Categories > Books > Harry Potter > Lord of War
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK 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.
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Lord of War
Chapter 4 – Come and Go Room
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Hogwarts
November 17th, 1993
“Harry, wait!”
Turning around Harry spotted his long time friend Hermione Granger. Unlike nearly every student at Hogwarts, she was one of the few who believed him about not wanting to participate in the Triwizards Tournament. Above all else, Harry appreciated Hermione’s faith in him.
Finally at his side, they headed towards the Grand Hall together. “Where have you been all morning? I was waiting for you in charms and Divinations.”
“Busy schedule,” was all Harry said.
“Dumbledore?” she asked quietly, but she received no response. Unheeded she continued, “Everyone’s noticed that you’ve been doing well in DADA. In fact, you’ve been doing quite well in every class recently . . . bored even.”
A thin smirk graced Harry’s face. His knowledge and skills in the magical arts had double in just over two weeks real-time. Having already spent months in time shifts, his control had improved by leaps and bounds.
“And you look . . . excellent “she rambled. “I, er –what I mean to say is healthier.” Hermione’s face was red with embarrassment from her slip-up. She was looking questionably at his torso and arms. “What have you been eating, Harry?”
“Balanced meals, Hermione.”
She was displeased with that answer. “Harry! I know you’ve been doing something or another behind the scenes. If it’s something you can’t tell me, then just say so.”
Harry thought about telling her the truth despite Moody’s warning. Hermione was more than capable of keeping his secret, not to mention it make his life easier by not having to dodge the watchful eye of his best friend.
The first month in limbo time he’d learned every spell in the 7 year Hogwarts curriculum; or at least the theory behind them. After that however, the Cruciatus curse came into play.
Pain was a great teacher, it proved. With pain came clarity. With clarity came control. And with control came confidence in both self and magic.
Moody still had no theory behind the phenomenon of Harry’s rapid increase of skill by the induction of pain. But the old ex-Auror did his part. He’d taught Harry nearly every dark and illegal spell he knew, which surprisingly, was a relatively small amount.
The Moody he read of in the Auror training manuals was said to not have only known many illegal spells, but to have implemented special tactics and ideas specifically designed for the capture and/or killing criminal wizards. His knowledge of the Dark Arts were said to surpass most Dark Wizards themselves.
Maybe old Mad Eye Moody was holding back on him?
“I’ve been learning, and, as you can see, it involves allot of physical training. Can’t tell you exactly who I’ve been learning from. But, know this it isn’t just because of some rubbish tournament. The training is to help me survive events far worse then school activities,” he said.
“Him?” she questioned, alluding to the Dark Lord.
“You think I’m mad, don’t you?”
“No, I think it’s sad, Harry. You’ve had enough difficulty being the Boy-Who-Lived as it was. First the philosophers’ stone, to the chamber of secrets, to nearly loosing your Godfather, and now this tournament. Now you’re telling me that you’re training to take on a Dark Lord? I think it’s horrid. Why must all of this fall on your shoulders?”
Harry empathized with her, but she was preaching to the choir. “A question I ask myself everyday.”
“Are you so certain he’ll come back?”
“The Greatest Dark Lord in centuries,” Harry stated Voldemort’s renowned title. He fixed Hermione with a hard look. “Do you really think this world has seen the last of Voldemort?” The mention of the Dark Lord’s name caused Hermione to flinch.
Harry could not help feeling pity for Hermione’s innocence. She had such a rigid way of thinking. If she knew he was learning the Dark Arts, she would surly disapprove. She would not understand his need to learn the Dark Arts.
“Well, if it isn’t Pot-Head. Keeping his Mudblood company I see,” said a voice from behind Harry.
Harry didn’t have to turn around to know he’d been blessed with the presence of Malfoy. He could smell the stench of Draco’s cologne. Judging from the heated look in Hermione’s brown eyes at the name she’d just been called, he knew he had to act fast, before she did something rash. He was sure Malfoy would not tolerate being punched in the face again like the previous year.
“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledged, facing the haughty blond.
On the boy’s chest was a magically charmed button that displayed Harry’s face, headlined with the words, ‘Potter Sinks!’ Malfoy smirked as Harry looked at it.
Rumors around Hogwarts suggested Harry was undergoing some sort of training, or at least, receiving special lessons. Draco often paid Hogwarts’ rumor mill little heed. However, looking at Potter, it was all he could do to realize the changes in the Gryffindor. Maybe the rumors were true after all.
Harry looked bigger and seemed healthier. He seemed more certain; arrogant, even?
Gone was the reluctant and brash young man, and in its place was someone new, someone unknown to Draco. This Harry intrigued him.
Draco stepped closer, well within Harry’s private space, were only Granger could overhear. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, but Draco could have sworn he’d see his body coil. “Honestly Potter, you’ve disturbed the natural order of this tournament. You even the ‘Puffs are looking for payback for stealing their Champion’s “glory”. You’ll have more to look out for this year then just us Slytherins.”
“Your point?” Harry asked.
“I would suggest you keep the few friends that you have, on a leash.” He eyes Hermione for the first time. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harry replied with a wicked smile of his own.
“Touché,” Draco said.
With that he departed, waving to his two goons to follow. Harry and Hermione watched them enter the Great Hall handing buttons to everyone he passed.
Instead of going to the Great Hall himself, Harry took an immediate right turn, heading towards the dungeons. Hermione was a bit surprised by this, seeing as they didn’t have Potions class scheduled that day.
“Where are we going, Harry?” she asked
Harry stopped. “I need to check on a few things in the dungeons.”
His emphasis of ‘I’ was not lost on her. She looked disappointed. Hurt. “Just be careful.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he should be thankful that she wasn’t being he usual self and insisting that she go along. That surprised him.
“I guess some things do change, Hermione.”
At that moment they both heard shouts and a commotion coming from the entrance of the Great Hall. The cause of the ruckus was none other than their one time best friend, Ron Weasley. The boy was red-faced and shouting profanities at Draco Malfoy. The blond looked quite pleased with himself. His daily quota of pissing off Gryffindors was finally satisfied.
Shaking her head with a half smile, Hermione said, “And some things never do.”
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A dark sky . . . and in the foreground, stood a tall blond-haired young man, profiled against the full moon, his pale face watching the heavens with piecing grey eyes.
Surrounding him was the silence of the night. He sat alone, as he’d come to do often, in the empty stands of the Quiddich pitch. It was one of the few places that allowed him to contemplate his thoughts without the interference of his Slytherin housemates. The life of Pureblood wizard wasn’t all it cracked up to be.
For all the power and influence Draco Malfoy inherited, he couldn’t help but feel as if it was not enough. He was the heir of one of the greatest families Britain and yet his life was filled with one mundane occurrence after another. People should fear and respect his name, but all he received was veiled mockery and contempt.
It was easy to blame the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, for the lack of respect the students showed Purebloods. And by extension, Harry Potter was also to blame, for it was him that instilled the audacity in others.
Potter was the center and foundation of his scorn.
Every year Potter was gaining more admiration and respect amongst his peers. Even with the fiasco of the Triwizards Tournament Draco knew and understood that it was only a matter of time before the students accepted him back into their good graces. It was hard to miss the endearing qualities Potter naturally possesses.
The green-eyed fool had undergone some sort of change recently; that much was blatantly evident. He carried himself differently, with a confidence and poise a Pureblood wizard would be proud of. A change that drastic could only mean one thing: training, or more specifically, the Dark Arts.
The Dark Arts branch of magic was often a misunderstood and vague form of magic, made even more so by recent Ministry administrations.
Contrary to popular belief, learning the intricacies of the Dark Arts took substantial will, power, and patience to fully control. If one were to trounce their way into that branch of magic their magic would change in the worse ways possible, corrupting their very soul and making their life a ghastly parody of its former self.
Few witches and wizards saw little need to delve heavily into the Dark Arts, not when the price was their sanity. Only an exceptionally powerful wizard could overcome the ravages the Dark Arts forces on the soul. The greatest byproduct of that feat being the Dark Lord, who not only wielded the monstrous power of the Dark Arts, but also maintained his cunning and wit.
Draco’s earlier encounter with Potter was enlightening. Like the rest of the school, he was witness to the changes of Potter over the last several weeks. No longer was he a thin, roguish looking boy. He had fill in quite a bit over the last few weeks. Not to mention the added muscle and weight Harry gained. Physical strength was not something witches and wizards usually admired in their celebrities, but the Gryffindor golden-boy won the hearts of even more witches with the added mass.
It was common knowledge that all then champions were receiving training for the upcoming events, though the rules forbade it. But the top three magical schools in Europe weren’t anything if not extremely competitive. They would not pass up a chance to pilfer esteem the other schools because of some silly ancient rules.
How far would Potter go to obtain his power, and more importantly, who was training him? Dumbledore, the old mudblood loving fool would no sooner cast an unforgivable than teach a student the Dark Arts. Whoever it was, they were certainly doing a good enough job. Potter was indeed becoming more physically imposing.
Draco frowned he was still weary of the Dark Art and its corruption. He hated to though of not being in control of his emotions and becoming some beastly, mindless fool with power. He had only to look at his dear aunt Bellatrix to see the results of fear.
Growing cold in the late-night November breeze, he made his way back to the castle. As he cut across the field between the castle and pitch, Draco noticed the storm cloud gathering overhead. He made it through the large doors of Hogwarts entrance just as sprinkles of rainfall began.
On his way to the dungeons Draco ran into a intriguing sight. Both of his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, towered over a small figure curled against the stone walls.
“And what’s going on here?” Draco caught his two goons by surprise.
“Zachariah Niles caught this little shite wondering the halls past his bed time,” Crabbed snickered.
“Yeah, we had him leave the Gryff to us so he could finish his patrol.” Goyle, the larger and dumber Pureblood heir grabbed the sniffling boy by the hair and yanked his face into view.
Draco saw that it was Dennis Creevy, a small, mousy third year Gryffindor. His face was red and he sported a wicked black right eye.
“You wanna have a go at him, Draco?” Goyle asked.
Draco sneered at his fellow Slytherins. Those all too familiar thoughts were surfacing in his head; he was surrounded by idiots. Grabbe and Goyle didn’t even have their wands drawn, instead resorting to physically assaulting the Gryffindor. Such was not the proper way a Pureblood handled causing pain.
‘Are we wizards, or are we bloody muggles?’ Draco thought to himself. It was a lesson he’d been trying to instill in the two buffoons before him.
“Step aside you idiots. And heal those knuckles!” Draco said, unsheathing his wand.
Pointing his wand at the smaller boy, Draco spoke harshly, “Stand up, boy!”
Through a black eye and a slightly swollen lip, Dennis barked back, “Piss off!”
Ah, so the boy still had some fight in him then. Gryffindors always proved to be the feistier and most resistant victims of their little late night ‘games’. In and around the dungeons there were no magical portraits to witness their hazing of other students.
In the blink of an eye Crabbe had moved in swiftly and kicked the downed boy solidly in the gut. Solid boot connected with soft skin with a thud. Dennis was left clutching his ribs.
Sighing irritably, Draco rubbed the stress from his aching temples. “Crabbe, will you please unsheathe your wand. If don’t actually use magic you’ll never get better. In the end, would you be any better then this mudblood?”
Crabbe flushed stupidly and unsheathed his own wand along with Goyle.
With a flick of his wand Draco had Dennis hovering vertically a few inches from the marble floor. The younger boy was torn between fear and wavering bravery. If only he had kept his wand on his person instead of in his sack on the floor beneath him.
“Listen, it’s past one in the morning and I don’t have the time to deal with mudbloods at this ungodly hour. What I need you to do is pass on a few words to the head lion in your little den. Tell him, before this school year is over, he’ll have more to fear then trolls, basilisks, and Dementors. Things are going to change around here, and soon, Draco said.
A voice, low and yet resounding, echoes through the corridors soon after Draco’s threat. “Why don’t you relay that message,” the voiced started, and out stepped the green-eyed Gryffindor from the shadows, “to the king of the jungle himself?”
Draco was taken aback by Harry’s sudden appearance. All wands were then trained on him as he began to walk down the corridor. Dennis falls to the floor unceremoniously.
Stepping close to the still surprised Draco, Harry said, “Threatened twice in the same day.” That arrogant smirk of Harry was beginning to engrave itself in Draco’s mind, annoyingly. “Someone’s looking for a fight.”
Draco snarled at the pretentious Potter, and with a nod both Crabbe and Goyle charged at Harry, wands in hand. They seemed to never learn.
Once Crabbe was well within Harry’s striking range he was stuck in the throat faster then he could follow. Goyle came around a second later but Harry sidestepped his haymaker and tripped the two-hundred pound boy with ease. Harry dropped his knee on the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor.
Malfoy looked from the gagging Crabbed to the pinned Goyle, then to Harry, dumbfounded. Harry managed to subdue two oversized teenagers in the matter of seconds with drawing his wand or breaking a sweat. In his mind, he was still trying to digest what he just saw,
Harry broke him from his reverie. “I would suggest you keep the few friends you have, on a leash,” he said. Harry dug his knee painfully into Goyle’s chest before standing. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Draco was turning red with anger. Fool. He was being made a fool of.
“You don’t wanna –“
Before Harry could finish a purple spell was soaring at him. He managed to move out of the flight path of the spell at the last possible moment but was still nicked by the cutting charm just below his shoulder.
Draco took satisfaction in seeing Potter’s blood rolling down his arm. The cut wasn’t very deep, little more than a flesh wound, but it was a deep enough cut non-the-less.
Harry looked on in a mixture of surprise and fury at his wound. Surprise, because he didn’t expect Draco’s casting to be so fast. It was a quicker then he remember it being in the Dueling club their second year. And Harry was pissed because his two months all out training was proving to mean nothing if the likes of Malfoy still posed a threat.
His eyes burned as he glared at the smug Malfoy. In a second Harry was behind the blond and placed a vicious kick to the back of his knee. Draco topple down and felt a boot placed on his head before the effect of a ‘Petrificous Totalus’ washed over him.
“This time I’ll let you off with a warning. Bother another lion again, and you and your cronies won’t be so lucky next time. Got me?”
Malfoy could not properly respond due to his motor functions being temporarily cut off from Harry’s charm, but his grey eyes still glared hatefully. Harry pressed his boot harder onto Draco’s ear, smashing his head onto the marble floor.
Harry relented. He moved away from the furious Malfoy after placing body binds on Crabbe and Goyle also. He then swatted his hands together as if dusting them off from a long days work. But as he began to walk away he stopped abruptly.
Harry turned around at spoke to the baffled Dennis Creevy. “Unless you want to keep them company tonight . . .” He waved with a hand for the younger boy to join him.
Dennis immediately grabbed his bag and hobbled over to join Harry. Together they departed, leaving the petrified Slytherins alone in the dark corridor.
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Harry and Dennis navigated through the halls without attractive attentions from the roving Prefects, thanks to the Marauder’s Map. Dennis had raised many questions about the useful map as looked at it besides Harry.
He was still getting used to being so close to the celebrity that was Harry Potter. Between the one-sided fight he had recently witnessed and the stories of the Dark Lord’s downfall his brother Collin had told him, Dennis was in awe.
To Dennis, it was as if Harry was from a different planet. It was just impossible for one human to be both that wicked and freighting at the same time. He wondered what Harry would do to other students if he were to toe-to-toe in a dueling match. Seventh years would crumble just as surely as Malfoy did. If only other people were there to see what he had seen. His brother was going to freak when he told him!
In his excitement, Dennis had nearly forgotten about his bruised ribs. With each step they the pain grew more and more excruciating. Soon, he stared to fall behind Harry until the older boy stopped to asses the damage.
“Here, lean against the wall.” He beckoned the Dennis. “Lift your shirt so I can take a look. Believe me; you don’t want to wake Madam Promfrey at this ungodly hour.”
Dennis did as he was told and lifted his shirt. They found his wounds were more serious then either of them would have thought. A rather large area of swelling was a vivid read and a leaking blood out of a nearby cut.
Harry aimed his wand at the wound and silently cast the only healing spell he knew.
“ARRG!” Dennis yelped in pain. “Bloody hell, what was that, Harry?”
“It’s the only healing spell I know. Never tried it on a living subject before.”
Dennis looked brassed-off, rethinking his earlier assessment of ‘cool-Harry’. “Well I’m not a bloody specimen! And you’re healing is rubbish!”
‘Everyone’s a critic,’ Harry thought. He wondered what he should do then. If they went to Madam Promfrey she would demand an account of what happed to young Dennis. The standard “fell down a flight of stairs” wouldn’t work since the bruises were very indicative of physical assault.
“Looks like you’re going to have to suck it up until we reach the tower,” Harry stated.
“But I can barely move as it is,” Dennis whined. “Merlin, I wish I just had a little balm to sooth the bruising.”
Harry stepped back alarmed as he saw the wall behind Dennis start to move pictures and ornaments aside then began to . . . dissolve? Dennis was perturbed by the curious face Harry assumed. He yelped and scampered away from the wall he’d been leaning against as he saw for himself the wall dissolving like magical sand.
In moments the dissolving stopped and what remained was a large obsidian door with intricate designs, complete with an extravagant doorknob.
Harry ran a few diagnostic spells over the strange door before opening it. He and Dennis stepped inside and were surprised by what they found inside.
All around the huge room were various vial of potions, and even what appeared to be muggle medical supplies and equipment. On the shelf directly to their right was a vial of “Healing Balm.” Dennis manage to hobble over to the shelf and pick up the vial for closer examination.
“No way!” he breathed. Then looking around the room he said, “This can’t be what I think it is!”
“And that would be . . . ?”
“Neville was told us once that he came across a room that appeared from nowhere when he was in great need of it. He could never find the room again, but he called it “The Come and Go Room”. If I remember correctly, Neville said it literally provided everything he asked for.”
Harry frowned skeptically. If such a room existed inside the school it would not have remained a secret for long. If he could just wish up a short Dragon toothed blade it would have . . . wait a minute.
A new weight was added to Harry’s waistline and, looking down, he found a perfectly crafted dragon toothed ceremonial blade sheathed inside of the crimson dragon-skinned sheath. Harry could not believe what he was seeing. It was exactly as it saw it in the Auror’s Training Manual. With a few twist and fancy flips around his palm, he decided it was the perfect weight.
“Woah, what’s that?” Dennis asked, intrigued by the dagger Harry expertly wielded.
“A business tool,” he said. He sheathed the blade with a final flourish. “What’s that?”
Dennis turned red and quickly hid his sheet of paper behind his back. He looked coyly at Harry, clearly embarrassed about something. Harry summoned the paper wandlessly and was surprised to find a stark naked and grinning Cho Chang in a rather intriguing position. It seemed that even second years were smitten with the oriental witch.
“Not bad, kid.” Harry could imagine Cho in better positions then that however.
“Well I kind of got carried away with the whole “whatever you ask for” bit. I wished for her to be here, in, umm . . . naked, but all I got was this picture.”
That was . . . revealing. Now Harry could understand exactly why the room was hidden. Question was, did the staff know about the room, or were they ignorant as well. Odds were, at least Dumbledore knew.
Harry watched Dennis apply the healing balm to his wounds making sure the substance didn’t have any ill effects. The younger boy said the pain was nearly gone, he could move almost unimpeded with flinching, thought his wounds would take time and rest to heal.
Harry moved about the room, wishing many of the medical supplies away, and replacing them with various weapons and tools he could every possible use for training.
A large metal shelf materialized, stacked to the brim with muggle firearms. Harry plucked a standard 9mm automatic and examined it. The roomed stretched and elongated, and at the very end of the room were several wooden dummies. Harry aimed and unleaded a full clip. His aim wasn’t as good with the firearm as it was with his wand, or just his palm. But practice would make perfect.
Dennis grabbed a handgun of his own, ready to fire like Harry. Before he could get off a shot however, the gun was summoned out of the twelve-year-old’s hand and into Harry’s.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Harry asked.
“Come on, Harry! I found this place too!” Dennis pleaded. He was excided by guns Harry had wished up. He was beginning to like Harry’s style. Where he would have just wished up more . . . pleasing things the room could provide, Harry was already preparing for one his great adventures!
“One condition,” Harry said. Dennis nodded his head, already accepting whatever terms Harry would stipulate. “You speak of this to no one. Not your brother, not the professors, not the students, and defiantly not your parents. Understood?”
He answered with an eager “Got it!” and Harry sighed. He had to review the Memory charm soon, just in case Dennis proved in any way he was unable to keep his word.
Dennis quickly grabbed another gun and got all set up, ready to fire for the first time, however, the gun dissolved in his hands.
“What?” he asked stupidly.
The roomed took on a complete change in décor. Gone was the gun racks, various training equipment, and medial equipment. Everything vanished from the room. The light, which were a once soft candle light, were also gone. The ceiling took on the form the ceiling had in the Great Hall. Dennis could see the dark clouds and thundering sky above. The room was so dark he could bare make out Harry who was standing in front of him.
The change was so unexpected that Dennis was caught completely unprepared. For the second time that night Dennis felt dread creep up his spine.
“Don’t panic, kid.” Harry said in complete calm. “Think happy thoughts, and stay back.”
“W-What?” Happy thought? What in the bloody hell was that suppose to mean? The only reason a witch or wizards had to focus on happy thought was only when . . .
The temperature continued to drop drastically to point were Dennis was left freezing on the cold marble floor.
With a crash, three Dementors burst through a door at the opposite end of the room and advanced on the pair. Dennis stared in complete horror at the other Gryffindor. Harry had to be completely mad to wish up Dementors! He wanted to run, run from certain death, but all he could do was shutter in fear, his teeth rattling loudly.
Dennis’ happy thought was the naked Cho Chang.
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AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY
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Sorry for the late chapter this time around. Updates should improve now that I’m back in the U.S.
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Lord of War
Chapter 4 – Come and Go Room
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Hogwarts
November 17th, 1993
“Harry, wait!”
Turning around Harry spotted his long time friend Hermione Granger. Unlike nearly every student at Hogwarts, she was one of the few who believed him about not wanting to participate in the Triwizards Tournament. Above all else, Harry appreciated Hermione’s faith in him.
Finally at his side, they headed towards the Grand Hall together. “Where have you been all morning? I was waiting for you in charms and Divinations.”
“Busy schedule,” was all Harry said.
“Dumbledore?” she asked quietly, but she received no response. Unheeded she continued, “Everyone’s noticed that you’ve been doing well in DADA. In fact, you’ve been doing quite well in every class recently . . . bored even.”
A thin smirk graced Harry’s face. His knowledge and skills in the magical arts had double in just over two weeks real-time. Having already spent months in time shifts, his control had improved by leaps and bounds.
“And you look . . . excellent “she rambled. “I, er –what I mean to say is healthier.” Hermione’s face was red with embarrassment from her slip-up. She was looking questionably at his torso and arms. “What have you been eating, Harry?”
“Balanced meals, Hermione.”
She was displeased with that answer. “Harry! I know you’ve been doing something or another behind the scenes. If it’s something you can’t tell me, then just say so.”
Harry thought about telling her the truth despite Moody’s warning. Hermione was more than capable of keeping his secret, not to mention it make his life easier by not having to dodge the watchful eye of his best friend.
The first month in limbo time he’d learned every spell in the 7 year Hogwarts curriculum; or at least the theory behind them. After that however, the Cruciatus curse came into play.
Pain was a great teacher, it proved. With pain came clarity. With clarity came control. And with control came confidence in both self and magic.
Moody still had no theory behind the phenomenon of Harry’s rapid increase of skill by the induction of pain. But the old ex-Auror did his part. He’d taught Harry nearly every dark and illegal spell he knew, which surprisingly, was a relatively small amount.
The Moody he read of in the Auror training manuals was said to not have only known many illegal spells, but to have implemented special tactics and ideas specifically designed for the capture and/or killing criminal wizards. His knowledge of the Dark Arts were said to surpass most Dark Wizards themselves.
Maybe old Mad Eye Moody was holding back on him?
“I’ve been learning, and, as you can see, it involves allot of physical training. Can’t tell you exactly who I’ve been learning from. But, know this it isn’t just because of some rubbish tournament. The training is to help me survive events far worse then school activities,” he said.
“Him?” she questioned, alluding to the Dark Lord.
“You think I’m mad, don’t you?”
“No, I think it’s sad, Harry. You’ve had enough difficulty being the Boy-Who-Lived as it was. First the philosophers’ stone, to the chamber of secrets, to nearly loosing your Godfather, and now this tournament. Now you’re telling me that you’re training to take on a Dark Lord? I think it’s horrid. Why must all of this fall on your shoulders?”
Harry empathized with her, but she was preaching to the choir. “A question I ask myself everyday.”
“Are you so certain he’ll come back?”
“The Greatest Dark Lord in centuries,” Harry stated Voldemort’s renowned title. He fixed Hermione with a hard look. “Do you really think this world has seen the last of Voldemort?” The mention of the Dark Lord’s name caused Hermione to flinch.
Harry could not help feeling pity for Hermione’s innocence. She had such a rigid way of thinking. If she knew he was learning the Dark Arts, she would surly disapprove. She would not understand his need to learn the Dark Arts.
“Well, if it isn’t Pot-Head. Keeping his Mudblood company I see,” said a voice from behind Harry.
Harry didn’t have to turn around to know he’d been blessed with the presence of Malfoy. He could smell the stench of Draco’s cologne. Judging from the heated look in Hermione’s brown eyes at the name she’d just been called, he knew he had to act fast, before she did something rash. He was sure Malfoy would not tolerate being punched in the face again like the previous year.
“Malfoy,” Harry acknowledged, facing the haughty blond.
On the boy’s chest was a magically charmed button that displayed Harry’s face, headlined with the words, ‘Potter Sinks!’ Malfoy smirked as Harry looked at it.
Rumors around Hogwarts suggested Harry was undergoing some sort of training, or at least, receiving special lessons. Draco often paid Hogwarts’ rumor mill little heed. However, looking at Potter, it was all he could do to realize the changes in the Gryffindor. Maybe the rumors were true after all.
Harry looked bigger and seemed healthier. He seemed more certain; arrogant, even?
Gone was the reluctant and brash young man, and in its place was someone new, someone unknown to Draco. This Harry intrigued him.
Draco stepped closer, well within Harry’s private space, were only Granger could overhear. Harry didn’t so much as flinch, but Draco could have sworn he’d see his body coil. “Honestly Potter, you’ve disturbed the natural order of this tournament. You even the ‘Puffs are looking for payback for stealing their Champion’s “glory”. You’ll have more to look out for this year then just us Slytherins.”
“Your point?” Harry asked.
“I would suggest you keep the few friends that you have, on a leash.” He eyes Hermione for the first time. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
“Speak for yourself,” Harry replied with a wicked smile of his own.
“Touché,” Draco said.
With that he departed, waving to his two goons to follow. Harry and Hermione watched them enter the Great Hall handing buttons to everyone he passed.
Instead of going to the Great Hall himself, Harry took an immediate right turn, heading towards the dungeons. Hermione was a bit surprised by this, seeing as they didn’t have Potions class scheduled that day.
“Where are we going, Harry?” she asked
Harry stopped. “I need to check on a few things in the dungeons.”
His emphasis of ‘I’ was not lost on her. She looked disappointed. Hurt. “Just be careful.”
Harry wasn’t sure if he should be thankful that she wasn’t being he usual self and insisting that she go along. That surprised him.
“I guess some things do change, Hermione.”
At that moment they both heard shouts and a commotion coming from the entrance of the Great Hall. The cause of the ruckus was none other than their one time best friend, Ron Weasley. The boy was red-faced and shouting profanities at Draco Malfoy. The blond looked quite pleased with himself. His daily quota of pissing off Gryffindors was finally satisfied.
Shaking her head with a half smile, Hermione said, “And some things never do.”
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A dark sky . . . and in the foreground, stood a tall blond-haired young man, profiled against the full moon, his pale face watching the heavens with piecing grey eyes.
Surrounding him was the silence of the night. He sat alone, as he’d come to do often, in the empty stands of the Quiddich pitch. It was one of the few places that allowed him to contemplate his thoughts without the interference of his Slytherin housemates. The life of Pureblood wizard wasn’t all it cracked up to be.
For all the power and influence Draco Malfoy inherited, he couldn’t help but feel as if it was not enough. He was the heir of one of the greatest families Britain and yet his life was filled with one mundane occurrence after another. People should fear and respect his name, but all he received was veiled mockery and contempt.
It was easy to blame the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, for the lack of respect the students showed Purebloods. And by extension, Harry Potter was also to blame, for it was him that instilled the audacity in others.
Potter was the center and foundation of his scorn.
Every year Potter was gaining more admiration and respect amongst his peers. Even with the fiasco of the Triwizards Tournament Draco knew and understood that it was only a matter of time before the students accepted him back into their good graces. It was hard to miss the endearing qualities Potter naturally possesses.
The green-eyed fool had undergone some sort of change recently; that much was blatantly evident. He carried himself differently, with a confidence and poise a Pureblood wizard would be proud of. A change that drastic could only mean one thing: training, or more specifically, the Dark Arts.
The Dark Arts branch of magic was often a misunderstood and vague form of magic, made even more so by recent Ministry administrations.
Contrary to popular belief, learning the intricacies of the Dark Arts took substantial will, power, and patience to fully control. If one were to trounce their way into that branch of magic their magic would change in the worse ways possible, corrupting their very soul and making their life a ghastly parody of its former self.
Few witches and wizards saw little need to delve heavily into the Dark Arts, not when the price was their sanity. Only an exceptionally powerful wizard could overcome the ravages the Dark Arts forces on the soul. The greatest byproduct of that feat being the Dark Lord, who not only wielded the monstrous power of the Dark Arts, but also maintained his cunning and wit.
Draco’s earlier encounter with Potter was enlightening. Like the rest of the school, he was witness to the changes of Potter over the last several weeks. No longer was he a thin, roguish looking boy. He had fill in quite a bit over the last few weeks. Not to mention the added muscle and weight Harry gained. Physical strength was not something witches and wizards usually admired in their celebrities, but the Gryffindor golden-boy won the hearts of even more witches with the added mass.
It was common knowledge that all then champions were receiving training for the upcoming events, though the rules forbade it. But the top three magical schools in Europe weren’t anything if not extremely competitive. They would not pass up a chance to pilfer esteem the other schools because of some silly ancient rules.
How far would Potter go to obtain his power, and more importantly, who was training him? Dumbledore, the old mudblood loving fool would no sooner cast an unforgivable than teach a student the Dark Arts. Whoever it was, they were certainly doing a good enough job. Potter was indeed becoming more physically imposing.
Draco frowned he was still weary of the Dark Art and its corruption. He hated to though of not being in control of his emotions and becoming some beastly, mindless fool with power. He had only to look at his dear aunt Bellatrix to see the results of fear.
Growing cold in the late-night November breeze, he made his way back to the castle. As he cut across the field between the castle and pitch, Draco noticed the storm cloud gathering overhead. He made it through the large doors of Hogwarts entrance just as sprinkles of rainfall began.
On his way to the dungeons Draco ran into a intriguing sight. Both of his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, towered over a small figure curled against the stone walls.
“And what’s going on here?” Draco caught his two goons by surprise.
“Zachariah Niles caught this little shite wondering the halls past his bed time,” Crabbed snickered.
“Yeah, we had him leave the Gryff to us so he could finish his patrol.” Goyle, the larger and dumber Pureblood heir grabbed the sniffling boy by the hair and yanked his face into view.
Draco saw that it was Dennis Creevy, a small, mousy third year Gryffindor. His face was red and he sported a wicked black right eye.
“You wanna have a go at him, Draco?” Goyle asked.
Draco sneered at his fellow Slytherins. Those all too familiar thoughts were surfacing in his head; he was surrounded by idiots. Grabbe and Goyle didn’t even have their wands drawn, instead resorting to physically assaulting the Gryffindor. Such was not the proper way a Pureblood handled causing pain.
‘Are we wizards, or are we bloody muggles?’ Draco thought to himself. It was a lesson he’d been trying to instill in the two buffoons before him.
“Step aside you idiots. And heal those knuckles!” Draco said, unsheathing his wand.
Pointing his wand at the smaller boy, Draco spoke harshly, “Stand up, boy!”
Through a black eye and a slightly swollen lip, Dennis barked back, “Piss off!”
Ah, so the boy still had some fight in him then. Gryffindors always proved to be the feistier and most resistant victims of their little late night ‘games’. In and around the dungeons there were no magical portraits to witness their hazing of other students.
In the blink of an eye Crabbe had moved in swiftly and kicked the downed boy solidly in the gut. Solid boot connected with soft skin with a thud. Dennis was left clutching his ribs.
Sighing irritably, Draco rubbed the stress from his aching temples. “Crabbe, will you please unsheathe your wand. If don’t actually use magic you’ll never get better. In the end, would you be any better then this mudblood?”
Crabbe flushed stupidly and unsheathed his own wand along with Goyle.
With a flick of his wand Draco had Dennis hovering vertically a few inches from the marble floor. The younger boy was torn between fear and wavering bravery. If only he had kept his wand on his person instead of in his sack on the floor beneath him.
“Listen, it’s past one in the morning and I don’t have the time to deal with mudbloods at this ungodly hour. What I need you to do is pass on a few words to the head lion in your little den. Tell him, before this school year is over, he’ll have more to fear then trolls, basilisks, and Dementors. Things are going to change around here, and soon, Draco said.
A voice, low and yet resounding, echoes through the corridors soon after Draco’s threat. “Why don’t you relay that message,” the voiced started, and out stepped the green-eyed Gryffindor from the shadows, “to the king of the jungle himself?”
Draco was taken aback by Harry’s sudden appearance. All wands were then trained on him as he began to walk down the corridor. Dennis falls to the floor unceremoniously.
Stepping close to the still surprised Draco, Harry said, “Threatened twice in the same day.” That arrogant smirk of Harry was beginning to engrave itself in Draco’s mind, annoyingly. “Someone’s looking for a fight.”
Draco snarled at the pretentious Potter, and with a nod both Crabbe and Goyle charged at Harry, wands in hand. They seemed to never learn.
Once Crabbe was well within Harry’s striking range he was stuck in the throat faster then he could follow. Goyle came around a second later but Harry sidestepped his haymaker and tripped the two-hundred pound boy with ease. Harry dropped his knee on the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor.
Malfoy looked from the gagging Crabbed to the pinned Goyle, then to Harry, dumbfounded. Harry managed to subdue two oversized teenagers in the matter of seconds with drawing his wand or breaking a sweat. In his mind, he was still trying to digest what he just saw,
Harry broke him from his reverie. “I would suggest you keep the few friends you have, on a leash,” he said. Harry dug his knee painfully into Goyle’s chest before standing. “We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
Draco was turning red with anger. Fool. He was being made a fool of.
“You don’t wanna –“
Before Harry could finish a purple spell was soaring at him. He managed to move out of the flight path of the spell at the last possible moment but was still nicked by the cutting charm just below his shoulder.
Draco took satisfaction in seeing Potter’s blood rolling down his arm. The cut wasn’t very deep, little more than a flesh wound, but it was a deep enough cut non-the-less.
Harry looked on in a mixture of surprise and fury at his wound. Surprise, because he didn’t expect Draco’s casting to be so fast. It was a quicker then he remember it being in the Dueling club their second year. And Harry was pissed because his two months all out training was proving to mean nothing if the likes of Malfoy still posed a threat.
His eyes burned as he glared at the smug Malfoy. In a second Harry was behind the blond and placed a vicious kick to the back of his knee. Draco topple down and felt a boot placed on his head before the effect of a ‘Petrificous Totalus’ washed over him.
“This time I’ll let you off with a warning. Bother another lion again, and you and your cronies won’t be so lucky next time. Got me?”
Malfoy could not properly respond due to his motor functions being temporarily cut off from Harry’s charm, but his grey eyes still glared hatefully. Harry pressed his boot harder onto Draco’s ear, smashing his head onto the marble floor.
Harry relented. He moved away from the furious Malfoy after placing body binds on Crabbe and Goyle also. He then swatted his hands together as if dusting them off from a long days work. But as he began to walk away he stopped abruptly.
Harry turned around at spoke to the baffled Dennis Creevy. “Unless you want to keep them company tonight . . .” He waved with a hand for the younger boy to join him.
Dennis immediately grabbed his bag and hobbled over to join Harry. Together they departed, leaving the petrified Slytherins alone in the dark corridor.
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Harry and Dennis navigated through the halls without attractive attentions from the roving Prefects, thanks to the Marauder’s Map. Dennis had raised many questions about the useful map as looked at it besides Harry.
He was still getting used to being so close to the celebrity that was Harry Potter. Between the one-sided fight he had recently witnessed and the stories of the Dark Lord’s downfall his brother Collin had told him, Dennis was in awe.
To Dennis, it was as if Harry was from a different planet. It was just impossible for one human to be both that wicked and freighting at the same time. He wondered what Harry would do to other students if he were to toe-to-toe in a dueling match. Seventh years would crumble just as surely as Malfoy did. If only other people were there to see what he had seen. His brother was going to freak when he told him!
In his excitement, Dennis had nearly forgotten about his bruised ribs. With each step they the pain grew more and more excruciating. Soon, he stared to fall behind Harry until the older boy stopped to asses the damage.
“Here, lean against the wall.” He beckoned the Dennis. “Lift your shirt so I can take a look. Believe me; you don’t want to wake Madam Promfrey at this ungodly hour.”
Dennis did as he was told and lifted his shirt. They found his wounds were more serious then either of them would have thought. A rather large area of swelling was a vivid read and a leaking blood out of a nearby cut.
Harry aimed his wand at the wound and silently cast the only healing spell he knew.
“ARRG!” Dennis yelped in pain. “Bloody hell, what was that, Harry?”
“It’s the only healing spell I know. Never tried it on a living subject before.”
Dennis looked brassed-off, rethinking his earlier assessment of ‘cool-Harry’. “Well I’m not a bloody specimen! And you’re healing is rubbish!”
‘Everyone’s a critic,’ Harry thought. He wondered what he should do then. If they went to Madam Promfrey she would demand an account of what happed to young Dennis. The standard “fell down a flight of stairs” wouldn’t work since the bruises were very indicative of physical assault.
“Looks like you’re going to have to suck it up until we reach the tower,” Harry stated.
“But I can barely move as it is,” Dennis whined. “Merlin, I wish I just had a little balm to sooth the bruising.”
Harry stepped back alarmed as he saw the wall behind Dennis start to move pictures and ornaments aside then began to . . . dissolve? Dennis was perturbed by the curious face Harry assumed. He yelped and scampered away from the wall he’d been leaning against as he saw for himself the wall dissolving like magical sand.
In moments the dissolving stopped and what remained was a large obsidian door with intricate designs, complete with an extravagant doorknob.
Harry ran a few diagnostic spells over the strange door before opening it. He and Dennis stepped inside and were surprised by what they found inside.
All around the huge room were various vial of potions, and even what appeared to be muggle medical supplies and equipment. On the shelf directly to their right was a vial of “Healing Balm.” Dennis manage to hobble over to the shelf and pick up the vial for closer examination.
“No way!” he breathed. Then looking around the room he said, “This can’t be what I think it is!”
“And that would be . . . ?”
“Neville was told us once that he came across a room that appeared from nowhere when he was in great need of it. He could never find the room again, but he called it “The Come and Go Room”. If I remember correctly, Neville said it literally provided everything he asked for.”
Harry frowned skeptically. If such a room existed inside the school it would not have remained a secret for long. If he could just wish up a short Dragon toothed blade it would have . . . wait a minute.
A new weight was added to Harry’s waistline and, looking down, he found a perfectly crafted dragon toothed ceremonial blade sheathed inside of the crimson dragon-skinned sheath. Harry could not believe what he was seeing. It was exactly as it saw it in the Auror’s Training Manual. With a few twist and fancy flips around his palm, he decided it was the perfect weight.
“Woah, what’s that?” Dennis asked, intrigued by the dagger Harry expertly wielded.
“A business tool,” he said. He sheathed the blade with a final flourish. “What’s that?”
Dennis turned red and quickly hid his sheet of paper behind his back. He looked coyly at Harry, clearly embarrassed about something. Harry summoned the paper wandlessly and was surprised to find a stark naked and grinning Cho Chang in a rather intriguing position. It seemed that even second years were smitten with the oriental witch.
“Not bad, kid.” Harry could imagine Cho in better positions then that however.
“Well I kind of got carried away with the whole “whatever you ask for” bit. I wished for her to be here, in, umm . . . naked, but all I got was this picture.”
That was . . . revealing. Now Harry could understand exactly why the room was hidden. Question was, did the staff know about the room, or were they ignorant as well. Odds were, at least Dumbledore knew.
Harry watched Dennis apply the healing balm to his wounds making sure the substance didn’t have any ill effects. The younger boy said the pain was nearly gone, he could move almost unimpeded with flinching, thought his wounds would take time and rest to heal.
Harry moved about the room, wishing many of the medical supplies away, and replacing them with various weapons and tools he could every possible use for training.
A large metal shelf materialized, stacked to the brim with muggle firearms. Harry plucked a standard 9mm automatic and examined it. The roomed stretched and elongated, and at the very end of the room were several wooden dummies. Harry aimed and unleaded a full clip. His aim wasn’t as good with the firearm as it was with his wand, or just his palm. But practice would make perfect.
Dennis grabbed a handgun of his own, ready to fire like Harry. Before he could get off a shot however, the gun was summoned out of the twelve-year-old’s hand and into Harry’s.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?” Harry asked.
“Come on, Harry! I found this place too!” Dennis pleaded. He was excided by guns Harry had wished up. He was beginning to like Harry’s style. Where he would have just wished up more . . . pleasing things the room could provide, Harry was already preparing for one his great adventures!
“One condition,” Harry said. Dennis nodded his head, already accepting whatever terms Harry would stipulate. “You speak of this to no one. Not your brother, not the professors, not the students, and defiantly not your parents. Understood?”
He answered with an eager “Got it!” and Harry sighed. He had to review the Memory charm soon, just in case Dennis proved in any way he was unable to keep his word.
Dennis quickly grabbed another gun and got all set up, ready to fire for the first time, however, the gun dissolved in his hands.
“What?” he asked stupidly.
The roomed took on a complete change in décor. Gone was the gun racks, various training equipment, and medial equipment. Everything vanished from the room. The light, which were a once soft candle light, were also gone. The ceiling took on the form the ceiling had in the Great Hall. Dennis could see the dark clouds and thundering sky above. The room was so dark he could bare make out Harry who was standing in front of him.
The change was so unexpected that Dennis was caught completely unprepared. For the second time that night Dennis felt dread creep up his spine.
“Don’t panic, kid.” Harry said in complete calm. “Think happy thoughts, and stay back.”
“W-What?” Happy thought? What in the bloody hell was that suppose to mean? The only reason a witch or wizards had to focus on happy thought was only when . . .
The temperature continued to drop drastically to point were Dennis was left freezing on the cold marble floor.
With a crash, three Dementors burst through a door at the opposite end of the room and advanced on the pair. Dennis stared in complete horror at the other Gryffindor. Harry had to be completely mad to wish up Dementors! He wanted to run, run from certain death, but all he could do was shutter in fear, his teeth rattling loudly.
Dennis’ happy thought was the naked Cho Chang.
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AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY
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Sorry for the late chapter this time around. Updates should improve now that I’m back in the U.S.
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