Mundungus Fletcher stirred weakly at the sudden sound of a door opening. From the light entering the small window of his cell he could tell that fourteen days had passed since he had been imprisoned. Well, fifteen if you count the one day that he had spent in the cell before Harry had visited him. Fourteen days without food or clothes, chained to a wall while a cold breeze blew through the opening, playing across his bare back, making him miserable. While there was a moderate heating charm put on the cell preventing him from freezing to death, it wasn't enough to keep the cold at bay. As a result of this, he barely had any sleep. What little rest he had managed was primarily from passing out due to exhaustion.
And if depriving him of food, sleep and warmth wasn't enough, the sadistic boy just had toinstruct that blasted elf to place dishes of hot steaming food right outside his door. At first, Mundungus had laughed at this. He had spent two months in Azkaban. A little cold wasn't going to make him crack, even if the boy planned on withholding food! The cell he was in was pretty luxurious compared to his cell at Azkaban (there weren't any Dementors for one) and he had gone through weeks without a decent meal. Mundungus was sure that all he would have to do would be to lounge in the cell for a few days and when the boy saw that he wasn't going to be cowed, he, Mundungus would be released. After that, he was going to show that brat who was boss.
But in a few days, with no indication of the boy returning, he felt his confidence melt away. Sure the cell was more hygienic and he had clean water to drink, but at the same time he did not have any robes whatsoever. At least in Azkaban, the prisoners were given robes to wear that kept them warm. And the atmosphere was such that one tended to lose one's appetite, so going without food wasn't that much of a torture. However here, there was a constant reminder, as the redolence of the food would waft through the door like an invisible Dementor. And just like a Dementor, the aroma would attack his mind and body. Forcing his mind to conjure up images of delicious meals he had eaten in the past while his mouth would start salivating and his stomach would start to growl in protest.
Mundungus could almost picture the fragrance emanating from the plate ... wafting through the grate in the door and slithering up into his nose like an ephemeral snake ... slowly driving him mad with visions of heaping plates of the most succulent pieces of chicken, platters of juicy steaks and tureens of hot soup of many different exotic flavours.
On top of that, the elf would also proceed to show Mundungus the food. While making him smell the foodstuffs had been cruel enough, at least Mundungus could take solace in the possibility that surely the food wasn't actually there, and his fantasies were just in his head. However, the sight only served to bring out the images his mind was conjuring and solidify them in reality. Further increasing the gnawing hunger he was feeling. And to top it all, the elf would actually ingest the food in front of him!
The loneliness and solitude wasn't helping matters either. In Azkaban he at least had the howls and wails of his fellow inmates to ground him in reality. Here all he could hear was the chains as they clinked and rattled as his body shook in an effort to stay warm, and his breath. All other sounds were completely muted.
So it was a completely beaten and broken man, devoid of rest, starving and driven nearly insane with the mental torture, who looked up as his captor entered the cell. He didn't even have the strength to do anything more than weakly sit up and bring his knees up to his chin in an effort of preserving his modesty as he looked into the luminous green eyes of his gaoler.
'Well, well, well,' mocked Harry as he stepped through the door, twirling his wand. He was careful to stay out of his prisoner's reach lest the criminal found a hidden well of strength somewhere and made a bid for freedom.
When Mundungus only stirred a little bit, Harry smiled vindictively. 'Looks like we have learnt our manners,' he said as he brought an apple out from a pocket and bit into it.
'Are we hungry?' he asked in fake concern when Mundungus whimpered longingly, looking at the fruit in Harry's hand. 'I guess you would be ... it has been what, four days? Oh wait,' he slapped his head melodramatically, 'It's actually two weeks! Sorry, I forgot. But then again, I have been spending those past fourteen days having three square meals each day ... those Hogwarts house-elves ... they really know how to cook! Why my mates and I enjoyed the feast they had set up for us after Gryffindor won the first Quidditch match of the year against Slytherin! And what a feast it was...' Harry rambled on for a while, describing in minute detail what he had and how it had tasted.
Harry smiled cruelly as he noticed the look of longing on Mundungus's face. Now that he knew that he had the man, he said softly, 'You desperately want to eat, don't you?' Seeing him nod, Harry continued, 'Just tell me where my stuff is and you'll get your food.' He made a silent gesture to Kreacher who put a cloche covered plate in front of the starving man, just out of his reach along with a warm looking blanket.
'Alright,' moaned the man. His throat was not as parched because he had water to drink. Harry paid attention as the man described the place where he had hidden away the goods.
'What wards have you put there, Dung?' He said emotionlessly, 'I know that you would have a few security measures put up there ... don't lie to me now ... or I will make life hell for you.' To emphasise his point, he toed the plate away from Mundungus as he took another bite from the apple.
The criminal looked at Harry for a second, then at the food just out of reach. Finally sagging in defeat, he rattled off the wards in a broken voice. Harry turned to Kreacher, 'Can you take care of those wards, Kreacher?' The wards were pretty basic and Harry felt that they would not stand up to house-elf magic. Kreacher just nodded once and with a POP disappeared, returning a few moments later with a large bulging sack.
Harry looked through all the valuables within the sack. 'Is this everything Kreacher?' he asked the elf.
'Yes, master,' said the elf after a pause. 'Only, Kreacher has not found master's Order of Merlin and cufflinks and tiepin. Those are being in the family for generations, sneaky thief has sold it!' the elf shouted at the starving man.
'Relax, Kreacher,' said Harry authoritatively. Just then, he spotted a locket.
'Hang on, this looks familiar,' he picked the locket up to examine in the light. And it certainly was, for embedded into the pendant were a bunch of emeralds to make Slytherin's Mark. It was the same locket he had seen around Merope's neck in that memory. How had it ended up in Grimmauld Place?
'It's Slytherin's locket!' Harry breathed.
'Wha,' it is? I'm gonna kill tha' old tosser! He was ripping me orf he was!' Mundungus had clearly heard him as evidenced by the nattering the old crook was doing. The bit of information had awakened some of his spirit.
'Oh shut up, you arsehole!' Harry said with uncharacteristic venom. Suddenly he felt very angry at Mundungus's plans. The twat really was quite selfish! Suddenly a cruel idea came to his mind as, unnoticed by him, the locket seemed to get slightly cold.
'Kreacher, I want you to put this in the secure display cabinet which only I, or one of the elves, can access in the drawing room up in the castle.' Harry said as he handed the locket to Kreacher, still looking at Mundungus. As a consequence, he did not notice the elf becoming tense as he saw the locket in Harry's hand or saw the Kreacher's body visibly deflate in relief as Harry handed the locket back to him. Harry had initially thought of wearing it, but decided against it. Even if the locket did not look that girly, the aura it was emitting was quite unsettling.
'Yes, master,' said Kreacher. He did a better job of hiding the relief in his voice.
'Also, put all the valuables in Grimmauld Place in storage. Anything and everything that isn't bolted down is to be kept in the family wing or better yet, here. I don't trust the Order anymore. Move the furniture as well. They can bloody well sit on the floor when they have their stupid meetings for all I care. Get help from the others if you must, but I want it done and fast!'
'At once, master.' With these words, Kreacher disappeared with the recovered loot.
'Now,' he turned to Mundungus. While he wasn't as angry anymore, he still was seething a bit at the gall of his captive. 'I suppose you have fulfilled your end of the bargain, so here you go.' With that, he toed the cloche towards the starving man who attacked the food, not giving a fig that the steak within was practically charcoal.
Once Mundungus was done, Harry spoke up. 'Well, since I have my stuff back, I guess I should let you go.' He waited for the hopeful expression on the man's face to build up before continuing, 'However, you didn't return everything. So I guess we will have to work something out.' Harry ignored the man's stuttering offer of the name of the person he had sold the stolen items to as he continued brightly, 'Fortunately I have an idea.' And before Mundungus's eyes, Harry took out the criminal's primary wand, and snapped it in half followed by his backup wand. Mundungus looked at the remains of his wands. His wands were the only things that he had to remember his mother by as she had bought his primary wand for him before his first year in Hogwarts in a happier time, before his father had gambled the money away. His backup wand was even more precious to him as it was actually his mother's.
'Hurts, doesn't it?' Harry said softly, as he noticed the anguish on the crook's face as Mundungus strained against the chains binding him. 'Well now you know how I felt when you took my stuff. That was for the Order of Merlin, by the way. This,' he pointed his wand at the pile of clothes that Mundungus only recognised now as his clothes, 'is for the cufflinks and tiepin.' And with a flick of his wand, Harry burnt the garments, reducing them to ash.
Calling Kreacher back again, Harry turned to the elf where he bent down to whisper into the elf's ear. The elf nodded and with a malicious smile, disappeared, reappearing with a piece of parchment and a quill and still smiling malevolently as he looked at Mundungus. Scribbling a line on it, Harry said loudly, 'Kreacher, take our guest to the destination that we have agreed upon.'
'I didn' 'gree 'pon no destination,' said the thief. A slight amount of resentment and hate still coloured his voice as he looked at the boy who he had stolen from.
'But Kreacher and I did,' said Harry viciously as he stuffed the note in Mundungus's hand.
Mundungus didn't get much of an opportunity to answer as the house-elf threw the blanket over his body and Disapparated him from his home of the last two weeks.
Once the familiar squeezing sensation faded, Mundungus's weakened form fell to the ground. The first thing that he registered was the huge amount of snow that his face and body was currently embedded in. The second thing was the cold that was seeping into his body, despite the warming charms on the blanket. Looking up, he was just in time to see the elf disappear, a vicious smirk on the creature's face. Mundungus then observed his surroundings and, as he realised where he was, let out a howl of anguish. All around him, as far as he could see, was nothing but snowy tundra. The wind blew rather harshly as there were very few trees growing. He guessed that the nearest human habitation was miles away.
Hearing the crinkle of parchment as he clutched the blanket tighter to himself, he bought the note Harry had stuffed in his hand. Opening it, he read the one sentence written on it in a hurried and carelessly neat scrawl.
And this is for stealing from me in the first place.
With a groan, the boy rolled over, his naked body soaked in sweat and a look of post-orgasmic bliss on his face as he gazed out into the cold November night, a vacant expression on his face. He could just about make out the outline of the nearly thousand-year-old castle perched upon a hilltop that was the main structure that brought many a tourist to the city he was in.
His breathing now somewhat in control, he tore his eyes from the window and turned to look at his partner, a gorgeous specimen of a woman, just as naked as he was, with a smile on his face, as he breathed out 'That was great.' And he meant every word, since it had been positively ages since he had last done it with someone. Things at school were pretty hectic, and he really felt the need to cut loose ... which is why he had snuck out.
His partner, however, wasn't sharing the happiness he was feeling. He had eventually picked up on it for he asked, 'What's wrong?'
'Hm? Oh, yeah, it was great,' said the girl he had managed to snag for the night.
'Oh,' he had caught the insincerity in her voice and wasn't too sure what to do with it.
'Yes, now if you don't mind, I am going to turn in,' saying this, she turned over, her back to him, as if to prove her point.
'Are you sure everything's all right?'
'What? Oh no, everything is fine, you were great! Superb...' the woman, Jenny or something, said almost dismissively as she snuggled into her pillow.
While the bloke (James, she thought his name was) was nice enough to look at, he was, in her humble opinion, like a Chevrolet Sports car: Nice to look at, but all muscle with little to no finesse. All in all, not really a great experience. Sure he had the stamina, and was rather forceful, but he couldn't bring her to satisfaction. She suspected that he might be inexperienced. Hopefully she had let him think that he was great. She did not intend on pursuing this relationship come next morning.
Evidently she wasn't fully successful as the body next to her stiffened before he said slightly coldly, 'Well, I've got to go too ... Got a lot to do next morning.'
She winced at the cold tone and change in mood. She really hated hurting his feelings. He was a nice enough bloke, rather kind and courteous towards her, but she couldn't help how she felt.
Hoping to salvage the situation, and perhaps make him feel that it was really her who was tired, she said as sleepily as she could manage, 'Well, call me sometime,' as she watched him leave, she was sure she saw his greyish blue eyes flash an intense green as his hair seemed to darken for a second to black from the dark brown it originally was. Thinking it as a trick of the light she closed her eyes and mumbled a 'Goodbye' as he left her bedroom. She was asleep by the time he had closed the door.
Harry seethed silently as he zipped up his jacket and put his hands in his pockets as he left the house and battled the wind as he walked down the road. The neighbourhood was similar to the one he had grown up in, only it was rather windy in November up here in Edinburgh unlike down south in Surrey.
He barely noticed the nearly horizontal rain even though the tiny droplets of water propelled by the wind stung his face. He was currently a mess of emotions upon having found out what was inside that pretty little head of dirty blonde hair that belonged to the owner of the house he had left. His first reaction was anger, but in the cold wind, that blew away to be replaced with a combination of insecurity and uncertainty. Did the girls he had gone with before feel the same? Was it only her? Or was something wrong with him?
He admitted that he was a bit hesitant his first time, but he thought that he had improved since then as he gained confidence. However, all that was now dashed once he had gone through that blonde's thoughts.
Harry kicked at a small pebble moodily, and grunted in minor anger as a gust of wind blew the stone sideways into the street, out of his way. Women! How did they expect to have a great night with him if they did not tell him what to do and how to do it? It wasn't as if he was born with the ability to please a woman!
It was just like Snape's Occlumency lessons all over again. Harry was expected to know what to do without being told how to do it and then judged harshly when he failed to deliver. The boy stopped that line of thought as fast as he could. Comparing sex with a girl to Snape of all things was just wrong! Harry nearly got violently sick at that.
Harry pondered on this problem. He really liked sex (which sixteen year old boy didn't?) and he knew beyond a doubt that he was soon going to be stuck with one girl for the rest of his life (here he shuddered again - any thought involving the words "the rest of his life" was something that gave him the willies every time). At any rate, if he wanted more, he would have to find a way to be really good at it. His newly resurrected competitiveness demanded it at the least.
Not to mention Daphne's heated instructions of making her scream her first night.
But where was he supposed to find the training? It wasn't as if he could read it off a book! While he was aware of the existence of books written on sex, there was no way he could practise that because a) he was sure that the reality was different from what was written and b) what he had read so far involved very outlandish positions that he was sure was only practised in a more long term relationship. Not to mention c) he didn't think referring to a book in the middle of thrusting in and out helped the mood any.
What he needed was experience. From someone who was a professional...
Harry stopped at this line of thought as an idea came to his mind. Something that he felt would not only solve his problem, but also felt great to his hormone driven mind. With half a smile on his face, he checked the time on his watch. It was still early enough, so he eagerly Apparated to a side alley in Princess Street, where he had first Apparated to earlier.
Heading over to a bus stop he had noticed with a large copy of a map of the city pasted inside, he looked for the location of the University of Edinburgh. Finding it, he concentrated on the location and Apparated there. He had a hunch that the university would have a larger computer cluster if Smeltings (if any of Dudley's stories were true) had one. While it was true that he could find an all-night internet cafe, he really did not want to search for one. Not when he knew of a place that could suit his needs.
Entering, it was a simple matter of picking the username and password out of a passing sleep deprived student's head and he was logged into the nearest terminal.
It took a lot of trial and error, and involved a lot of patience in Harry's part as he slowly and steadily found on the keyboard, and typed out the letters of keywords into the search engine (thankfully the layout of the keyboard hadn't changed that much since he had last used it briefly so many years ago), but he eventually managed to get the information he was looking for.
Exiting the University grounds, he went to the nearest phone box and dialled the number he had jotted down.
The next evening he was walking into the lobby of a pricey hotel a bit away from the castle, approaching a good looking and well dressed woman rather nervously. Introducing himself with the fake name he had given the escort service he had called, Harry managed to relax a bit as he and his escort, Victoria, ate a delicious dinner in one of the hotel's restaurants. As dessert approached, his nervousness increased as he cleared his throat and said, 'I, uh, have a business proposition for you.'
Seeing that he had her attention, he continued, 'See I have this girlfriend ... and we've never ... you know, done "it" before ... now I-I sort of want our first time to be special ... so I was wondering if you could help me with that?' he finished nervously, internally wincing at the lame story he had come up with at the last moment. Planning Potter, Planning! He mentally berated himself as he put on a show of confidence he did not feel.
Victoria looked at him from across the table an unreadable look on her face as she looked at the nervous young man across him. This certainly is new, she thought.
'And what exactly is your idea on me helping you, Harvey?' she said. Personally, in her opinion, the tall blonde across from her with those stunning green eyes looked more like a Harry to her, not that she would mention that.
'Well, I was thinking that maybe you could, you know, give me some pointers or something? Perhaps show me a thing or two? I thought that perhaps we could have a few sessions every weekend...' he trailed off nervously.
'What, do you think I'm running, a fucking night school?' snorted Victoria after a few moments of processing the request. This was the first time she was actually approached with such an offer, and she really did not know how she felt about that.
Her client blushed at that and started to stammer out an apology when she said abruptly, 'Sure, why not?' effectively shutting him up.
'Y-you mean that you'll do it?' he said with hope and relief.
'Yeah,' she shrugged. 'It could be fun; you weren't what I was expecting to be honest. Normally, I have middle-aged men as my clientele. The fact that you are young, a virgin, and not to mention good looking are all plus points in my opinion. Though, I will have to ask you to provide some identification. You don't really look that old, and I don't fancy being arrested for statutory rape.'
Harry was prepared for this, so, looking into her eyes, he gave his escort a mental nudge convincing her that she had seen a driver's licence as he slipped a perfectly blank piece of paper towards her.
'Wright, eh?' she said as she examined the sheet in front of her. 'Ha! I knew you were younger than you claimed! You aren't twenty, but eighteen!' she crowed triumphantly.
Harry mentally cursed himself for the small slip up. Thankfully his escort didn't seem to mind as she slid the paper back without comment. 'Right, I think we can do this. I will charge you my standard fare, a hundred quid per night – after all, I'm not your average hooker, but an escort. I estimate that the "course",' here she giggled a bit at the word, 'will take five weeks, so that's ten nights. Of course, it could go on a bit longer or shorter depending on your learning ability, if it takes less time than anticipated, then you save on the cash, which you will pay me after each of our sessions. Of course the fare does not include the premises or any other expenses.'
Harry considered that for a moment before saying, 'Deal.' He extended his hand which Victoria shook.
'I don't really know what your real reason is for wanting lessons, and I really don't care,' she added upon seeing him about to open his mouth. 'But if it is true, then your girlfriend must be one lucky girl ... though I don't know if she will feel that way if she ever finds out ... shall we?' she said as she finished the last of her chocolate mousse.
'Certainly.'
After paying the bill, the two of them went up to a room. 'You were prepared,' said Victoria as she saw him pass the concierge and approach the bank of lifts confidently.
Harry just smiled at her winningly as he (unnecessarily in her opinion) held the automatic lift doors open for her as he gestured her in.
Once they were safely ensconced in their room, the escort-turned-tutor looked at her new pupil of sorts after examining the room and said, 'Strip. I want to have a good look at what I am going to be working with.'
She showed a little of her surprise and admiration at his near-instant compliance and apparent lack of modesty as he removed his clothes confidently, neatly stepping out of his low-waist designer jeans after having discarded the clearly expensive odd coat and designer shirt with a casual nonchalance. Now there's a man comfortable in his own body, she thought.
And he has a right to be too, she opined as she gazed in awe at his toned chest and leaned body. Nobody should be that perfect, was the idle thought in her head as she breathlessly roved her eyes over his flawless skin. Or not as flawless she thought as she saw the almost circular pale scar on his arm. While it was faint, it did add character. She wondered how he had ended up with that.
She couldn't help but quirk her lips in a small smile as she saw the pair of pants he was wearing. 'Cute aeroplanes,' she said as she silently indicated for him to go on.
Harry just shrugged his shoulders as he stepped out of his pants and stood, starkers, in front of her, skilfully hiding any nervousness he felt.
'Nice,' purred the woman as she circled him, looking at him from back to front. 'A good length, uncut too ...' she said as she fondled and stroked him, playing with the foreskin and bringing him to full excitement. 'I approve.'
'Right,' she got down to business as she stepped out of her clothes with a practised ease. 'Let's begin.'
And so started Harry's "education": Victoria gave him an intimate knowledge of the female body. She used her experience to indicate which spots he should touch; when he should do so, and how best to do it, to give the most amount of pleasure.
He didn't realise it then, but what he had done was pretty much silly and unnecessary. After all, the girls his age were just as inexperienced as he was before he had started those sessions. At any rate, a few years later, when Harry was an adult, he would look back on this time with embarrassment, thinking of how stupid he had been as a teenager, and how badly he had overreacted. He would also thank the fates that nothing bad had resulted from his impetuousness.
But that was well into the future. By the end of the sessions, Harry knew all about the finer aspects of the human female's body and how best to bring any woman to moan and writhe with pleasure. This kind of knowledge was pure gold as far as he was concerned. And nobody needed to know about it. This was why he felt little remorse when casting a binding charm on the sleeping Victoria as she slept away the results of his "final exam". He also left three fifty pound notes and a little note thanking her and telling her to enjoy the room as it was paid for as a token of his gratitude as he Apparated to his private valley.
He had progressed quite nicely on other fronts as well. His training, which had originally been set back because of Neville and the girls, had yielded better results. Having others to practise with had helped to increase Harry's rate of progress compared to the rate of progress when he was doing all this by himself during the summer.
Neville, Susan and Hannah were now quite fit due to their exercises, and the rest of the school population had noticed. And their schoolmates certainly appreciated it too, so much so that Neville had just as much attention from the female population as Harry, something that the poor boy wasn't used to. Though he was beginning to get more comfortable with the attention he was receiving, as well as becoming more confident. Hannah and Susan were popular enough before the training, what with Susan being the Minister's niece and Hannah her close friend. Now though, the boys paid more attention to them because of their good looks and toned bodies.
The magical aspect of their training had also made them the most powerful quartet in their year. Neville especially had improved in leaps and bounds till he was almost as powerful as Harry, at least by Neville's own reckoning. He had no clue that Harry was far ahead of him nor did he know that the other boy was holding back and could, if he chose to, wipe the floor with all three of them. And while the girls didn't have as much raw power as the boys, they too were a force to be reckoned with as they had a vicious creativity, coming up with innovative ways to use some otherwise harmless spells in a duel as they used their lower centre of gravity and grace to dance out of the reach of the spells sent their way.
Harry had also progressed to the fifth volume of Salazar's journals, his increased progress was mainly because he had taken to moving the books up to his dorm which he would then read at night before going to sleep and whenever he was free.
Once he had made enough money for himself, Salazar delved deep into magic and its theories, coming up with interesting methods to block and deflect spells. He had also hypothesised a way of being able to actually absorb the magical energy from a curse. His sense of adventure and thirst for more knowledge led him east, to Egypt, one of the premier places to learn about magic in that era. There he learnt of some arcane wards and curses that the priests of the old religion had used to guard the final resting places of their Pharaohs which had been passed down over the generations, their secrets not mattering anymore after the death of their last pharaoh centuries ago. Salazar noted how the once great civilisation was now broken, although the magical society still thrived as it had separated from the Muggles centuries ago when the Christians had first started to abolish the pagan rituals. Harry found himself thinking about what Salazar had imagined of what Magical Britain would have been like if they had separated themselves from the Muggles earlier too, instead of being content with this half-separation.
In his travels in the continent and to Egypt, Salazar Slytherin had heard of a university located in modern-day India called the Nalanda University. Already well-established at that time, the university had a reputation for being the best there is, attracting many scholars from different corners of the world. There Salazar had learnt of many potions which even Harry could tell were the precursors of many of the modern-day potions he had come across. Along with that, Salazar had also learnt of many different healing practices that until then Harry was sure were recent discoveries in the Muggle world.
For example, Harry was sure that the idea of stitches and plastic surgery were recent advances in Muggle medicine and not done in the Magical world. Yet, here was Salazar describing those procedures, as he watched a healer do a nose job on an Indian noblewoman:
I watched with awe along with the other students as the healer constructed a new nose using the skin and flesh of his patient's current nose. Deftly shaping it to the feature the vain woman so desired, and expertly stitching the incisions he had made before too much blood was lost, leaving no scars behind.
The results were impressive. Had I not known about the surgery, I would not have been able to tell that the nose was altered so. I have to admit that the new nose made the woman look much more distinguished.
Harry had learnt later on that most of the procedures that Salazar had described were refined and further improved in the modern Wizarding world. So much so that scars were a rare thing in the magical world. The only exceptions were scars like his which had been caused by serious dark magic.
Salazar had also sought out and learnt from the nomadic men and women who roamed the expansive jungles. They were reputed to know a lot of magic that was native to India. While the university was a good place to learn, it mainly was a mix of the practices brought by different scholars from all over the world, mainly China, Greece and Persia. However, there was little of the indigenous magic being taught there. And that was mainly because of these nomads as they fiercely protected these magics. Salazar had heard story after story of how powerful and feared these nomads were. Naturally he sought them out to find out those secrets.
And he succeeded: Using his cunning and guile, he had somehow, inexplicably, managed to learn some of their secrets. While it was barely scratching the surface, what little he had learnt was pretty impressive.
For one, they knew of some really unique dark magic. They knew how to combine Divination and blood magic to invent some truly horrendous curses that did not directly affect their victim, but affected the victim's life, normally targeting the victim's bloodline in some fashion or the other. For maximum effect, these curses were designed to stay dormant for years, sometimes decades before coming into effect when it would hurt the victim the most.
However, Harry was surprised to note that these people were not evil. While every single one of them was reputed of knowing such dark curses, they had no desire of taking over the world. They were more than happy living alone, occasionally acting as healers, taking care of rare diseases when called upon.
Salazar had also learnt some Occlumency from these nomads. It was mainly because of this magical discipline that they were generally passive.
The one thing that made Indians truly unique was Parseltongue. While other civilisations had their share of Parselmouths, that trait was pretty rare, and thus the magic was not developed. However, in India, the ability was more common. In fact, there was a tribe of those nomads that performed magic exclusively in Parseltongue.
And here came the greatest shock of Harry's life. The ability to be able to speak in the language of the snakes not only was hereditary, but could also be obtained through the use of a ritual.
And Slytherin had managed to get that ritual performed on him. That could only mean that he wasn't born a Parselmouth.
I have become rather fortunate today, Salazar had written. I managed to save one of these nomads from death. I used the life debt owed to me to have the ritual that I have heard of performed on me. From this I will be able to know of the secrets of the snakes, gaining the knowledge of being able to speak to this fascinating animal, much like the legendary Greek wizard, Herpo the Foul.
It is a good thing that he does not know that the life threatening situation he had found himself in was engineered by me. I would not want to be on the wrong side of the curses his kind are known for.
Harry stared at the book for an entire minute. He could not believe that Salazar wasn't born a Parselmouth. Well, there goes a few of my preconceived notions, he thought wryly. Further reading told Harry that Salazar's descendants would need to have that ritual done on them again if they wished to have the ability to perform magic in Parseltongue even though they were capable of speaking in the language.
In other words, only the ability to speak to snakes was hereditary. Harry deflated at this fact. He had hoped that he would be able to at least cast magic in Parseltongue. From what he had read so far, it sounded like a powerful branch of magic.
His hopes went up again when he read the description of the ritual that Salazar had written. According to the founder, the ritual entailed having the venom of a magical snake, which in Salazar's case was a runespoor, injected into the wizard's body with the fang being broken off the snake's mouth but still embedded in the wizard's flesh. The wizard had to then endure the venom for an amount of time which was inversely proportional to how powerful and potent the venom was and dependant on the age and physiology of the wizard. At the same time, the wizard had to kill the snake without casting any spells.
Only after that, when the wizard was near death, would the antidote be administered. If the wizard survived this highly dangerous and risky ritual, they would then move on to the final step. First the fang with which the serpent had bitten the wizard would remain coated in the wizard's blood till all the magical essence of the wizard in the blood was absorbed into the fang and mixing with the now dead snake's magical essence. This was indicated by the forming of a connexion between the wizard and fang. A connexion formed by death, blood, sacrifice and, most importantly, magic.
Harry sat up at this bit of information. The ritual that was described was eerily similar to what had happened to him in his second year. The basilisk was definitely a magical snake, and Harry had been injected with its venom after which he had killed the basilisk almost immediately with a sword. Harry also estimated that it had been a matter of a minute or so before Fawkes had come in to heal him from the effects of the venom. He was pretty sure that he was close to death at that time.
So that meant that all Harry had to do now was to send the basilisk fang he had found earlier to Ollivander with his wand. He was pretty sure that all his "magical essence" was fully absorbed by the fang seeing how he was drawn to the thing. He hadn't been able to go a day without looking and touching that thing at least once. At first he put the cause of his obsession down to the encounter he had survived. Now ... it took on a whole new meaning.
Putting down the book, Harry checked the time. It was the day after his final session with Victoria and it was getting rather late. Making a mental note to write to Ollivander about the possibility of adding a new element to his wand, Harry turned in for the night.
Monday morning was a sombre affair as it carried grave news. After a long battle, Sally-Anne Perks had finally succumbed to the curse on the necklace. After giving the normal spiel of how hard a worker the girl was, and how great a person and how much she would be missed, Dumbledore then told them that some of the fifth, sixth and seventh year classes would be cancelled for the day while the rest of the students had the whole day to themselves. This was done, as Dumbledore claimed, 'in honour of Ms Perks' memory' and also because the Aurors were stepping up investigations as it was now a murder case rather than a case of attempted murder. Naturally seeing as she was a student of the school, the Aurors had decided to interview the inhabitants of the castle they felt would help assist their investigations. Since that list included Professors Flitwick, Snape, and McGonagall as well as Ron and Hermione among other students and teachers, that meant that Harry would have only Potions which was way after lunch.
The opportunity this presented him with was too good to miss. Sneaking out into the grounds wasn't much of a challenge as all he had to do was follow a small number of students out into a surprisingly clear and sleet-free day. From there, he entered the Forbidden Forest where the wards of the castle ended and Disapparated in a whisper.
Reappearing at the entrance to Diagon Alley, Harry activated his necklace and made his way to Ollivanders. He felt the heaviness of the wards as he approached the door and opened it.
'Mr Potter,' Ollivander's voice soft voice penetrated the silence hanging in the empty shop, preceding the man as he appeared from amongst the dusty shelves. 'Shouldn't you be in school today? I was not aware that the winter holidays had started so early.'
'Classes for the day were cancelled,' said Harry shrugging. 'And since I have been emancipated, I am well within my rights to go wherever I want to in my free time.'
'But forget about that. I have a question for you.' he extracted the basilisk fang from his pocket and placed it on the table. 'I recently came into possession of this basilisk fang, and the most curious thing is that I am rather attracted to it. Now, since I figure that I have connexion to it, and as a basilisk is a magical creature, I figured that a wand could be made from this?' he looked at the old wand-maker questioningly.
'Mr Potter,' the older man began slowly, 'You do know that I cannot sell a person another wand when that person already has an intact wand registered with the Ministry? I'm afraid that what you are asking of me is rather illegal.'
'Oh no, Mr Ollivander,' said Harry laughing lightly. 'You misunderstand me. I did not want a new wand made from this. I was instead hoping that the fang can be used as a core and possibly integrated into my current wand. I checked, and the laws do not forbid that.'
The wand-maker's expression relaxed a bit on hearing this. 'You aren't wrong in that respect,' he said slowly. 'A wand can be modified later on in the user's life. Generally the modifications involve repairs ... what you are suggesting isn't normally done. It isn't unheard of, however.' The man paused for a minute, lost in thought. 'I suppose I can help you. Let me have a look at that fang.'
Pulling on a pair of basilisk hide gloves and placing a pince-nez on his eyes, Ollivander began to examine the fang minutely through the eyepiece, humming to himself. After a few moments, which were spent with Harry looking around the shop, he put the fang down at last.
'Well, I can definitely say that you have a connexion with the fang. If it wasn't for the fact that you haven't died yet from handling this highly poisonous item being enough of an indicator, the fact that I can sense some of your aura and magical essence within the fang is more than enough proof. What I am curious about is how did you manage to form a connexion with a basilisk fang of all things? A basilisk hasn't been seen here in Britain for centuries.'
'Oh it's a long story,' said Harry. 'Basically the gist of it is that in my second year, I was bitten by Salazar Slytherin's thousand-year-old pet basilisk which I had then killed using Godric Gryffindor's sword which I had extracted from the sorting hat. I only survived that encounter because Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, used his tears to heal my wounds.'
'"Salazar Slytherin's thousand-year-old pet basilisk"?' repeated Ollivander blankly as he considered the boy in front of him. 'I presume that the snake was in the fabled Chamber of Secrets?' Seeing Harry nod the man muttered, 'Incredible.'
Shaking himself out of his musing, Ollivander returned to the business at hand. 'Well, this helps matters a bit. The fact that the phoenix whose tail feather forms the core of your wand saved you from the effects of the snake venom may hinder or accelerate the bonding, I cannot tell at this time. Normally the two creatures aren't really enemies, unlike, say, the basilisk and the Acromantula or the hippogriff and griffin. The fact that you have a bond with both the phoenix's feather and the basilisk's fang might help, but the fact that the same phoenix helped your fight against the deadly venom might hinder the bonding...' he trailed off. 'Why don't you show me your wand? I will be able to make a better judgement then.'
Harry reached into his back pocket. Seeing the wand-maker's eyes narrow, the boy suddenly grinned and with a flick of his left hand, he brought his wand out from the holster into his palm which he then presented handle first to Ollivander.
The wand-maker only raised an eyebrow at the teen's antics as he took the wand. Placing the wand next to the fang, he bent down to observe the items on the table through his pince-nez, running his finger back and forth over the frame of the glasses as he did so. After a few moments, he looked back up at Harry, removing his glasses. 'Well, it will take some work, but I think it will be possible. It will take time though.' He warned the teen 'A week or two at the most is my estimation.'
Harry pondered at this for a moment before replying, 'I'll get the wand and fang to you just as the winter holidays start then. That way I won't need the wand as badly as I would need it if I were in school.'
Ollivander nodded, 'That is acceptable. I will have it ready by New Year's at the most. A new wand for a new year! I won't charge you for the modifications as I consider this as a repayment for the debt that I owe you. That and the challenge will be more than enough.'
'Thank you, sir,' Harry inclined his head. 'And thanks again for the gift that you sent me. I truly enjoyed that book, as I had mentioned in my earlier thank-you letter to you, the calligraphy and illustration were only surpassed by the richness and depth of the stories written within.'
'It was my pleasure Mr Potter. It is nice to see a young man such as yourself appreciating the finer things in life. Now be off with you, I have things I need to be doing.'
Harry took his wand and fang and walked out of the door.
'And this is for being a smart arse.' When he heard the sentence, Harry immediately dodged to the left, avoiding the stinging hex sent his way. Laughing at the older man's muttered 'cheeky brat' Harry hurried back to Hogwarts.
Hermione Granger put down her quill and sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes. Opening them she blearily looked at her half-completed assignment. It was already late at night and this essay and to be at Professor Snape's desk tomorrow! That meant that she had less than fourteen hours to chop off the extra two inches off the essay to make it to the specified six feet (she did not want to test the veracity of his threat that anyone who exceeded the limit would get a zero) and write it properly before handing it in. However, she couldn't bring herself to care much about it. Right now her main concern was not on the schoolwork, her prefect duties or homework. No she had other concerns, and they were too many to count.
First off was Draco Malfoy. She and Ron knew that the slimy git was behind poor Sally-Anne's murder. She shuddered at the memories Sally-Ann brought up. She was there when the poor girl had tripped, dropping the necklace which had come out of its packaging. However, by the time she had recognised the necklace, it was too late as Sally-Anne had already put her hands on the cursed jewellery. What followed was truly horrifying. As soon as her hands, covered in fingerless mittens, had touched the necklace, Sally-Anne rose into the air, her arms outstretched, looking peaceful for a few seconds before she started screaming and thrashing about. Hermione and Ron had done all they could to bring Sally-Anne to Madame Pomfrey as quickly as possible. It was a good thing that Ron had run off and found Hagrid.
At first Hermione had thought that Sally-Anne would pull through this, but it was not meant to be. Upon hearing of her death, Hermione felt even worse. She blamed herself for that. If only she had paid attention and spotted that necklace sooner ... logically speaking, she knew that she need not blame herself, but she couldn't help herself.
What was more, she and Ron knew that Malfoy was behind this. The problem was there was no proof! And without proof, nobody was willing to help. All they had was conjecture. And saying something stupid like 'It's because he hasn't been attending his classes and looks sickly' wasn't going to be received well.
A part of her felt that all their problems would have been solved if they had included Harry in the plot in the first place. Heaven knows how resourceful and observant her friend was. While she was good at research, he was good in field work, capable of making creative leaps in logic. And that was without the resources that he had at his command. That invisibility cloak of his, which she was sure he had bought, or had it bought for him in his first year (because really, no invisibility cloak has lasted for more than fifteen years, so it couldn't be his father's) plus that map the Marauders had made would have made tracking Malfoy a piece of cake.
The problem was that Ron did not see things her way. He argued that Harry should not have to worry about such things. That it was their job, given by Dumbledore himself to ensure that.
So that left them without the map and the cloak. And unlike last time, they could not borrow it without asking Harry first. Not only was his trunk so ridiculously warded that Mad-Eye himself would have called it paranoia, but he kept that cloak of his on his person at all times. And he had placed anti-theft wards on his pockets as well. It was a good thing that the wards did not have that feature that could tell who tried to breach them set into them. That way, she could pretend that it was someone else that had tried to pick his pocket and Ron could pretend that he had tripped on his trunk.
Not that Hermione felt like asking Harry for permission either. He had refused to believe their suspicions regarding Malfoy, and that had hurt. A part of her wanted to prove Malfoy's involvement just to rub it in Harry's face.
And it looked like she was going to be doing it alone for the moment. Ron was no longer talking to her, not after the big fight they had after the first Quidditch match. She honestly couldn't understand his problem. Didn't he see that it was an honest mistake on her part? Then he had to go and latch onto that slag, Lavender Brown. She tried to tell herself that he was perfectly fine to go out with whomever he liked, after all, she hadn't asked him out, nor had he asked her out. But a small part of her couldn't help but feel hurt.
Harry was another thing that was bugging her. Her friend had definitely changed this year. And that was evident from the time he had first met them at the Burrow. At first, she had expected a sullen brooding and even angry-at-the-world Harry. She certainly expected it to be so after that argument the two of them had, where she had reamed him good for wanting to run away from his responsibilities.
But this ... this was completely different. This Harry was upbeat and lively. Not to mention confident and extroverted. While everyone else was content to let things be, she was sure that Harry was only creating a facade, hiding his true feelings behind a mask. She was convinced that it would only be a matter of time before Harry finally burst from keeping his feelings inside him. And she was determined to make him open up lest it become too late and they all wake up one day to find that he had done something drastic and irresponsible like running away.
There were also other questions she had for the boy. Like how did he find the time to manage his Quidditch and House Captain duties, go to class and submit all his homework in record time! While the rest of the sixth-years were struggling to understand the theories explained (herself included), Harry was practically sailing through the class. He was now always the first person to get a new spell, getting perfect results minutes after the teacher had made them begin. And he made casting non-verbal spells look easier than breathing.
In other words, while she was struggling to stay on the top five, he was struggling not to become number one. And he wasn't really putting up much of a fight there. While his story of being a natural left hander and recently reverting back to using his left hand explained the improvement in handwriting and spell casting, Hermione, unlike the teachers did not believe that it was the reason for his rocketing to the number one spot in academics.
What really made her scowl in frustration was that dratted Potions book he was cheating from. She wasn't fooled by his lame excuse of having destroyed the book accidentally even though Professor Slughorn had fallen for it hook, line and sinker. She knew for a fact, beyond a doubt, that he still had that book. However, he had covered his tracks too well for her to catch him. To think that he had the gall to pass off another person's ideas as his own!
She had initially suspected him of possessing similar text books of previous talented students and using that, but had debunked that theory. Surely, he wouldn't have been able to find books in all the subjects! That and she hadn't seen him pouring over the text books of the other subjects like he was doing with the Potions text book.
So Hermione had to grudgingly admit that Harry was naturally talented. This wasn't an easy admission to make, even to herself, but she had to face the truth. Then again, maybe it was just an act? If it was, his results in his N.E.W.T. exams would reveal that truth...
At first she had assumed that he would be shunned or used to complete other people's homework like she was initially used before becoming his friend and still shunned even after becoming his friend, but everyone just seemed to adore him! What was more; they actually took his criticisms and corrections with a grace that was noticeably absent when she did the same.
The only explanation she could come up with was that his fame and popularity protected him from scorn and ridicule.
What was most surprising were the hexes and jinxes she was sure she caught him casting on Filch and Mrs Norris, and that too in front of other students, who predictably, laughed and applauded. The Harry she knew wouldn't be such a ... bully. 'And what proof do you have of that, Hermione?' he had asked her when she had confronted him about it.
'I could cast Prior Incantato on your wand ... that would show which spell you used,' she said triumphantly, recovering from the momentary shock of him openly challenging her.
'True, but as a prefect, you don't really have the authority to take a student's wand and cast such a spell.'
'Then I could ask McGonagall to do it,' she rallied after a pause. She was sure that threatening him with McGonagall would be enough to get him to back down.
'Well, then I just might let slip that a certain someone cast a Confundus charm. I hear that the teachers take a dimmer view to such charms being cast on unsuspecting students that are doing things like flying ... what would happen then? Especially in this atmosphere.' his tone was normal, but his words were more than capable of freezing her in her tracks.
Hermione could not believe that he had blackmailed her in such a way as she stood there looking at his back as he walked away with an eclectic group of their schoolmates and assorted hangers-on. Then again, it wasn't the first time he had done something so underhanded and sneaky. The way he had manipulated Ron into playing the best game of his fledgling school Quidditch career was quite masterful too. Not to mention the way he had used her when manipulating Ron.
Then there was the company he was keeping. Almost half the time Hermione would see him spending time with a different girl, pretending to listen to one while flirting with another. She still had to figure out why he had gone with Daphne Greengrass of all people and what they saw in each other. In fact, Greengrass was the only girl in whose company she saw him regularly.
He had also grown colder towards them. She supposed that they deserved it, what with the way they kept ignoring him and disappearing off to spy on Malfoy. But it was necessary. Malfoy was a threat. She was sure that he had been given the task of assassinating someone within the school. His targets: the headmaster ... or Harry.
Hermione made a promise to herself then. After all this was over, she would sit down with Harry and they would clear the air. Then, when everything was all right, when Malfoy was on his way to Azkaban thanks to her foiling his plot, making Harry realise that she was right all along, and when Harry had finally finished Voldemort off with her help, she would ask him those questions that were really bugging her ever since she had met him.
Hermione really hated unsolved puzzles, and Harry Potter was the biggest unsolved puzzle she had ever seen. Once all this was over, she planned on finding out everything, all about his life before Hogwarts (a subject she had immediately noticed that he would avoid at all costs) and what he was up to this year. She already had Ron figured out, it was Harry who fascinated her. Getting secrets from him was like pulling teeth.
She didn't stop to think that there were secrets that she had kept from Harry, or that Harry had a right to his secrets just like everyone else.