Disclaimer: Story based on characters and plot owned by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
My thanks go to beta readers ParseltonguePhoenix, Fenraellis, and Vlad the Inhaler.
CHAPTER 7
Rosicrucians and Revelations
"All right, Albus, it's time for answers. You know damned well who went after Harry and we're not leaving until you tell us!" Sirius folds his arms and stands menacingly in front of the Headmaster's desk. Remus takes a less aggressive stance near the entrance of the office, ready to signal for Sirius to transform if anyone were to approach. His visage, accented by pale skin and darkened eyes from a full moon days prior, lends him a look that is equally feral.
"Yes, indeed, I do have my suspicions. Now, would you two gentlemen please sit down?" The Headmaster directs some magic into his tone to sharpen his voice of command and the men comply immediately. The Headmaster puts up a complicated warding spell on the door and lowers his aura, his voice becoming euphonious. "This story will take some time to tell, and I do not relish the thought of the neck pain I would get were I to tell it with you standing there, Sirius.
"Lemon drop? No? Very well then. Tell me, Remus..." He opens a drawer of his desk and recovers a long, slender item wrapped in blue felt. "What do you make of this?” He hands the werewolf the stiletto that was buried in Harry's chest when he arrived in the infirmary.
Remus unwraps the knife and studies it. The pommel, hilt, and blade are finely crafted and well balanced. The handle is wrapped with black leather, softened dragon hide by its appearance, to ensure a true grip even in cold or wet conditions. The blade is nearly as long as the span from Remus's palm to his elbow and the pommel is half that length. The blade is dual-edged and tapers gently, with a pair of blood grooves on either flat that extend from tip to hilt. Remus spots a tiny glyph on the pommel, half the size of a Knut, shaped like a rose with a cross in front, the whole surrounded a circle of astrological symbols.
"You notice, then."
"Yes," he replies distantly, his mind elsewhere. He hands the dagger to Sirius to allow him to inspect it.
"Have you seen such a sigil before, Remus?"
"Not that one, precisely, but similar ones. If the cross were set within a heart, then it resembles the symbol of the Reformation, Martin Luther's seal. I know there are a couple of Templar castles in Damascas with a similar sign, including the astrolabe. And, if I'm not mistaken, it also resembles the spiritus, animas, and corpus emblem of the Order of Alchemists."
"Full marks, Remus! You are a credit to your schooling," he smiles at the younger man, who scowls in return. "I too have encountered such a symbol, this very one in fact. Have either of you heard of the Rosicrucians?"
"The Order of the Rosy Cross?” Sirius interrupts, “I thought they were legend!"
"No, they are quite real, I assure you. What I am about to reveal must never be shared. I shall require a wizard's oath to that effect if you wish to know more." He sits back and folds his arms. His lurid, lime green robes embroidered with animated, gold faeries contrast with the seriousness of his demeanor. The two men look at each other for a moment and then oblige the elderly wizard.
"The brotherhood guards the ancient knowledge of Runescriving, a magical practice that is a close cousin to alchemy and, like alchemy, guards its secrets jealously. Many centuries ago, there was a schism in the Runescrives between brother apprentices, men who had studied under the same master. The younger was Paracelsus, the renowned alchemist. The other, Rosenkreutz of the Germelschausen family in what is now Germany, went on to found the Order of the Rosy Cross.
"As I understand it, the reason for the division ultimately centered on control versus free will. Paracelsus believed in careful selection of disciples such that their philosophies align with his own, but then allowing them, like his mentor did with him, to maintain their free will. Rosenkreutz, on the other hand, required that each disciple bear a glyph of control that enables the eldest of the Order--him, originally--to command obedience of his juniors, effectively rendering them magically powerful slaves.
The latter school proliferated, with over than one hundred members at last estimate. The former school, followers of Paracelsus, comprise only three today, though one is but an adept and another, a shade of his former self. This is due, in no small part, to a concerted effort by the Rosicrucians to eradicate Paracelsus's progeny, whom they refer to as Voleurs, or “thieves.” The Order of the Rosy Cross is now headed by a French gentleman referred to only by title, Chevalier.”
"Three, you say?” Remus fixes the Headmaster with a stare. “You and Harry, obviously, with Harry the adept." The Headmaster appears mildly surprised. "Yes, Albus, I know you're a Runescrive--Nicholas Flamel was your mentor and he trained with Paracelsus centuries ago. What I want to know is who is the third?"
"Voldemort." The two younger men blink. "After he left Hogwarts, Tom Riddle, as he was known then, found apprenticeship with one of the line of Paracelsus's other protegés. Many of the power-enhancing rituals that that he undertook derive from Runescriving glyphs. The ones I suspect he used are quite dark, and no doubt contributed to his transformation, both physical and spiritual, into the beast that he became. Incidentally, I will not teach those runes to Harry, no matter how desperate things get--Harry would make for a more terrible Dark Lord than Tom, if he were so corrupted. Tom ultimately killed his mentor to break the apprenticeship bond, but not before tapping him for knowledge and stealing a partial copy of the Master Codex. We can take small comfort that the line he usurped did not have the extensive knowledge that Nicholas or I had, though I think we all can agree that what he did gain was substantial enough...."
"Let me get this straight," Sirius growls. "Not only does Harry have to destroy Voldemort when he returns, but as a boy, he is learning an obscure branch of magic that has made him over a hundred powerful, mortal enemies who are hell bent on assassinating him at all cost?"
"Yes, though I wouldn't have put it quite that way, that's the gist of it."
"Brilliant. Remind me whose side you're on again?"
"Harry's, Sirius,” the Headmaster says, bitterly. “I agree, this does complicate matters for Harry, but you cannot deny that he has a hard path to walk. I'm trying to equip him for the challenge as best as I know how and I stand by my decision to apprentice him. I take it you would have him face Voldemort without such knowledge?"
“I'd bloody well have let him know what he's facing now, so he has at least a chance of surviving! Let me guess, Harry had no clue what he was getting into before he took your oath and you started him down this 'path' of yours? Does he even know now?"
"Not completely, no. He knew that this was his only way for him to learn magic that would help him survive Voldemort. He knew he would be making sacrifices by becoming my apprentice and, may I remind you, he deemed those sacrifices worth making."
"Manipulative bastard!" Sirius roars and Remus has to restrain his friend. "All this talk of free will, but where's Harry's choice in this matter? He's lying there in the hospital now because of decisions you made for him! Not him, you!"
"Please control yourself, Sirius. I did what I had to, for the greater good."
“Is that what we will carve on his headstone, Albus? It could equally well go onto Lily's and James's, you know,” Remus comments, dryly. “I agree with Sirius. Harry has a right to know. Everything, Albus, no secrets. Get an oath from him if you need, but I'm warning you, if you keep these kinds of things from him, you'll destroy his trust for sure, and I've learned trust is a rare commodity with Harry.” He grimaces. “We cannot hope to undo this, but we can at least prepare him to survive as best we can.”
The Headmasters sighs. “I see your point and yes, I will endeavor to explain matters to Harry at the first opportunity.”
He replaces the dagger in his desk and he pulls out his pensieve. “Gentlemen, I was wondering if you could explain something to me. When I recovered Harry's wand after the incident with the dragon, I took the liberty of casting a prior incantato incantation on his wand. I found that Harry employed a most unusual spell and I was wondering if you could help me understand it better....”
"Wotcher, guvs."
"Tonks! You're back! Pull one up. I'll buy this round, but you have to spill it about the kid."
"Deal! I need a pint or three." She takes her seat among the half-dozen junior aurors, all classmates from the Academy, and she leans back, her leather boots up on the corner of the table.
A few minutes later, the pints arrive and she starts to speak, her Academy chums listening, envious of the purple-haired rookie who drew the Harry Potter gig. "...So King and me go with Ponce, that's Percy Weasley by the way, and Harry and Dumbledore up to the old man's office. Harry doesn't say much, kid's pretty nervous. We prior incantato his wand to see just what freaky shit he was throwing at that dragon and guess what we got.... lemon drops. Conjurations of a single drop as far back as we can go--probably forty-odd spells. Old man claims he 'accidentally' used the kid's wand to make himself treats when he was visiting the ward."
"Hah!" a heavy-set auror exclaims, "Probably cleared it out once all that about dark magic came up in the Prophet."
"Real quick on the uptake, eh Danner?” She cuffs her colleague playfully. “Yeah, so Barty Crouch's errand boy goes apeshit. Demands we arrest Dumbledore as an 'accessory' and starts quoting ministry regs, basically stuffing up the whole deal. King puts his hand on the boy's shoulder, pulls him aside, and gives him... 'the voice.'"
The aurors nod knowingly, familiar with how the taciturn man can humble young aurors with only a few words.
"Reins him in, Ponce backs down, but still insists that we arrest the kid. Get this--you all remember Charlie Weasley? Not too bright, kinda stinky sometimes, but good at Quidditch? He was the handler who survived that day. So Ponce is basically ordering us to arrest the kid who just saved his brother's life--gives you an idea who we're dealing with here. Dumbledore gives him a look, probably doing that jedi mind-reading stuff. Muggle thing, Tim. Then pulls out his pensieve and all of us, except Harry, who has fallen asleep, dive into the old man's memory.
"Let me tell you, that kid is scary--you do not want to get on his bad side. I kid you not--blew the head off a fully grown Horntail with a confringo."
"Bloody hell!"
"Yeah. After he shattered both its front legs, ripped off its wings,” she ticks off her fingers. “And--get this--blasted a hole through a bleeding meter-thick Tarsi barrier."
The aurors are gobsmacked.
"Damnest thing I ever saw, guvs. So we pop out, kid's curled up in his chair asleep, looking like he's all of about nine--he'd just got out of the hospital that morning, mind, from a three-week nap following the worst cast of magical exhaustion ever recorded at that deathtrap they call a school. Ponce starts spouting about dark magic, like he'd know it from his arse, and King and I step in and say we just saw some bone breakers and a blasting hex. Not exactly standard fourth-year fare, but I figure the kid's Dumbledore's apprentice for a reason, right? Ponce starts up again, there's a big argument, blah, blah. Short of it is, I end up having to Floo back to HQ and hoof it to Hogwarts with a training dummy from Range Four, one of the ones we use to record casting power.
"We go down to the pitch and set up the dummy. Dumbledore asks the kid to cast a stunner. Tells him to do it hard, but not to overcharge. Good advice too, since he only just got out of the ward and is barely vertical. So the kid does. Take a guess what he scored.” She folds her arms smugly. “Remember--this is the very first spell out of his wand in almost a month, being cast by a fourteen year old kid who was comatose for three weeks."
"Eleven." Tonks shakes her head and gestures “up” with her hand.
"Eighteen." More gestures.
"Twenty-two. And only because I believe the dragon story."
"A lot. And that's all that needs to be said, Auror Tonks," a deep voice booms.
"King, glad you could make it. Pull one up. Just telling my 'esteemed colleagues' about the kid." She mumbles “...who destroyed it later with a reductor.”
“Tonks!” Kingsley warns, smirking, as he takes a chair from a nearby empty table and joins the junior aurors.
"Bloody hell!" Taylor, one of the aurors, says. The others shake their heads in awe.
Tonks continues, her voice playful, “Kid may be tetchy, but he packs some power."
"He does more than that. Did you notice anything about his wand work?" Kingsley asks.
"Yeah--it's bloody perfect. I mean, flawless. And his stunner had a B-twist. I didn't learn that until second year at the Academy."
He smiles at his young partner. "Glad you spotted it too. I'd bet a stack of Galleons that Harry Potter's had some extensive training. His blasting and bone-breaking curses are works of art--probably nobody in the corps could do better. Though in the dragon battle, I caught him using a rare modification I haven't seen in ages." He raises an eyebrow at Tonks, who sticks her tongue out. "It gives me a clue who trained him which, if true, explains his casting brilliance, but is even more unsettling. And I still can't believe Potter could have learned what he did in just the few months since Dumbledore apprenticed him. You can't get to that level of skill without a year or more of solid training--there's something going on that doesn't add up."
"So what did Moody say?" she asks, changing the subject. As junior auror, she was tasked with checking in the remains of the ruined dummy and filing the initial trip report while her partner caught up with his old acquaintance.
"Here's where the boy's story gets, let's say, really... impressive." He pauses to observe the incredulous expressions of the aurors. They do not disappoint. "Apparently, Moody is teaching them about the Unforgivables in his Defense class. He puts each kid under the Imperius." The rookies look agog at the senior auror. "Potter throws it off, twice, including one at a full strength." Tonks buries her face in her hands and shakes her head.
"But that's not all. Moody goads the Potter kid into trying out a Cruciatus and he gives him an auror 'Exit Special.'" The entire table of rookie aurors wince, each recalling recent first-hand experience with the torture curse. "So, the second time he puts him under..."
"Cor! Hold on a min'--second time?" Tonks can't believe what she is hearing.
"Yeah. Kid's held under the Cruciatus for a solid minute. Then pops up and asks for a repeat. Bloody tough." He grins.
"No kidding. I can't believe that Dumbledore let Moody get away with this!" Taylor is beyond amazed.
"Dumbledore and McGonagall were both there, Tim."
"Holy shit!"
Kingsley continues, his leer positively evil. "The second time he's under, he fights it off and, while still under the Cruciatus, pulls his wand out and nearly takes Moody's wand arm off with a cutting curse.” The imposing auror leans back, arms crossed, a wide grin on his face. “Now that's what I call impressive."
Harry,
This parchment has been charmed so that only you can read it, but destroy it when you're through. I'm not sure how much I trust Dumbledore.
Thanks for saving my life, mate, and no hard feelings about you banishing me like that. I'd rather walk with a cane for an extra month than push pansies.
Please accept this gift on behalf of me and the other handlers. She was rampaging and probably would have killed more of us had you not stopped her like you did, and if she had gotten into the stands, we'd have had a serious international incident that probably would have ended with our having to shut down the preserve. In the package, you should find a shirt, leggings, and boots made from the hide of Blackbird, the Horntail you slayed.
The shirt and leggings are charmed so you can wear them as is or under your clothes and be equally comfortable. As long as you wear them regularly, they will resize as you grow. Horntail hide is tough as hell and will turn a knife (maybe even a sword). They might be a bit stiff at first, but will loosen with wearing. Given the kind of scrapes you get into, I suggest that you keep them on all the time.
The boots aren't charmed. They just look damned cool and should last forever. There are only a few Horntails left in the world and their hide is so treasured that almost nobody would think to make boots from them. But, given what you did, I pulled a few strings to give you a pair to match your armor. "Campionul Dragonului," (what they call you down here, which translates to "Dragon Champion" in Romanian) is already legend. Walk into any wizarding pub in Romania wearing those boots and you won't have to buy your drinks! (Or your whores, but don't tell mum I told you that!)
Harry, I need to tell you this though. Something doesn't seem right with what happened that day. We can't find a reason why Blackbird was so temperamental, why conjunctivitus couldn't touch her, or how she got free. Those restraints have redundant strengthening charms on them and no one has ever seen one break, much less two. Someone is trying to do you in, so watch your back! I'm not sure how much Dumbledore knows, but I'd bet my Gringotts vault that he knows something.
Sorry about my prats of brothers and what they said about you in the Daily Prophet. Perce and Ron have already gotten knocked around some by me and the twins and I'm afraid to ask what Gin-Gin has planned for them. If you ever need anything, just ask.
Charlie
Harry gives a sausage to the owl, pens a quick reply to Charlie, and sends her on her way. He is happy that this late breakfast is to be his last in the ward. He is vexed, though not surprised, at being in last place in the tournament. He had been in a coma for three weeks, suffering from extreme magical exhaustion, followed by another week of bed rest to recover his strength. He missed the second task, one designed by Beauxbatons and having something to do with bypassing a series of wards. Fleur, of course, won handily, her excellence in charms and her natural agility seeing her through. She was followed by Krum, who got to the end mostly unscathed, though missing the time limit. Cedric was a distant third, disabled early by one of the wards.
Harry regrets that he did not have a chance to compete--with his magical sight and background in both ancient and modern magical runes, he would have made mincemeat of the wards. Though he has yet to bind the focusing rune, which will lend speed and efficacy to his spells, it would not have been as important for this task, which was more about finesse.
As summarized by Bagman--who visited Harry immediately upon his waking and who, Harry learned, vigorously argued for a delay in the second task until Harry could participate--as it stands now, Harry has only 32 points, far behind Krum, at 59 points, Cedric, at 63 points, and Fleur, at 68 points. Harry feels that something is a bit off about Bagman, but he can't quite place it. Fortunately, he has a respite until February, when the next task is scheduled.
Harry reflects that he has been seeing more of Ginny Weasley than he feels entirely comfortable with of late. She has been visiting a few times a day since he woke, each time staying several tedious minutes in stilted, shy conversation or silence. He prefers the silence and has, on a few occasions, feigned sleep to avoid having to speak with her. Harry hasn't seen Fleur at all, however, and is surprised by how bothered he is by the absence of his friend.
Hermione enters the room, her bushy hair in rare “poofy” form, and beams at Harry. "You're looking much better!" She drops her bag and takes the chair next to Harry's bed, moving Charlie's package to her lap.
"Thanks. I'm feeling better too and I can't wait to get back." He grins as he takes a large bite of toast. As he sips his pumpkin juice, Hermione opens the box Harry had just received from Charlie.
"Harry," she gasps, pulling out the shirt and leggings. Harry notices that they are made from black dragon hide, resembling fine leather, but imbricated by a shimmering layer of fine black dragon scale, each opalescent scale tinier than a Knut. Harry can't help but admire the armor's beauty.
"Pretty cool, eh? Charlie sent them this morning. I'm going to start wearing it everywhere, I think, with how 'exciting' my life has been lately."
Hermione can't take her eyes off the treasure she's holding. "Harry, do you have any idea how rare armor like this is? You can only make it from a very large, adult dragon, and only one proper set can be made from a dragon. I've read they are supposed to have magical properties...."
"Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"Is there anything you haven't read about?"
She snorts. "Probably not."
Harry pauses for a moment, thinking over how to say what's on his mind. "Can I ask some advice on what I'm sure is a dumb question?" Hermione nods as Harry turns serious. "What's up with Ginny? She's been in here a lot since I woke up..."
"She visited several times a day when you were in coma, Harry."
"Really? Okay, this is awkward. Let me guess--it's not just because I saved her brother's life?"
"Right in one."
Harry sighs. "So she still has the crush?"
"Yes," she says, quietly. "Though that's not the whole reason." She quirks an eyebrow at him. "You do you remember that there is a Yule Ball coming up, don't you, Harry?"
Harry groans. He could try asking Fleur, but with her being with another man, it seems inappropriate. In a flash of insight, he smiles impishly. "Hermione, would you fancy going to the Yule Ball with me?"
Hermione blushes. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've already promised someone else that I would go with him." Harry visibly deflates as she says this.
Harry's eyes narrow slightly. "Ron?"
"Hell no!" She covers her mouth in shock over what she said.
Harry sighs in relief, happy that he won't have to consider his response had she said, "yes." His relationship with Ron is very shaky and Hermione is one of his few close friends.
"Who, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Viktor."
"Krum?"
She nods, blushing again. "Congratulations. You're going to be the envy of all the witches there. I'm sure there's a story here--how did you two hook up?"
"Viktor is so sweet...." She sighs, then looks at her watch and curses under her breath, her demeanor changing instantly to serious. "But I'll have to tell you about that some other time--I have to leave now or I'll be late for potions."
"Hermione?" She pauses. "What am I going to do about Ginny? I do care about her feelings and I don't want to lead her on by asking her when I don't really feel that way about her. We just don't have anything in common, not that I can tell. Besides, wasn't she with Dean?"
"Leave it to me, Harry. I think she's holding a torch for you, but she will say yes to Dean if she knows you won't be asking her."
Dear Fleur,
Congratulations on winning the second stage--I'm proud of you!
As you might have heard, I've nearly recovered and am due to get out of the hospital today (finally!) I've missed you--the infirmary can get pretty lonely.
This weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend and I would be honored if you'd consider meeting me there for a cup of tea or a butterbeer. I feel as if we haven't had a chance to catch up in ages. I'd love to hear about how you have been, how classes are going, how Gabrielle is doing. It's hard to believe it's been over a month!
Please send your reply with Hedwig. She'll wait for you. I'm free the whole day, so my schedule is pretty flexible.
Yours,
Harry
"Harry, please gentle your wand movement, like so." The Headmaster makes a sweeping, overhand motion, then points the tip of his wand downward, twirls it counterclockwise, and ends with an angular diagonal flick. Motes of pink sparks encircle the wand tip and then fade into a diffuse glow that expands to fill the room. Harry notes that when the glowing cloud reaches the two disillusioned, puffy armchairs in the corner of the room, they appear bathed in a vibrant, pink hue. The Headmaster mutters an incantation and the glow fades. "Now your turn."
Harry attempts the spell again, but fumbles the flick at the end. Instead of a gradual expansion, the motes flare and the chairs flash brightly for an instant, as if on fire, and then fade.
"An admirable attempt, though not quite there."
"Sir, what use is this charm? I mean, I can already see things that are disillusioned or invisible..."
"There are a few obscure charms that can overcome visum-enhanced sight, Harry, though none that I know of that can hide from this charm. Moreover, allow me demonstrate another benefit you may find amusing...." He repeats the charm. Harry looks at the chairs, but sees nothing special, just a brighter glow than without the charm. “Look at your hands, Harry."
He does and is surprised to see brilliant, glowing runes on his hands and wrists, remnants of the runes he has joined. He looks at his mentor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the older man's runes, something that had been denied him thus far, but is disappointed to see only plain skin.
"You cannot view mine, Harry, because they are sealed--the charm works by amplifying your ability to see residual seepage of magic through the runes as foci. Mine have no such leakage, an effect of the last rune I shall teach you, years hence: the final focus, the kleinofloios. It is exceedingly difficult to join, requiring assiduous study and nearly super-human concentration. Though it is most useful--a side effect is that it strengthens and seals one' soul from invasion. With your scar, such as it is, an open invitation to Tom, I fear that it shall become necessary in the future.
"Of the living practitioners of our art, only the Chevalier and I have managed this step. Sadly, this also means that I can join no further runes--unfortunate, in my case, for I have discovered a delightful script that would have kept my feet warm...."