Not That Memory

Time passed and the rumors of Art slowly faded away. Although people would still give him a strange look, they were no longer whispering and pointing. His classes resumed same as before, including his extra classes. He managed to keep Snape from entering his mind most times now and his dueling with Professor Flitwick was seeing improvements. Flitwick helped him learn spells that could assist him with his fighting style, including one that would make the room dark.

"Professor Flitwick, are there any sensory spells that would allow me to see without my eyes. Like a map in my head?" Art asked after one class.

Flitwick frowned and slowly shook his head. "There are many sensory type spells but I don't know of one that does that." he said but smiled at Art, "But that is the great thing about magic. It is limitless. I fully believe you can invent a spell that fits your needs."

Artland smiled and thanked him. He had started to research in how to create personally spells from some books but it was a lot of trial and error. His classes with Dumbledore were starting to get interesting as well as he mastered many wards and enchantments. Dumbledore took the time to show him how to better use his magic. He showed him some wandless magic that stunned Artland.

"The trick me boy is to envision what you want, magic is only limited by an individual's mind and imagination."

Art took those words to heart and thought of the countless possibilities. Magic is at its simplest form, energy. Energy that you could shape and mould into your desires.

Art found himself spending more time in that strange room on the seventh floor he found. Reading restricted books and training his magic and his body. He was able to fight four dummies at once now but it took some time to disable them all. His body continued to improve, making him faster and stronger each day. Even Flitwick couldn't keep up with Art's wand during their duels. He still thought about transfiguring his wand into a blade but his teachers, including Dumbledore, advised him not to.

Art found books on animagus and was debating on whether he should become one. He was still very young and debated if it would affect him later on but when asking Professor McGonagall, an animagus herself, she said that it wouldn't affect it.

"Mr. Cason I must warn you that animagus transformations are dangerous and extremely difficult for even of age wizards. Even though you are talented I would advise you to wait until your older until trying it." Professor McGonagall said sternly.

Artland smiled and nodded his head, "Is there anyway to tell what animal I would transfigure into professor?" he wondered. If he was going to turn into a pig or a rat he rather not take the time to do it.

She shook her head, "There isn't, but usually your Patronous reflects your animagus."

"Patronus…" Art muttered. He had read about this spell. A projection of your most positive feelings that acts like a guardian and takes the shape of the animal that you feel deeply connected with.

Art decided that he would learn this spell to find out what his animagus is. Though it sounded easy, the next few months Art could any produce an incorporeal patronus. Much to his frustration, he didn't seem to be able to take the last step and make a fully corporeal patronus.

December soon came and snow covered the grounds. The Great Hall was decorated with trees and ornaments. Art, Fred and George were in the library finishing up some Potions homework.

"That miserable git. Assigning us homework before the break." Fred spat, looking at his parchment. He still have 8 inches to go.

George grumbled in agreement as he tried to sneak a peek at Art's, who was done and reading a book on Wizard History. Art waved his wand and his parchment disappeared into his bag.

"Oh come on Art! Don't be a git!" George complained.

"You copied almost half of it, you need to write some of it yourselves or Snape will know you are cheating." he replied, not taking his eyes off the book.

George grumbled and returned to his homework, giving Art a dirty look here and there.

Art closed the book and got up. He had one more Occlumany class with Snape before the break. Walking into the dungeons, Art saw Snape waiting for him.

"Let us get this over with Cason." he said coldly.

Art frowned, Snape was in a bad mood today and that would mean Art would suffer. Before Art could prepare himself, Snape had already cast his spell.

He saw memories of his real parents, playing with him, his uncle bringing him treats and toys and even their house elf dressing him. The memory changed and he saw his father rushing through the door with a terrified look on his face.

"Death Eaters are here!"

The death eaters smashed the door opened and piled into the house. His parents and uncles started to fight them.

'No! Not this one! You do not get to see this memory!' Art shouted in his mind.

He pushed Snape out with all of his strength, causing Snape to stumble back. Art was breathing heavily and looked at Snape with cold eyes. Snape felt a shiver go down his back at Art's look.

Art raised his wand and pointed it at Snape, his eyes cold. "That is one memory you do not get to see." he said coldly.

He slowly put his wand down and walked out of Snape's office. Watching the boy go, a sad and guilty look came over Snape's face.

It took awhile for Art to calm down. He went outside and sat next to his favourite tree and closed his eyes. Soon he felt something on his shoulder and looked over. A small Bowtruckle was sitting there looking at Art curiously.

"Hey little guy. I don't want to harm your tree." he said softly, a small smile appeared on his face.

The little guy tilted his head at Art and then climbed into his hair, causing Art to laugh. Soon a few more Bowtruckles came out and started to crawl on him. Enjoying it, Art closed his eyes and took out his wand.

"Accio woodlice."

It took a few moments but a jar of woodlice appeared and Art fed the Bowtruckles. Art enjoyed the peace and quiet as he leaned back against the tree.

"You never fail to amaze me Artland." a voice said from in front of him.

Opening his eyes, Art saw Dumbledore standing there with a smile on his face.

"Professor." Art said, closing his eyes again, he was not in the mood for formalities. The Bowtruckles looked at Dumbledore cautiously but were reassured from Art that the old man harmless.

"I heard what happened from Professor Snape." Dumbledore continued.

"Of course you did, he reports everything to you." Art said, an edge to his voice.

"All the teachers report to me Artland."

"Yes, but Snape is different isn't he?" Art responded, opening his eyes.

Dumbledore looked at Art intently before nodding his head. He then took a seat next to Art. "To tell you the truth Art, you frighten me. Your talent is greater than mine or Voldemort's." he said slowly.

"Why does that frighten you?" Art said, cupping a Bowtruckle in his hand.

"Your talent isn't what frightens me but the darkness in you. You crave revenge for what happened to your family."

Art didn't respond for a minute before saying, "Everyone has darkness in them professor. How you deal with the darkness is a choice everyone has to make."

Dumbledore stared intently at Art. The boy was only 13 years old but carried a burden that no one should have to. In front of him was a boy that was playing with a Bowtruckle with extreme care and yet he knew that one day Art's power would be unmatched.

"And how do you plan to deal with yours?"

"Protecting the ones I love and killing those that murdered my family." Art said simply, not hiding it. He had always wanted revenge for what had happened to his family.

"Violence is never the answer Artland." Dumbledore said sadly.

"I disagree. All great leaders and rulers were kind to their allies and merciless against their enemies. Showing mercy in time of peace is okay but in times of war it is a mistake, one that could cost you everything." Art had read many books given to him by Tim about military leaders throughout history.

"We aren't at war." Dumbledore said.

"You're right but who says there won't be. I don't believe that Voldemort died that night at the Potters. I don't know if he is biding his time or trying to recover his lost power. Whatever it is, I will be ready for him." Art said and gently placed the Bowtruckles back on the tree.

Dumbledore watched the boy leave with complicated eyes.