The Victory Roll
Using parselmagic had taken some adjustment on Harry's part. It was once all well and good having a serpent present that he could converse with but calling upon the language at his whim had been a skill to master on its' own. It had taken weeks of practice to manage it, but once he had achieved it, he had hit the ground running.
He quickly learned that there were many facets to the art. The magic could be used in combat, for healing, and even enchanting, and creating wards. Having been working diligently on his studies via the books Nicholas had gifted him, and the substantial collection he had gathered from the Chamber of Secrets, he had made great strides, and those that had not encountered such magic would be all but clueless to what he was doing.
It would certainly prove to be quite the boon throughout his years.
Even with the effort he was putting into his studies of the serpentine magic, he had not been negligent of anything else. He had the entire Flamel library at his disposal which he had been taking advantage of also.
To what end?
He still could not be sure, but as he finished reading over his Hit-Wizard licence application to the ICW, he released a deep breath.
He knew the stance of his friends towards him pursuing such a career was not a positive one. As such, he had not discussed it further with them. Ultimately, when they all left the castle at the beginning of summer next year, they all had their choices to make, and Harry was no different.
He refused to work for the Ministry, and though he could make a very profitable career from investing in burgeoning businesses, he had to face the reality that he would not be being true to himself.
Throughout his life he had overcome adversity, found himself in impossibly dangerous situations that he'd overcome, and even more than that, as odd as it was, he revelled in the danger.
Whether it was completing absurdly risky manoeuvres on a broom or standing across from Voldemort in some form or other, the danger had become a part of him as much as the mundanity of eating breakfast.
He didn't live for the risk, but he had faced it on so many occasions that he had become accustomed to it, and in a way, he didn't quite understand, he missed it.
Harry released a deep breath.
He didn't need to understand it, it had simply been ingrained into him over the years. Perhaps that was why he had been so fixated on becoming an auror?
Regardless, with his feelings on the Ministry, that was not an avenue he would explore, but the role of a Hit-Wizard? He couldn't express how much the thought of chasing that career appealed to him.
Emboldened by the wave of excitement washing over him, he dipped his quill in the ink before signing the declaration with a flourish.
All he needed to do now was to mail it and wait for a response.
The only difficulty he had faced during the application process was finding a suitable referee that could attest to his ability and character. Although he had taken some convincing, Professor Dippet had eventually consented to fill the role.
He had considered Dumbledore, but his bitter thoughts on the man had prevented him from doing so.
No, Dippet had been the better option, even if he had reluctantly provided his signature, protesting that Harry could be so much more.
What more could he be?
Harry had pondered that very question and had come up with little. He could perhaps look into a teaching career, or something else that would be deemed respectable by societal standards, but once more, that was not him.
He could not imagine a life where he would stand before a classroom of students for five days a week, nine months a year, teaching them things he had mastered many years prior.
No, Harry had already accepted that he was more a man of action and not one that wished to preside over reems of parchment or be stuck in a stuffy office.
Was there something wrong with him?
He shook his head.
No, it wasn't that there was something wrong with him. His life had always been, albeit unwillingly, led by one life threatening situation to the next. It had left Harry feeling rather jaded towards what most would consider the norm.
His friends couldn't understand that and wouldn't even if they knew all of which that had befallen him.
He sighed as he placed the parchment in an envelope and exited the Room of Requirement.
He would post it now before heading down to the Great Hall. The students would be arriving at Hogsmeade shortly and he needed to attend the welcoming feast.
Fortunately, the owlery was only a short walk away from the hidden room, and in only a few moments, he had inundated Theseus with treats before sending him off with the forms.
Having watched his large owl vanish into the distance, Harry took his leave of the owlery and headed towards the Great Hall, enjoying the final minutes that Hogwarts would be bereft of students roaming the castle.
Even before he had reached the Entrance Hall, the sound of students could be heard, their collective footsteps clacking against the stone floor, and their excited voices reverberating off the walls.
"Harry!" Tiberius greeted him enthusiastically, clapping him smartly on the shoulder.
The two had shared a few letters over the summer, but both he and Augusta had been busy the day they had visited the alley.
"Ogden," Harry replied with a nod. "Learnt to curb your tongue yet?"
"Of course he hasn't," Poppy huffed, indicating the purple hair the boy was sporting.
"And there was me thinking it was a fashion choice," Harry chuckled.
"I quite like it," Tiberius declared, "it makes me look rather distinguished."
Poppy shook her head before aiming her wand at the boy, changing his hair back to his natural colour before she stormed into the Great Hall.
"I might not have learned to curb my tongue, but I've learned how to minimise my punishments," Tiberius whispered, winking for emphasis.
Harry could only shake his head before turning his attention to Charlus.
"Bloody hell I'm glad that train ride is over," he grumbled. "A part of me wishes that they didn't give me this. I mean, why would they? They took my prefect badge from me last year," he added, pointing to the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes.
"They could have always given it to Malfoy," Harry pointed out.
Charlus grimaced.
"No, it's probably best that I have it," he sighed. "At least I won't abuse it."
"You're too boring for that," Harry quipped, ducking under the flailing hand Charlus sent his way.
"I didn't realise you wanted to serve more detentions, Evans."
"Only if you're there with me," Harry snorted.
Charlus nodded, a grin tugging at his lips.
"You never know, it might happen."
"I bloody hope not," Harry muttered as he led them into the already full Great Hall where they took their seats.
"Where have you been?" Minerva asked as Harry took one next to her.
"I was just finishing a few things," he replied.
Minerva looked at him questioningly but did not have time to speak as the door opened, admitting Professor Dumbledore and the latest crop of first years.
The Transfiguration Professor led the wide-eyed children to the front of the hall before unfurling a roll of parchment and clearing his throat.
"When I call your name, you will step forward. The sorting hat will be placed upon your head, and you will be sorted," he explained.
Several of the prospective first years breathed a sigh of relief, evidently having thought the process would not be so simple.
Harry remembered his own sorting and the sense of trepidation amongst his peers. Many believed that they would have to face a trial of sorts, usually due to older siblings telling them this.
Maybe this was just all part of the tradition of becoming a student?
"Wrestle a troll," he mumbled amusedly.
"Excuse me?" Minerva asked.
"Nothing," Harry dismissed, smiling to himself, his thoughts interrupted as a name he would never forget was read out
"Alastor Moody," Dumbledore called.
Harry craned his neck to get a look at the fresh-faced boy that would one day become a highly decorated auror.
He couldn't see much, but Moody's face was unblemished by the grotesque scars he would accumulate, both of his eyes were intact, and they were not darting in all directions, seeking threats lurking in the shadows.
Seated upon the stool was a very normal, excited child readying himself for the next seven years of school.
A far cry from the man he remembered.
Harry shook his head as he observed the young Moody.
How things had changed for the man over the six decades he'd lived.
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat declared.
Harry nodded his approval.
As brave as the Moody he'd known was, it was always his loyalty that could never be called into question.
Hufflepuff suited him.
"Did you know him?" Minerva whispered, noticing Harry's interest in the boy.
"I did," he confirmed. "He was one of strangest people I'd ever met."
Minerva said nothing, and Harry watched the remainder of the sorting, though he did not recognise anyone else he had known. Some of the names read were familiar to him, but not on a personal level.
As ever, when the sorting was concluded, the headmaster stood and offered his own greeting before the tables were ladened with food.
"So, this is it," Charlus commented, "our last year."
"And we have to endure it with you as Head Boy and Minnie as Head Girl," Tiberius said disappointedly.
Harry had not been surprised that Minerva had been given the position. She was well-respected amongst the students, even most of the Slytherins.
It was an appointment that made sense.
"It could be worse, Ogden," Poppy chimed in, "it could have been me."
Tiberius visibly cringed at the thought.
"No, I think I'd prefer these two," he replied, nodding towards Charlus and Minerva.
"Still, only one year left," the latter piped up morosely. "It will be strange when it comes to an end."
It would, and even stranger for Harry who had always envisioned graduating with Ron and Hermione.
With his last year of Hogwarts upon him, he couldn't help but allow his thoughts to wander to just what would have happened to him had he remained where he was.
Would Voldemort have caught up to him? Would he even have stood a chance?
No.
Voldemort may not have gotten to him as yet, but he would have eventually, and there was very little of Harry that believed he would have ever emerged victorious against him.
'Neither can live while the other survives.'
But here he was.
Harry was still surviving and planned to do so for many years.
Things may not have gone as planned, but he knew that being here gave him the best chance to live, despite the doom and gloom that was creeping ever closer.
(Break)
With everything he had hanging over him, the last thing Arcturus wanted to do was to return to Hogwarts for his final year of schooling. Nonetheless, he was here. Never throughout the family history had any future Lord not finished their education.
A few had been expelled from various institutions over the generations, but had always found a way to obtain their OWLs and NEWTs.
Arcturus would not be the one to break the mould, though as he listened to Parkinson spewing his intentions to the other fools in his house, he wondered why he had bothered.
Had he not learned his lesson from the previous year?
Evidently not, and all he would do was provoke more unpleasantness between the Gryffindors and Slytherins.
In truth, Arcturus didn't care about this. It was not important in the grand scheme of things, and his attention was required elsewhere. If the idiot attempted to harm Evans, then he would merely reap what he planned on sowing.
However, if Dorea was caught up in it again, there would be repercussions for all involved. McLaggen and Blackburn could attest to that if they hadn't graduated in July.
Arcturus could only wish he had been there to witness them open the missives he had sent courtesy of House Black.
Bubotuber Pus was not a pleasant substance and would have given them some rather horrible burns.
He smiled cruelly at the thought of the former students squealing in pain, their eyes fixating on the crest of the Black family as they realised who had sent it.
There had been no words needed. The crest was enough for them to know why they had been targeted.
A part of Arcturus had expected the aurors to arrive to question him on the matter, but they hadn't.
Seemingly, Blackburn, and McLaggen had learned the error of their ways.
"Are you listening to this?" Dorea snorted, nodding towards a very animated Parkinson as he demonstrated what he would do to Evans.
"Morons will always be morons," Arcturus muttered.
Dorea laughed loudly, garnering the attention and ire of Parkinson, who could only have forgotten himself for a moment as he glared at her.
"Something funny, Black?" he growled.
Arcturus's nostrils flared but Dorea placed a calming hand on his forearm before she stood.
"I think it is quite amusing that you are considering going after Evans after what happened last time. Did he not embarrass you in a duel?"
Parkinson's jaw tightened.
"I was not prepared for that duel!"
Dorea smiled sweetly at the boy, the same way Arcturus had seen Cassiopeia smile before she was going to do something particularly unpleasant.
"But I thought you were the best duellist in the school. Isn't that what you were saying to Bulstrode? Surely the best wouldn't be beaten by a half-blood, even if he wasn't ready."
"You dare mock me when you needed two Gryffindors to rescue you?" Parkinson bit back. "What, do you fancy Evans? Do you want to become a blood-traitor and have his half-blood babies?"
Parkinson laughed at his own words, and Arcturus felt his blood begin to boil, but Dorea did not react as expected.
She merely shrugged indifferently.
"Well, he would be preferable when compared to you, but then again, I'd rather be married off to a troll than you, Parkinson."
Arcturus released a bark of laughter, and most of the house in the common room followed suit, though Parkinson did not find the comment humorous. Once more, his jaw clenched as he stepped forward, only to find Dorea's wand pointing at his chest.
"I think you have forgotten your place, Parkinson," she spat, all traces of amusement now absent. "I am a Black, and you will not approach me in such a way!"
"How dare…"
Parkinson screamed as the curse sent him sprawling, and he writhed in agony for a few seconds before Dorea relented.
"Perhaps that will remind you just who I am," she seethed. "If you ever come into my personal space again, I won't remove it."
Arcturus nodded his approval, shocked, but so proud of his usually quiet and reserved little sister.
The girl had changed over the summer.
First, she had threatened Perseus, and now, she had cursed a fool who dared to believe he could intimidate her.
Dorea had grown bold indeed, and she would need to be for what was to come.
Arcturus could not simply sit back and allow his father to drag the Black name through the dirt with his actions. To prevent this, he would need to intervene.
For his own sake, and for that of the future generations of Blacks to come.
(Break)
Albus watched over the seventh years as they completed their work, some having more success than others. Minerva was already working way beyond the task, as were Harry, and Charlus, but it was the former he was watching closely.
She was an excellent student and possessed a rare talent in the art of transfiguration.
Ever since her very first lesson with him some six years prior, she had proven herself a natural, much like he himself had during his own years within these walls as a student.
Albus had nurtured her gift, had pushed her when needed and gave her much more freedom than he usually would in the subject.
Transfiguration was indeed a dangerous practice, but Minerva had always proven herself to be responsible, curious of course, but had never given him reason to doubt her diligence or responsibility.
She would do well in pursuing a career in the subject, and though he would miss having her as a student, he was hoping that the end of the school year would not be the end of them working together.
A conversation would need to be had with Armando regarding her future, and perhaps another.
Albus hummed thoughtfully.
He would miss having her in his lessons, though the same could not be said for some of the other seventh years. In truth, he would be relieved to see the back them.
"That will be all for today," he called, noting that their time together had come to an end. "We will continue with this during our next lesson but do work on it in the meantime. It would not do to spend too many lessons on this when there are so many things that need to be covered before your NEWTs."
The students put their books and wands away before taking their leave of the room, and Albus frowned as he noticed Arcturus Black place a folded-up piece of parchment into Harry's hand.
That was an odd thing to observe.
Although Harry had assisted Miss Black during a moment of need, no friendship had budded between the boys, and never would.
Arcturus Black may appreciate what had been done, but he was very much the product of his namesake.
He was a Black through and through and would not associate with those he considered unworthy, and Harry Evans was the definition of that.
He was not a pureblood and would likely never be a peer of the Black heir away from the castle.
So, why the correspondence between the two?
Albus shook his head.
He would never know, and it wasn't any of his business unless it affected any other within the school. Besides, he had something else on his mind that he wished to address whilst it was still fresh, something that required his attention.
The next period was free, and with that in mind, he exited the classroom, and locked the door behind him before heading towards the headmaster's office.
He needed to discuss the pressing matter of Minerva's future, and he could only hope that Armando would be amenable to his proposition.
It would be a terrible shame if the girl could not be accommodated.
(Break)
As far as first days of term went, this one was running smoothly thus far. He hadn't been called to comfort any of the first years that were feeling homesick, there hadn't been any foolishness from the excitement of returning to school from the other students, and he didn't have any tedious paperwork that required his attention.
As such, he had been able to spend the first part of his morning simply walking around the castle and quietly observing some of the ongoing lessons.
He liked to do this when he had the opportunity. He didn't like being an invisible presence within the school, an authoritarian figure that was only seen when a student needed to be spoken to for poor performance or behaviour.
No, Armando wanted the students to know who he was, that he was available to them, and that he was approachable.
He prided himself on this, his own headmaster not having been such a man.
He was pulled from his thoughts by one of the many portraits on the wall clearing their throat.
"Albus is approaching, headmaster."
"Thank you, Everard," Armando replied. "Come in, Albus."
The door opened to admit the transfiguration professor, perhaps the most brilliant wizard the headmaster had met. When Armando chose to retire, he would do so comfortably knowing that it would be Albus succeeding him.
"What can I do for you?"
"I wished to discuss something with you, headmaster," Albus answered formally.
"There is no problem I hope?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"No, not any problem, not one that involves the school at least. This is something of a personal and professional nature."
Armando nodded his understanding, gesturing for his subordinate to take a seat.
"What's troubling you, old friend?" he asked.
"I was hoping that I may discuss the future of a few students in particular with you, beginning with Minerva. As you well know, finding a practitioner of transfiguration with her talent, potential, and dedication is a difficult task."
"Indeed," Armando acknowledged.
One of the things he had dreaded when he'd accepted his post was finding a professor in the art. When Albus had walked through the door and asked for the job, Armando had all but torn his arm off with the enthusiastic shake of the hand he had given him.
"Well, I was hoping that you may be open to the idea of offering her a position as my assistant after she has graduated, with the intention of her filling my role in the future."
The idea had merit.
Albus was not one to give the praise he had bestowed upon the girl over the years lightly. Armando had seen for himself her brilliance in the subject.
"I feel that it would be a missed opportunity for her and the school if the idea was not considered," Albus continued. "It is unlikely that when the time comes for me to step aside, that there will ever be a better candidate than her."
Armando held up a hand to silence the man.
"You do not need to convince me to agree, Albus," he chuckled, "but do you believe this would be what she wants?"
Albus nodded.
"She has expressed her passion to one day teach. I feel that if we let her go, she will simply seek the opportunity elsewhere."
"That would be a shame," Armando sighed. "For the future of the school, and so that she can continue to be nurtured under your guidance, you have my agreement to offer her a position under the condition that you apprentice her officially. Her salary will be paid by the school, and she will be offered lodgings here, though I do not hope you have intentions of leaving your post soon?"
Dumbledore shook his head firmly.
"No, the castle is my home, Armando, and I would only leave reluctantly," he replied. "I will remain in my post as long as I am needed."
Armando would not pretend that he wasn't relieved by the revelation.
Despite that he could build a fortune doing whatever he chose, Albus had become an educator, a career that not only suited the man, but one where he could pass on his expertise to other budding witches and wizards.
"I am pleased to hear it," he declared. "We will discuss your idea with Minerva after Christmas, and of course, the position will be subject to her NEWT results. Not that I am concerned by that. She will perform admirably."
"She will," Albus agreed, his eyes twinkling merrily.
"Now, what about the others you wish to discuss?"
"Well, the first is Charlus Potter," Albus revealed. "With his responsibilities to the Potter family, I do not believe that an apprenticeship would be appropriate for him. With that being said, I believe that a talent such as his should not be ignored either. He is as diligent and talented as Minerva."
Armando hummed thoughtfully.
Charlus was an excellent wizard already and could offer a lot to the world. More than simply warming a seat on the Wizengamot.
"What would you suggest?"
"I do not know," Dumbledore admitted, "but I think we would be remiss in our duties if we did not discuss it with him and offer our assistance with anything he wished to pursue."
Armando nodded.
"Then we will have a conversation with him also," he decided. "Has he expressed interest in anything in particular?"
"Not to me," Dumbledore explained, "but a boy with his brilliance should be encouraged to put it to use. It would be a shame if he were only to be a politician when there is so much potential there to be explored."
"Indeed," Armando acknowledged. "We will meet with him also once the Christmas break is over," he added, making a note in his diary.
"And the last I wish to discuss with you is Harry."
Armando released a deep breath, his mind wandering back to the conversation he'd shared with the boy during the summer.
"Harry is already in the process of pursuing a career."
"He is?" Dumbledore questioned, surprised. "You do not seem to approve."
Armando shook his head.
"It is not that I do not approve, it is that the boy worries me Albus. He has decided that he wishes to become a Hit-Wizard."
Albus frowned and offered his colleague a sad smile.
"That does not surprise me."
"Nor me," Armando sighed. "He made a very compelling case as to why he wished to apply, so much so that I gave him a reference to submit to the ICW."
"The ICW? He wishes to ply his trade abroad?"
"He does," Armando confirmed. "I was hoping with his talent, he would choose to pursue something less dangerous, but as he pointed out himself, danger is what he knows best."
"Do you know if he has discussed this with Nicholas?"
Armando shrugged.
"I do not think it would make much difference. I do not believe Harry would accept an apprenticeship under him. As talented as he is, I do not believe Alchemy appeals to the boy," he snorted. "I was hoping that he would choose to work with Rosalina and perhaps become a duellist. She has expressed her desire to see him do so."
"Can he not do both? Being a Hit-Wizard does not have to be a fulltime position?"
"I suppose he could," Armando mused aloud. "I will raise it with Rosalina. I need to understand what her intentions are with him. I cannot envision her having spent two years working with him during her personal time without a plan."
"No, I do not believe she would," Albus agreed, "and I will not pretend that Harry pursuing a career as a Hit-Wizard does not fill me with a sense of dread."
"Do you not believe he can do it?"
"Quite the opposite," Dumbledore mumbled. "I believe he would be excellent, but we have come to know him well enough, and I do not believe that he merely wishes to apprehend wanted criminals. Such work would see him spending much time on the continent, and we both know what is happening there. I very vividly remember the warning he gave us when he first arrived."
Armando's eyes widened.
He had not considered what other reasons would have spurred the boy in the direction he was taking.
"You don't think?"
"I do," Dumbledore said gravely. "He knows things, Armando, and given the person Harry is, do you think he would remain idle if he believed there was something he could do to prevent some of them?"
"I do not," Armando huffed. "What are we going to do, Albus?"
"I think the pertinent question is whether there is anything we can do?"
Dumbledore's expression had morphed into one of deep concern.
"I do not think so," he conceded unhappily.
"No, but we shall speak with him nonetheless," Armando declared. "What good it will do, I do not know, but we must do that at the very least."
Albus could only nod, and Armando took no comfort in the morose expression of his colleague.
(Break)
"Watch out for Parkinson?" Charlus muttered, handing Harry back the note that Arcturus Black had slipped him. "Is Parkinson clinically stupid?"
"Well, he's not the smartest bloke, is he?" Tiberius snorted.
Harry shook his head.
He had other things he'd rather focus on than idiots like Parkinson, even if it was amusing to see the resemblance between the boy and Pansy.
They had the same squashed face as though someone had taken a shovel to it.
Truthfully, Harry would not be surprised if someone had. Parkinson was a moron, and he would only prove his stupidity if he came after Harry.
"I wouldn't worry about him," Charlus urged. "Parkinson has as much talk as Malfoy, but not even half the skill. If his housemates aren't going to talk him out of it, then they are just as stupid as him."
"I'm not worried," Harry assured the boy. "I'll keep an eye on him though."
Charlus nodded.
"It seems you have quite the talent for making enemies," he chuckled.
"You have no idea," Harry mumbled as he stood.
"Where are you going?" Ogden asked curiously.
"To see Professor Nott."
Tiberius grinned impishly.
"You know, I am beginning to wonder if you and her are having an affair."
"Don't be disgusting, Tiberius!" Minerva chastised.
"Well, they spend a lot of time together," Ogden pointed out. "What do you even do? She seems like the kind of woman that would rip your balls off for fun."
Minerva's lips thinned as she glared at the boy.
"We work on Defence stuff," Harry answered simply.
There was nothing else to say on the matter, and certainly not anything of the sort that Tiberius was alluding to.
Harry respected Professor Nott for her skill and ability, but she was rather frightening. Her piercing eyes gave the impression that she could look into your soul if she chose to, and perhaps rip it out.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Tiberius," Poppy huffed.
Tiberius held up his hands to placate the girl.
"I was joking," he defended. "I just like to shake things up occasionally."
"I'll shake you up in a minute," Poppy warned.
"And whilst you do that, I'll be off," Harry chuckled, bidding farewell to his friends and taking his leave of the common room.
When he was in the corridor, he checked that no others were around him before he removed the Marauder's Map and tapped it with his wand.
"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
It came to life, the greeting from his father, Sirius, Remus, and Wormtail filling the yellowed parchment.
He ignored the latter of the group as he checked his route between the tower and the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.
There were a few students still milling around the halls, but none that he needed to be concerned with.
Parkinson and the other Slytherins were all in their own common room, so he deactivated the map and placed it back in his pocket along with his wand up his sleeve.
He needed to be more vigilant with his movements. He wasn't concerned about Parkinson and the other Slytherins, but it would not do to be blindsided by them.
He paused suddenly as he reached the corridor that led to the Defence classroom, the sense of foreboding that warned him of nearby danger washing over him.
Carefully, he drew his wand once more before consulting the map. Surely the Slytherins could not have gotten here so quickly to spring a trap.
They hadn't.
Any that would make an attempt against him were still in the common room. The sense of danger, however, remained as strong as it had been.
"Nott," he whispered.
According to the map, the woman was in one of the far corners of the defence room, seemingly lying-in wait for him.
Cautiously, he approached the door, alert to the magic he'd felt growing steadily stronger as he did so.
He nodded to himself as he reached it, the curses and locking spells imbued into the wood unmissable, but difficult to ascertain individually. They had been woven purposely this way to catch him off guard, but he would not fall victim to it.
On the surface, the magic seemed impossible to decipher, let alone eliminate in a way that wouldn't trigger a rather unpleasant reaction, but Nott had tried to dupe him.
As complex as the set of spells appeared to be, they weren't and would take a simple solution to resolve the barrier but doing so would alert her to his presence if he did not take another simple action first.
With a flick of his wand, he silenced the door before setting to work on removing the magic.
It took only a moment to do so but he was not yet prepared to risk opening it. Instead, he cast a clever charm he had found in one of the books he had borrowed from the Flamel library.
It was a work that focused on wizard prisons around the world, all told from the perspective of former guards who explained the different measures they had in place to run their respective establishments as safely as possible.
One of them, a Finnish man if Harry remembered correctly, had written of how they would check on their most volatile inmates by using a charm that had been created to make a section of a stone wall transparent to the eyes of the caster.
With his future intended career in mind, Harry had learned it, deeming it to be worthy to do so, and it seemed his efforts would pay off sooner than he'd anticipated.
Putting the spell into practice, he peered into the room through the small circle he'd created, frowning when nothing appeared to be amiss.
Still, the sense of foreboding had not faded.
The woman was trying to ambush him, that much was clear, but he couldn't be certain of her approach. Professor Nott was as shrewd as they came, and he did not wish to fall into her trap.
Nodding thoughtfully, he lowered himself so that he could place the tip of his wand through the slight crack in the door and checked the map again.
She had not moved.
Bracing himself for her retaliation, he managed to fire off four spells that would subdue her before he needed to roll away from the door, and not a second too soon.
Even before he had righted himself, the wood exploded outwards in a shower of splinters.
"Shit," he gasped.
He had escaped unscathed, but that could have been deeply unpleasant had he not moved in time, though he was not given much time to ponder it.
A gust of wind from within the classroom swept up the debris of the door, and they were sent towards him.
Thinking quickly, he shrouded himself in a protective cloak of fire, the not unsubstantial number of shards were reduced to ash, and Harry breathed a brief sigh of relief. Brief because he could not afford to allow Nott to get into a rhythm with her casting.
If he did, this would not end well for him.
Taking aim with his wand once more, he sent a stream of water forward, angling it through the doorway before freezing it, turning the liquid into a dangerous projectile.
He did not expect that it would defeat the woman, but it gave him a moment to contain her within the defence room.
With her stuck within the four walls, he hoped that he could set the pace of the impromptu duel.
"Good," Nott praised as she caught sight of him, pushing herself up from the ground from where she had evidently ducked to avoid his offering. "Now let us see how much you have improved."
The woman wasted no time, nor did she give him any quarter as a plethora of spells left her wand one after the other, leaving Harry to defend himself through only his instincts.
He hadn't forgotten how fast she was with her wand, nor how efficient her spell work was, but feeling so on the backfoot was a feeling he had not yet become accustomed to.
He knew that she did this intentionally to see how well he could thrive under pressure, and though he felt her efforts bearing down on him, Harry remained calm and looked for his opportunity to retaliate.
He managed to nullify her attack, matching her speed with an impeccable defence. It needed to be. One mistake was all it would take to see him on the receiving end of her offense, and then it would be over for him.
The spells she sent his way were not lethal, but they would leave him in a bad way.
Still, despite his better showing than their previous bout where she had admittedly taken it easier on him, her own work was flawless, leaving him frustrated and unable to reply.
'Do something that she will not expect. Take her by surprise.'
The advice of the headmaster played over in his mind, and he nodded to himself.
He knew just the thing that would achieve this, and though the thought of revealing his ability to the woman did not fill him with joy, the vision of the impending victory did.
He waited patiently, defending himself as he had been, but poised to strike, much like the nature of the creature from whence his magic came.
There were moments as Nott continued her relentless attack that he felt that he may not be given the opportunity, but as she began casting a complex blinding curse, he acted.
With a drawn-out hiss, two fiery serpents emerged from his wand leaving the professor wide-eyed, staring at him in disbelief.
"Do not harm her!" he commanded.
Nott recovered from her shock quickly, though her eyes remained on him as she doused the snakes with a liberal amount of water, to no avail.
Her defence only served to cause Harry's creations to double in size, and the woman to panic as it happened.
Thinking quickly, she erected a shield around herself.
Again, not the correct move to make, the unfamiliar magic making her resort to obvious means of defending herself when she should have been doing the opposite.
Although the serpents were of fire, a stronger fire spell would be all that was needed to eradicate them, but Nott had resorted to the logical approach.
Harry may have instructed the creatures to not harm her, but her shield was not the woman, and as they struck against it, the construct collapsed, and the reptiles were on her before she could respond, pinning her down by her arms and baring their fangs only an inch away from her face.
With a simple disarming charm, the professor's wand was in his hand, her wild eyes still on him.
"That is enough," he hissed. "Release her!"
His snakes complied, and Harry vanished them with a wave of his wand.
"You're a Slytherin," Nott whispered.
Harry shook his head.
"Not exactly," he sighed, "but I share their talent."
The professor stood, her legs shaking as she eyed him speculatively.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
"I'm Harry Evans," he replied simply.
"A half-blood that no one knows who your pureblood family are," Nott pointed out. "If not a Slytherin, a Gaunt?"
Harry frowned.
"A Gaunt?"
"They are the last surviving members of the Slytherin line," the woman explained. "As inbred and unpleasant as they come. No, you're not one of them. You're not repulsive enough, unless your mother…"
"My mother was a muggleborn," Harry said firmly.
Nott's frown deepened as she pondered the thoughts whirring around her mind.
"No, not old Marvolo or his son. They would never, not with a muggle," she mused aloud.
"I'm not a Gaunt," Harry reiterated.
"Then you truly are an enigma," Nott declared, unhappy that he was not so forthcoming with his parentage, "but there must be a connection to the Slytherins somehow."
"I'd rather not talk about it."
Nott deflated.
"I think it best that you don't, not until you are away from the school at least," she sighed. "It would put a lot of attention on you."
"That is why I've kept this to myself."
Nott nodded approvingly.
"As surprising as it is, I cannot deny that you passed your test, Mr Evans," she declared almost proudly. "You adapted and overcame the adversity you faced. Not in a way I expected mind, but you succeeded, and that is all that matters. Now, the real work begins."
"The real work?"
"Of course," Nott returned with a grin. "Professor Dippet informed me of your intentions when you leave the castle. I am still hoping that you will choose to duel also. Your little talent will be quite the boon for your line of work, but I would suggest you keep it for that. To that end, we have much work ahead of us in the coming months. If you are going to beat me without your tricks, then we will need to work harder."
"Why are you smiling?" Harry asked worriedly.
"Because now I get to see what you are truly made of Evans. The rest of this year is going to be exceptionally difficult for you, but so enjoyable for me."
She meant it, her eyes oddly bright at the thought of putting him through his paces over the coming weeks and months.
"Bloody hell," Harry grumbled, not relishing the expectant expression the woman wore.
"Bloody hell indeed," Nott replied with a nod.
Harry could only shake his head, almost regretting that he had involved himself with her, though he could not ignore the flicker of excitement he felt along with the sense of trepidation.