Chapter XI: Discoveries
(Harry P.O.V)
Harry sat in the empty Room of Requirement. Over the summer, Harry had been given a fair share of alone time under the instruction of Morgana, and yet, since his arrival at the school nearly two weeks ago, Harry had felt as if he hadn't gotten even a lick of it. Of course, he loved being around his friends, but times had changed greatly from the year of pranks and fun that was his third year. Every day that passed put innocent people's lives at risk, and while he'd been trying to keep his composure, knowing that training wasn't everything, he couldn't afford to slack off.
He took a deep breath, the wind that hollowed within the room mimicking the tower that had helped him train his mind immensely back at Morgana's palace, and with a deep breath, Harry placed his knuckles together, drifting into his meditative state. Harry's mental palace had quickly come into view, his ability to enter his occlumency field far easier now than ever before, and sitting there in a rathered soft-looking chair was a quite angry red-headed witch.
"Ah look who finally returned to resume their training." Harry grinned sheepishly at the witch as she stood, "Honestly, I go through all the trouble of placing a bit of my magic into this amulet for you, and you ignore me for two weeks. A true gentleman you are, boy."
"Sorry, My Lady," Harry said with a weak smile, "I ended up taking over far more responsibilities than I first imagined. I'm trying to work out a schedule as best I can but I'm not certain how frequently I'll be able to train. At least, while in here."
"So I've seen," Morgana said with a sigh, "I also sense that you haven't come to begin siphoning off any new magic either."
"I haven't exactly felt any growth in my magic or body, taking in any more at this point will kill me. I hope to resume my physical training soon, but truthfully, I came here for some guidance." The witch's head turned in intrigue as Harry continued, "I've been taking some time to research Voldemort, or at least, I've been learning what the Headmaster here knows about Voldemort. From what we've discovered, it seems that Voldemort has found some way to anchor himself to this world rather than dying. Do you know what could have done that?"
"There are theories, of course, one such being that if a fraction of your soul was left behind, in theory, revival would be possible. But to do so is tremendously stupid," Morgana said her fingers running through her hair, "Doing this would make you less powerful as each separation would make you more and more of an incomplete product. Trust me, little crow, if there were a way of freely cheating death, I wouldn't have become a ghost."
"This process," Harry whispered, "Of splitting one's soul, does it have a name."
"In my day, the idea was nothing more than a theory. Nobody would have been foolish enough to actually try it," Morgana said with a shrug.
"Why not?"
"Because, you would be trapped, completely unable to move on if you were defeated," Morgana said. "In becoming a ghost, I declined death and returned to this world, granted at the cost of a fraction of my power. But those that die incomplete, there is no moving on. They do not pass on to the supposed next world, nor are they capable of returning to this one. In its simplest sense, should one be defeated with their soul separated, they would fade into non-existence entirely. The risk is simply far too great for any intelligent wizard to take. Even a witch of my capability knew better than to underestimate my enemy's ability to defeat me. A fate of nothingness is far worse than death."
"Thank you, Lady Morgana," Harry said with a bow, "I'll be sure to visit you, or I guess, my mind more often." The witch nodded as Harry's eyes flashed open to the real world, the conditions within the room shifting to adjust to his needs as Harry took a deep breath, "To split one's soul, is it possible for Voldemort to be that arrogant that he would take a risk of becoming nothing?"
"The weak don't get to choose how they die," The voice of the Dark Lord rang in Harry's head as he nodded, Knowing him, it's definitely not something that's impossible. Something to discuss with Dumbledore, but that's for another time.
Harry stretched, cracking his back before leaving the Room of Requirement. For as glum of news as his mentor had delivered him, Harry had still been glad in an odd way of seeing the witch again. For all the horror that Harry had been put through by her, he trusted the Dark Witch, and that was more than he could say about quite a few people, one of them being his current target.
Two weeks had gone by since the formation of the S.P.I.R.E idea, and while it certainly meant more work for him, he did acknowledge the benefits it could have. Though in a way, Harry had begun to feel like a petulant child. He wanted to train, he wanted to get stronger, he wanted to beat Voldemort. Looking further into the future, he even had begun wondering what the future held between him and Daphne. What he knew that he hadn't wanted, however, was the Prefect Badge stuck to his uniform, the genuine concern of wondering if he'd have to give up quidditch for his new array of jobs, and he most certainly hadn't wanted to be responsible for the lives of others, and yet, whether he wanted to or not, these tasks fell upon him like an endless barrage of arrows.
Though there was no point in complaining, Moody, Cedric, Sirius, Tonks, and every other member of the Order had put their faith in him, failure was not an option. Harry took a deep breath, calming himself as he began his descent into the dungeons, the pacing footsteps of Horace Slughorn evident on his map. He'd hoped that this conversation wouldn't take long, as Quidditch Try-Outs for Gryffindor House was set to begin in a few hours, and while nobody was currently contesting his spot, he knew for a fact that Astoria was champing at the bit since last year for an opportunity to make the team, and given how reserved the girl had seemed to be looking over the past couple days, Harry could think of no better remedy than a speedy flight around the pitch.
Harry's mood had quickly soured though, as the daydream of flying was replaced with the cold dungeon air, his eyes now resting upon the door that led to the Potion Master's office. Harry wasn't quite sure at what age eyes began sprouting from the back of people's head, as every single adult he'd ever met had seemed to have that ability and Slughorn certainly wasn't any different. He'd begun to feel his heart quicken in pace as Slughorn gazed upon him, his head tilted with a gentle smile, "Harry, my boy! Good to see you! Forgive me for not noticing you sooner, I assumed all the students were at lunch."
"They are, sir," Harry started, "I actually hoping to speak to you in private. I have a favor to ask."
"Well, no time quite like the present I suppose," Slughorn said warmly, "How can I help you?"
"I was wondering if you could be the sponsor for this club that I'm trying to start?" Harry asked softly, "We're calling it the Student Protection Initiative for Resistance Efforts, or S.P.I.R.E for short."
"Protection and Resistance Efforts?" Slughorn said with a slight stutter, "I do hope you aren't planning to advocate for child soldiers in this war, my boy."
"Nothing of the sort," Harry said with a defeated sigh, "I'd feel better if no students had to see the war at all. But I know you are an intelligent man, Professor. You must know better than even me, that try as we'd like, these Death Eaters are tenacious. I'm simply asking for you to sponsor our little dueling club, and Defense Against the Dark Arts Tutoring. With it being the N.E.W.T and O.W.L year for a lot of students, it could never hurt to have more practice."
"Yes," Slughorn replied grimly, "Yes, I suppose you are correct. Very well, I'd be honored to help such a noble cause. I assume that you have the location and the other club details in mind already?"
"Not quite sir," Harry replied with an earnest nod, "I'm not particularly a fan of doing things out of order. I wanted to ensure that our club would even have a chance of making it before I got everybody's hopes up. I'm certain your sponsorship will make you quite popular among the students, not that you aren't already. You're the best Potions Professor I've ever had."
Harry had wanted to gag at the level of brown-nosing he was engaging in, but he knew better than to stop, the rising smile and swelling chest of the Professor had been all the incentive he needed to continue pushing. "Ah, well, thank you," Slughorn said, attempting to temper his enthusiasm, "Glad I could be of help. However, my boy, I too require a bit of assistance." Harry released an internal sigh, keeping his smiling facade, he knew this was going to happen, he just hoped the exchange wouldn't be horrible.
"Every year, back when I was a professor here," Slughorn began, "I used to throw quite the Christmas Party, before the students left on holiday of course. Given the current situation, however, I fear that I may be lacking in guests. I'm sure your presence would greatly encourage some of my good friends to return. If you'd like, I may even arrange for a good friend of mine, Ragmar Dorkins, manager of the Chudley Cannons to join us, I hear you are quite skilled up on a broom, perhaps I may even invite him for one of your games."
For the first time in a while, Harry couldn't help but feel some genuine intrigue in the idea. Playing Quidditch professionally had always been a dream of his, and often, when he was young, he had found himself dreaming of carrying a team to a championship. Of course, those were more auxiliary dreams, his true purpose had never shifted, yet, he couldn't help but graciously accept the man's less than terrible gesture. Slughorn smiled, "Wonderful, wonderful. Well, tell me when you have all the requirements for your club set and I'll gladly sign off on your application submission."
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said warmly, "One last request, if I may be so bold. My friend, Michael Corner, he's very interested in something called, Bimetal Alchemical Thread, he's a bit of an engineer himself and was hoping he could meet-,"
"Ah yes, Dehoff, good lad," Slughorn said with a laugh, "I'll be sure to write to him, perhaps this Michael may get an invitation to this Christmas Party as well. I trust he must be quite a capable wizard to have remained in your inner circle."
Harry nodded, though the thought of Slughorn believing he only kept Michael around because it was useful to him made Harry feel a bit sick. Michael was far more than a tool to Harry, he was his brother, but arguing with the man about their relationship seemed neither productive nor helpful. Harry smiled, dismissing himself politely before releasing a deep sigh after emerging from the dungeons. Things hadn't gone perfectly, but given the commitment he was forced to make, they certainly could have been worse.
(Astoria P.O.V)
With everything that had been going on recently, Astoria had felt somewhat uncomfortable standing on the field of the Quidditch Pitch, her gifted Nimbus 2000 standing by her side. It wasn't just the fact that she knew that Voldemort was on the warpath and that Harry was destined to fight him, though that was more than enough reason to cause some discomfort. No, Astoria had another thought rattling around in her mind, the crazy witch's prophecy, though, it was becoming slightly less crazy every time the woman's raspy and hollow voice rang in her head.
Should I tell somebody? Astoria thought to herself, No, I have no idea what the Prophecy even means and everyone has enough issues to worry about. Especially Harry and Daphne. I can figure this out on my own. I won't be a burden, never again. Astoria had felt her body shock back into consciousness as a hand was placed upon her shoulder. She jumped, quickly turning to face the Red-Headed Fifth-Year, his blue eyes smiling as he chuckled, "And I thought my pre-game jitters were bad."
"Sorry," Astoria said, shaking her head, "Spaced out. Can I help you, Ron?"
"No, not really," Ron said calmly, "I was just wondering if you knew where Harry is? You two are always around each other, so I figured you might know why he's so late."
"Well, I know he went to go talk to Slughorn about something," Astoria said scratching her chin, "But I didn't think it would take-"
Suddenly, a shadow appeared above them, as overhead, Harry flew towards his teammates like a soaring rocket, his hand waving in the air, "Sorry I was so late, my meeting with Slughorn dragged on. Hope I didn't keep you all waiting long."
"You really are late for everything, aren't you, Potter," Angelina said with a chuckle before the beautiful dark-skinned girl turned to face the crowd, "Well, now that we have everyone here, I think that Try-Outs can now officially start!" A thunderous roar of enthusiasm filled the pitch as Angelina smiled, "We'll start off with something easy, fifty laps around the pitch, anything goes so long as you don't cause too much damage to either the stands or each other!"
"Fifty Laps is considered easy?" Ron muttered out beneath his breath forcing a light chuckle from Astoria who now hovered around the ground. She paused, taking a look at the clear sky before turning to Harry who sent her a confident smile, and with a grin of her own, she took off.
Astoria had felt quite like her falcon Patronus in the air, the agility inherent to the Nimbus 2000 allowing her to pull ahead with ease as fourteen other heads behind her eagerly tried to catch up. But being nimble was both her, and her brooms, specialty, easily spinning, diving, or ascending with great speed to avoid any oncoming lunges or grabs.
While in the air, Astoria had begun to lose track of time, things that had bothered her on the ground seemed to vanish from her mind as she soared in the air. Even thoughts of her own mortality were dwarfed in the freeing feeling of the sky. Thirteen, maybe fourteen laps? Astoria thought to herself, before with reflexes even unknown to her, she veered right, just barely dodging the bludger that had zoomed past her face. She turned down to the pitch below, seeing both Katie and Harry in mid-argument with Angelina who just smiled frighteningly as the bludger ripped through the crowd of fliers.
Guess Fifty Laps stress-free was too easy, Astoria muttered in her mind, Alright then, time to see just what I can do. A grin grew across her face, before, with what felt to her as a sound shattering boom, she bolted forward. Tunnel vision had begun to consume her, yet somehow she seemed to sense her surrounding the bludgers unable to keep up with her increased agility as she weaved relentlessly through the crowd, lapping them. 48, 49. And 50!
Astoria had been met with Harry's warm smile as she touched down, with Angelina nodding in silent admiration. It had taken around another five minutes before the remaining fliers touchdown, with McLaggen landing first and Ron following only a few seconds behind, a rather impressive feat considering that Astoria couldn't even recognize the Cleansweep Broom Model he was using. The others, those who hadn't dropped from the Try-Outs in the warm-up landed shortly after, though only a few remained. "Excellent," Angelina said as those who failed the initial test exited the pitch, "Now that we've zeroed in on the talent, let's get to work. As we only have Chasers and Keepers trying out this year we can make this simple. Each Chaser gets ten minutes, half-way through the Keepers will switch between Ron and Cormac, the chaser who scores the most reserves the right to challenge Katie or Alicia for their spots. On the other hand, whoever blocks the most Quaffles during this ten-minute phase becomes the new Keeper, clear?"
Astoria and the rest nodded as Angelina's grin widened, "Excellent, McLaggen, you're up first, Carl Hopkins, you're up first, then we've got Oliver Rivers, finish with Astoria Greengrass. Let's do this!" Astoria had watched the sky like a hawk as she watched Carl Hopkins put up twenty-two shots, though McLaggen had rejected six of them with ease. Ron had performed only a shade better with seven, but given the condition of his broom, it was certainly an accomplishment. Rivers, however, had truly set the bar with his chaser display of eleven made shots, even after Ron had done a rather impressive job of rejecting ten of them. If it was a game of how many attempts were shot, Astoria would have been in trouble, but thankfully, she knew as she mounted her broom, Quidditch was a game of skill.
Astoria hovered above the pitch, her eyes locking with Ron as the wind carried Harry's cheers to her ears. "Sorry about doing this Ron, but I plan to win this thing!"
"Bring it, Greengrass," Ron said with a chuckle, before, with a burst of speed launching from the end of her broom, Astoria bounded towards the goalposts. "She's fast," She distantly heard Ron call out in shock as she zipped towards him, the force at which she punched the quaffle just barely past Ron's head. Astoria couldn't help but chuckle at the wide-eyed look the fifth-year Gryffindor had sent her way, but she knew better to lay off the gas as once more she took the quaffle into her hands… I'll win no matter what.
Sweat had begun to pour from her brow as Cormac floated up to replace the Ron she'd already scored six points on, nearly perfect from her put up eight. But while she had at least an amicable relationship with Ron, the uncharismatic smugness of Cormac left no mercy within her as she charged the Keeper with a rampage of quaffles, landing seven more goals with ease, and dropping McLaggen from the game entirely. "Greengrass! Weasley!" Angelina called out forcing the two Gryffindors towards her after she descended. "Good flying today," The captain said with a smile, "Ron, it looks like you're going to be our new Keeper. I expect great things from you."
"I've got some big shoes to fill," Ron muttered in a somewhat nervous manner which did bring about a hint of amusement in Harry's face.
"Now then Greengrass, we're going to take a short break, allow Ron to get his energy back," Angelina said, "The You, Katie, and Spinnet, are going to have three minutes to score as many points as you can. Prepare yourselves."
The minutes had seemed to pass like hours before she found herself in the air once more, a look of fiery determination in the eyes of Ron, who looked about ready to fall off his own broom from already having to go head to head with the likes of Katie bell who put up a remarkable six goals in such a short time, and Alicia who put up seven, even with a substantive break in between. Astoria's whole body felt about ready to break as she raced towards Ron, throwing the Quaffle in the air, the ticking timer ringing relentlessly in her mind. She turned, wiping the ball with the back of her broom, sending it flying towards the right hoop, the red ball just barely making it past the tip of Ron's fingers.
"That's five!" Angelina called out.
One more, Astoria groaned the timer now less than a minute, I can do this. She shook her head, her eyes narrowing down to that of a falcon's as she zoomed through the air. Feint, Feint, She thought with intense concentration, Behind the back, elbow, now! With a roar, Astoria punched the ball with all her might, the quaffle barrelling towards the center rings that her evasiveness had moved Ron from. In any other situation, this would have been a moment of victory, but Astoria's heart had only sunk as reality became painfully clear, she was off target. She flinched, her eyes clenching shut as the thud of the quaffle banging against the rim of the hoop, followed by the buzzing of the timer rang in the air. "Time!" Angelina called as Astoria numbly descended from the air, her body trembling with exhaustion.
She looked up, her tired eyes locking with Harry's who gave her a soft smile, "Sorry," She whispered, "I wasn't good enough to make the team. I don't-,"
"Don't be sorry," Angelina said her voice stern and commanding, "Be better, train harder, because from this moment on, you're going to be our reserve player, and I plan for you to fill the spot I leave behind when I graduate this year. It's been a while since I've seen flying quite as good as yours and there is no way I'm letting that go to waste. You'll start in our game against Hufflepuff in Spinnet's place, she has a commitment making her unable to attend that game anyway so it'll be a good chance to test your skill against the other houses. That being said, you will show up to practice, and you will train like you're preparing yourself for the Quidditch World Cup. Gryffindor House has a title to protect and I hope you take that seriously, each team is only allowed on reserve and I hope to see great things from you, Greengrass."
Astoria's smile widened as she felt Harry place his hand atop his head, the two grinning broadly before Angelina called out, "Alright, New Gryffindor Team, let's hit the showers! It's dinner time!" A notion both she and Harry answered back with a triumphant roar.
(Daphne P.O.V)
"Good now all you have left to do is-"
"Push a vial of Wiggenweld Potion, and keep the patient under observation for four hours before discharging, correct?" Daphne said, finishing the Hogwarts Matron's sentence, an action that had earned her an impressed nod from the talented medical witch.
"Well done Ms. Greengrass, when Doctor Thatcher told me to take you under my wing upon returning to Hogwarts I was a bit concerned," Madam Pomfrey started, "But by all measures, you have exceeded my expectations. I do hope you continue on in this pursuit, the minds of the young I know are susceptible to frequent change but you have quite the talent for this line of work."
"I don't think you have to worry about that ma'am," Daphne said with a kind smile, "It's been my dream for as long as I can remember, not sure anything could change that now." Pomfrey gave off a warm smile as she turned to face the window she'd been taking quick glances through, watching the Gryffindor Tryouts. A disgusting girly part of her had certainly wanted to go out to the stands and wear a Potter jersey, but she suppressed it as best she could. Though, judging by the cheering she heard, the Tryouts must have been pretty eventful. Hope Astoria did okay, She thought to herself as she exited the infirmary, her mind set on the Great Hall below, the phantom smell of dinner making her stomach grumble.
It was rare that Daphne felt absent-minded, normally, thoughts circulated in her mind like a whirlwind, and yet, as she approached the clambering crowds that filled the first floor, her mind had felt blank. Well, it had, until from the corner of her eye, she caught the swiftest whisper of faint white-blonde hair pass through the hall. Draco? Daphne queried, her eyes squinting trying to confirm the blurred figure. Daphne knew better than to follow, she knew what the safest course of action was, but whether her body had begun to move on its own, or Harry's Gryffindor-ish tendencies had finally begun to rub off on her, she couldn't stop herself from following her fellow prefect.
Where is he going? She pondered catching the slightest hint of Draco's muttering, "Must prove to him, must not fail, must be better, will be better." What did that mean? Daphne queried, following Draco deeper into the weaving corridors of the Second-Floor. "Calm down Draco," She heard her fellow prefect hiss, "You can do this, and then Potter will pay, yes, I'll make him pay for embarrassing me."
That sounds promising, Daphne muttered in her mind with disdain, watching as the boy turned one final corner, her legs locking upon seeing where Draco had been heading. It being a girl's bathroom was certainly weird enough, but the fact that it was Moaning Myrtles only added to the strangeness. Daphne grit her teeth, Do I follow? If I follow, I'll get caught. Can I win if I get caught? He's different now, even Harry looked a bit offset by him, it's not worth it. Daphne bit her lip, It's not worth the risk, but I can't help but feel that whatever is happening in there, it definitely isn't good.