift. Her eyes went wide when she opened the box and pulled an overlarge soft blanket from inside. She held it up to inspect, then gasped.
"It is warm!" she exclaimed in delight. "I had been meaning to buy blankets for the winter."
"It traps heat magically," he said, letting out a silent sigh of relief. "It'll keep in heat from the fire, body heat, or a warming charm. It's supposed to last all night."
"Oh, thank you, 'Arry," she said, pushing the box to the floor and wrapping herself in the large blanket, grinning. "It feels as though I haven't been properly warm since the summer. Now that the weather has turned colder, I am missing my parent's house more and more by the day. I can charm my apartment to stay warm, but it is so drafty that the charms wear off frequently."
"Is it any better?" he asked. "Living alone?"
"It is still lonely," she said, fixing him with her bright blue stare.
She smiled shyly and pulled the blanket up close to her chin.
"I often come home and check to see if there are any messages from you. There is nobody that I work with that I would like to spend free time with. They are not bad people…I just…I do not know."
She pursed her lips, affecting a put-out look.
"You have set a high standard for friendship, 'Arry," she continued. "I often find myself wishing your school year was already over. Our brief time together well and truly spoiled me. I miss it."
He sat quietly as she put eloquent words to the pervasive sense of longing he'd been feeling since returning to Hogwarts.
"But," she said, breaking him from the beginning of introspective thoughts, "that is why I enjoy visiting you and why your gift means so much."
"I'm glad you like it," he said with a smile.
"I mean it," she persisted. "You have made this an amazing birthday."
"All I did was say 'happy birthday' and give you a gift."
"Precisely. I am sure by now that it is no surprise that I have not enjoyed a birthday outside of my family since I was a little girl."
He nodded.
"Then we'll have to have a proper party next year," he said, grinning at the excitement that bloomed across her features.
"We'll have one for you too this summer," she said, eyes alight. "Nothing too big, but still fun. So you can relax and be yourself."
He smiled and listened as she launched into various ideas for his coming birthday. They all sounded wonderful, but he didn't need a big party or presents, really. She grew more animated as she went and he was content just to watch.
She painted a vivid picture of the dining room at her parent's manor filled with decorations, friends, food, and gifts. She talked of swimming in the lake and evening walks through the woods.
He leaned back and listened. The type of party didn't matter, so long as she was there.