C027 - Assassin roots uncovered

A hooded man dressed in white was sprinting across the rooftops of a medieval Mediterranean city. Several men and women dressed similarly had just died trying to assassinate what appeared to be a noble man. On this fleeing man were countless weapons, hidden and otherwise. He was one of the few remaining ones after what appeared to be a group Templar knights fighting off the white-clad attackers.

A belt with throwing knives decorated his chest. Several knives of various sizes and makes, and even a one-handed sword, were hidden on his shoulders behind a white cape with red lining. His oppulent belt, adorned with the stylized capital A featured so often in Selena Macnair's notebooks, had several blades hidden in it. Even this man's sleeves hid a wrist guard that itself hid a wristblade that could shoot out for a swift kill and then retract to be hidden once more.

As the man was jumping impossible distances and scaling buildings like he was walking on the ground, armored men on even more armored horses were following him along down in the alleys between the buildings.

The white clothed man never stopped. His destination was unknown, yet nobody seemed to be able to stop him from reaching it.

Several city guards had climbed the roofs in his way, but nobody could slow the man down as he killed each one of them in the most efficient and ruthless way possible before moving on at a pace that boardered on supernatural. Yet, somehow, he made it all look easy.

As he once more lifted himself up another ledge as easily as if he was lifting a cup of water to his mouth, the dream I saw suddenly had sound.

A loud boom was heard, and the wall the man had just tried to climb exploded. The man lost his grip and fell down with the bricks that once made up the wall of the third story of a beautiful building... and then the dream ended.

A deep inhale later, I slowly opened my eyes as I exhaled silently.

It was a day after I killed those trolls, and this was only the third time my dreams didn't involve the Norse pantheon. The last dream I had of those supposed gods were one of them getting murdered after a discussion as they all climbed into some weird pods that suspended their bodies in liquid.

But these new dreams with the white clothed men in what appeared to be sometime between 14th or 16th century Italy - I wasn't very good judging the time - were even more of a mystery to me than those of the Norse gods.

I had finally learned where the A came from my mother kept drawing everywhere and that was on the Kopis sword I was lucky enough to retrieve after my first kill shot it towards the end of an almost endless enchanted corridor: it was the symbol of a sort of brotherhood of assassins.

I would gladly say all of these assassins were muggles, but some of them were well above even trained humans in speed, strength, stamina, or reflexes. I had absolutely no idea where my connection to those Italians came from either, though, because those Norse Gods from countless millenia ago may have dilluted their bloodline for enough generations to be in almost every human on the Northern hemisphere thanks to the pillaging, seafaring vikings at the very minimum - but what did 14th century muggle Italians have to do with my bloodline?

There had to be a deeper secret to all of it, and this brotherhood of assassins as I dubbed them in my mind had to be the key. The 'A' rune, or simple logo as I now learned, was a clear link between us, and I would try to look into it as soon as I got out of Hogwarts for the summer. Maybe get Patrick to try to find the symbol on buildings on the muggle side of the world in the British Isles.

None of those Italians had been wizards. They might not have been regular humans, but they weren't wizards and witches - of that, I was certain.

How? Because if they were Italians, then they would have had wands. Wands were a Roman invention dating back to the early stages of the Roman Empire around a couple of centuries before Christianity became a thing.

Italians prided themselves in being the cradle of modern wizardry.

Sadly for Italians, the wizarding world rather thought of them as the birthplace of modern Christianity and while many religions were decidedly against any kind of sorcercy, Christianity gave birth to the Witch Hunts, Inquisitions, and they somehow made burning people alive fashionable. So, for magicals, Western magicals in particular, Christianity was the big evil of the world. Not that they were the only ones who tortured and killed in the name of their god or gods.

In any case, these dreams that were clearly depictions of the past had a different quality to the dreams about Odin and his offspring. These new dreams not only allowed me to observe in silence, they somehow... 'bled' through into my mind.

I had no other words to describe it, so I could only assume that I was somehow slowly but surely gaining muscle memory from these assassins I saw in my dreams.

Three of these dreams was too little to judge, but my mind was extremely active during those new dreams as I woke up with light pressure headaches and it shouldn't just be because I watched some people jump across roofs and swinging swords and hidden blades at each other.

Heimdall, Thor, and Tyr had done that countless times in my earlier dreams, and though it might have been that their superhuman physiques were so far beyond my own that I still didn't learn much from those dreams outside of what these Gods saw around them.

I certainly didn't learn Thor's savage fighting style with the hammer, Tyr's godly spear skill, or Heimdall's way with swords.

On the other hand, I was sure I'd become proficient in wielding a hidden blade and throwing knives in a month or two at most, if these coming dreams would all show these brotherhood assassins killing their way through Italy.

I slowly sat up in bed. And there he was, my roommate. Up and reading at his desk. Like always.

"You should sleep more," I said in a low voice.

"You know why I don't,... can't."

"If it's about you killing Quirrellmort-"

"Quirrellmort?"

"Yeah, he wasn't just Quirrel. He was also Voldemort. So... Quirrellmort."

"... oddly fitting," Harry breathed out with sigh and kept quiet for a good while before he asked in a low voice, "Did you know?"

"Ah, you're back to not trusting me, so your sleep's worse. Eh, I can confidently say I was not certain. But I also won't lie to you and say I didn't suspect it."

"That he was possessed or that my touch would kill him?"

I thought about my answer for a moment before I sighed myself.

"I mean, Dumbledore hired someone who completely changed from the last time he was a professor here a year ago. Something was wrong with him for sure. And that disgusting smell he was trying to mask with the garlic... did you not smell it, too? In any case, your scar kept hurting during DADA. Even if you didn't tell me, I figured it out. So yeah, I was certain whatever was wrong with Quirrell was linked to you in some sense. As for your touch being able to turn him to dust to release the specter of the most feared British Dark Lord of recent history?"

I shook my head and refused to say more. I didn't want to lie and instead opted to make him fill that blank worked in my favor, despite me realising that friendships based on lies, even if they were lies of omission, would never work. I would either come clean eventually or keep him at an arm's length. Or he would somehow judge that I did it for a reason and keep being friends with me anyway.

'We'll see, I guess... Hanging out with him is quite soothing to the soul,' I thought and once more shook my head and got up out of bed to get ready to exercise.

It was a Tuesday, so I'd have Transfiguration followed by Charms, followed by enjoying some fun in the greenhouses and training with Flitwick until I had Astronomy class at midnight.

And, it was the last time until next semester in January that we would have Astronomy lessons at midnight for a while because it would change to the slot after lunch on Tuesday for us starting next week. Many of us were looking forward to that.

At Transfiguration after breakfast, Ron and Michael waited in front of the door to confront me.

"Hey, Macnair. There's rumors about you killing one of the trolls going around," Ron said in an accusing tone.

Michael looked me up and down with a scrunched up nose before scoffing, "You might be good in class, but I doubt a wuss who grew up with muggles could do that. So set the record straight and tell everyone what really happened."

"And why would I ever do anything you tell me, Corner?"

"So you're agreeing that you didn't kill the troll?" Ron said in a much louder voice.

I sighed and answered, "I don't care to tell you anything."

'Because you're not here to learn the truth, and I could never win an argument with a monkey. At best, the monkey walks away with the same monkey opinion it always had, and at worst, he throws feces at me if I engage.'

I walked past them into class to sit down with Hermione and Mandy as Harry gave me a pondering look.

"Yeah, right!" Ron shouted behind me. "The liar and the murderer! Ravenclaw is really shaping up to be the next Slytherin!"

A few gasps rang through the room, and Ron looked quite proud of himself.

"Yeah, his first kill at 14. Didn't they say all Dark Lords killed in their teenage years and they became dark because they liked it? Tell us, Potter. Did you like killing Professor Quirrell?" Michael Corner asked as he gave his two worthless cents on the matter.

Harry, of course, didn't degrade himself to answer Corner. Why would he? He barely spoke up even when it benefitted him. And, this conversation would not benefit him no matter in which direction it would go.

"I assure you that Mister Potter has not killed anyone, not in free will or consciously at the very least. If only you would apply your critical mind on conspiracies to your studies and assignments, Mister Corner and Mister Weasley. The end of Professor Quirrell came as a surprise to all of us, and his status as a possessed individual must be taken into account. The aurors and ultimately the Wizengamot will decide if Mister Potter will be held accountable for the death. But certainly not you," Professor McGonagall retorted as she appeared behind Ron Weasley, who was too afraid to turn around.

"And do stay behind after class, you two. I wish to speak to you about your behavior."

What followed was our first lesson on animate-to-inanimate transfiguration that I once more aced easily. My Natural Occlumency would forever place me at the top of this class until it had more or less stationary targets and topics I had already read about.

And while a few Gryffindors were trying their best to besmirch Harry and I, what followed was Charms with Slytherin, and it was more of the same, just much more malicious in nature. At least the Gryffindor girls didn't really engage in the battle of words that Michael and Ron tried to start with us. Parvati even openly called Ron a moron as Fay Dunbar chimed in that she guessed Ron's nickname from the first P.S.Y. year: moRon.

I left the Transfiguration classroom with a thankful smile toward Parvati as Lavender still actively avoided looking in my direction. As much as she loved gossip, I really liked how our breakup stayed quiet in the school, as most people if not everyone save for Parvati and maybe Tonks still didn't know we had been an item. I welcomed it because I didn't want Lavender to become a target for Malfoy and his posse. And, I welcomed it because Lavender didn't use her powers to paint me as something I was not.

"Ah, look who it is: the boasting clown and the murderer. Why aren't the two of you in Azkaban already?"

I looked at Malfoy with disbelieving eyes before I countered, "Is that what you asked the guys you hired to attack me weeks ago?"

"Why would I ask- What are you trying to imply here? That's slander! Wait til my father hears about this!"

"Ah, and calling Harry a murderer isn't slander?"

"We clearly all saw him kill Quirrel!" Malfoy retorted with a smug grin that was as unwarranted as his bravado.

"Oh yeah? I saw you kiss Goyle on the mouth on Friday. You had your back toward me as Goyle was facing me and would have been able to look at me, but your head blocked his line of sight because you were snogging each other."

With a horrified look, Malfoy pointed at me with a shaking finger.

"You LIAR! Take that back, Macnair!"

"Why would I? That's what I saw?"

A few girls from Slytherin, namely Tracey Davis, Natalie Rosier, and Isodora Selwyn, were giggling a little to the side. The Ravenclaw girls didn't hide their giggling either, because what was more scandalous to 14 year olds growing up in a narrow-minded, backwards society than two boys loving each other? To be quite fair, even the more open-minded muggle society was still blatantly homophobic and quite unapologetic about it.

"No worries, Malfoy. Love finds a way. Even our headmaster didn't let it stop him from becoming one of the most powerful wizards of our time," I consoled the shaking boy and moved into the classroom, completely ignoring the looks the other students were giving me after my alleged revelation.

"Is that true?" Isobel whispered furiously behind me as she sat down and leaned forward.

"What? That love finds a way? Quite right, it is one of the greatest forces for good in this world. Just ask Professor Dumbledore."

"No, no! That he... he likes... he is fond of the... that he, you know?"

"That he loves people of the same gender? How would I know for sure? I was just guessing since he, the most eligible bachelor of his time, never had any rumors about offspring, lovers, or wives," I answered with a shrug. "Might just be asexual, who knows? And who cares?"

Quite a few of the girls started blushing furiously since I was discussing something decidedly too sexual in nature, but none of the girls stopped me from talking either. Like a horror movie where you hid your face behind your hands but still peeked at the screen between your fingers.

"Alright. Calm down class, we are here to learn, not discuss the preferences and delights of other people's private lives," Professor Flitwick said loudly to get our attention, but before he could continue with his class on the locking and unlocking charms 'Colloportus' and 'Alohomora', someone raised his hand.

"Yes, Miss Rosier?"

"Professor, you left the Great Hall yesterday for what we assume to deal with the trolls Professor Quirrell warned us of before his... demise. There's a rumor going around that Macnair beat a troll all on his own. You took him with you, a few Hufflepuffs claim. Can you confirm this rumor?"

Flitwick looked amused for a moment before he asked, "Why would it matter to you?"

"Ha! I knew the buffoon could have never done it," Malfoy chimed in loudly with a gloating sound. "The rumors are as false as his blood status, I tell you!"

"And who told you my answer was a 'no', Mister Malfoy?"

Malfoy paled visibly before he looked at Flitwick accusingly, "You served him those kills on a platter then to increase the status of Ravenclaw's 'star student'!"

Flitwick frowned for a moment, pondering how he could prove his impartiality would be unquestionable. He looked to me and asked tentatively, "Care to demonstrate, Talion?"

"Uh, sure? How much of the combo?"

"Do it all... with a quill," he said and quickly added the quill part so I wouldn't take out a throwing knife in class.

He floated a wooden board above his desk roughly as thick as two fingers, and I made my way to the middle of the class as I gave Hermione a reassuring smile. Somehow, she looked more nervous than I, though I didn't know why.

I took out my wand rather slowly because while I would demonstrate one of the combos I knew to hurt others, I didn't want to reveal it all.

I cast all the following spells verbally, though I cut short most wand movements to indicate my charms training was advanced, but not O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. level advanced.

'Leviosa', followed by 'Engorgio', followed by 'Depulso' created a floating quill acting as a projectile that was enlarged to slightly larger than the size of a feather from a Hippogriff's eagle headed 'mane' and this feather shot forward and easily pierced the wooden board Flitwick had put up dead center.

I gave the Slytherin side of the classroom a mock bow because it was they that wanted me to perform like a monkey and moved back to my seat.

"As you can see, Mister Macnair is quite capable of fighting a troll if he has the calm to aim for its weaknesses. And since he was not alone, he did indeed calmly dispatch a troll from the group that was roaming the school," Flitwick proudly announced with a proud grin.

The girls from Slytherin, Natalie and Isodora especially, looked at me in a new light. I was met with almost utter disregard from them before despite my achievements in class, likely because my existence was beneath their elevated status, while I was the descendant of a maniac ministry worker and a 'traitorous' mother, according to a few, who grew up in the muggle world.

Sure, they were less poisoned to my identity and alleged actions than most upper years or the male first years since they didn't subscribe to Malfoy's ideals yet. It looked like Malfoy had acted too much like a buffoon in the first weeks to allow that to happen and someone like Vinda Rosier didn't raise the two girls Natalie and Isodora to be blind followers to an imbecile.

The boys from Slytherin didn't say anything, though Castellon Burke looked like he realised something. And then I, too, looked like I realised something.

'Fuck! I used that combo on those fourth year Slytherins with the bread pieces when they wanted to send Anthony and Terry to the hospital wing! Castellon has to have figured it out... ugh, as if I didn't already dodge enough spells in a day...'