A Wizard Song

Chapter 15 - Learning Curve

By Telanu

       

The last week of the holiday passed in a pleasant sort of blur for Harry. He filled his days with flying, reading his new book from Hermione, playing Exploding Snap with Worthington when he was in a generous mood, and visiting Hagrid another time or two. His nights were passed in the dungeon and he once again got used to the lovely routine of staggering up to Gryffindor Tower at three-thirty in the morning, feeling vaguely sore and very, very happy. He rather thought Severus' temperament was improving too, though it was hard to tell. He still didn't appear at many meals, spending his days working on Dumbledore's potion instead, but the circles under his eyes were fading -- Harry wasn't sure how that worked, since neither of them was sleeping very much -- and the lines around his mouth appeared less pronounced. Severus never looked simply happy, as a rule, but he looked less miserable. Harry supposed that counted for something.

He hadn't practised Quidditch since the day before Christmas Eve, and knew that Imogene would not be pleased when she returned to find he was out of shape. The whole team knew he was staying for the holidays, and Imogene had proclaimed in her booming voice that she knew Harry would set an example for all of them by taking full advantage of the opportunity to use the pitch when nobody from the other House teams would be there. Harry had readily promised he would -- practising Quidditch was never a hardship, but he'd fallen rather behind on his word. So on the day after Boxing Day, he opened up his trunk, eagerly looking forward to getting out in the beautiful weather after a few days of cloudy skies.

He noticed something was off about his Firebolt almost instantly. For a second, he panicked. Were the charms wearing off? No -- it felt more like something else had been added on. Someone had tampered with it, then. But who? Nobody was here! Unless that Slytherin girl had sneaked up and somehow broken into his things, he didn't see what could have happened.

Harry put a lid on his temper with difficulty. He'd see if he could figure out what was wrong on his own, and if not, take it to Madam Hooch straightaway. No, she wasn't here -- well, he'd go to McGonagall then. But first…he laid the broom in his lap, passing his hand over the stick and concentrating…

…his eyes widened. When he -- when he concentrated, he could feel --

He could feel the magic crackling all throughout his beloved broom. He knew it like he knew the back of his own hand: subconsciously. There, that was the braking charm, tingling reassuringly against his senses…all the other spells and protections laid on it by Hooch and Dumbledore, and then…

…what was that? There was another spell on the Firebolt, one that hadn't been there before, and when Harry "peered" closer he could feel its power enveloping the broom -- enveloping him. It had to be the different thing, the problem. This was a very powerful spell, whatever it was, and it was keyed to respond to Harry specifically: it thrummed through the broomstick, up his wand, into his palm, up his arm, all over his body and in his head.

Harry's breath left him with a whoosh. The power of the spell, coursing through him, left him feeling as if he'd been wrapped up in a warm blanket, or dropped into a bubble, or something -- it wasn't uncomfortable, he just felt...cushioned, somehow. Then the penny dropped. A protection spell. One of the strongest he'd ever felt.

Harry's mind flew immediately to Dumbledore, but this spell, somehow, didn't feel like the headmaster. There was something familiar about it, but he didn't know what. Yet. He had every intention of finding out. He felt the spell twining gently around him, cradling him, and he tried to "reach" out to it with his own power, the way he had that day in class with Ron. Again, he couldn't explain how he was doing it. He just did it. The spell hissed against the edges of his mind, and it seemed he could hear a very familiar deep voice murmuring incantations, could smell the acid smells of potions and cold, damp stones, could feel a cold draught of dungeon air against his face.

Severus! It was Severus' magic! Of course -- that made sense, Harry thought delightedly, letting the spell continue to undulate softly around him. He'd made him a potion for his birthday, and he'd given him a spell for Christmas. The man might not have access to a Gringotts vault, but he was definitely creative. Harry spent a few moments just sitting still, holding his broom and feeling the pleasant hum of magic that came from a much-loved person. Then he took a deep breath and shut it off: the spell was still active, he could still feel it "inside" the broom, but its presence was no longer distracting him.

Harry stood up, eager to give the broom a go and make sure that the spell, however well-meant, didn't interfere with its performance. He'd have to ask Hermione about protection spells when she got back. In the meantime, he'd do a little practical experimentation. He turned around, broom in hand, and saw another note lying on his pillow.

Harry grinned and picked it up. It read:

If you are reading this note, then you have somehow cobbled the brains together to find your Christmas gift. Congratulations. It should come in handy for one so prone to broom-assisted suicide.

Broom-assis -- that prat, Harry thought affectionately, as he crumpled up the little note and burnt it. He was enormously pleased to discover that the Firebolt, when he took it for a test run, performed as flawlessly as ever. He even tried a few very risky manoeuvres, though he did them close to the ground, and felt the spell practically leaping out of the broom and holding him on tightly. Harry had a hunch that even if he did fall off, he wouldn't be too badly hurt. What a present! Harry was glad it was working better than the Somniesperus had, and all things considered, it was really quite remarkable that Severus had given him such an advantage in Quidditch.

Harry touched down, and then hopped off his broom. As he did so, he felt a very distinct pinch on his bum. His eyes widened, and he swung round, but there was nobody there. He glared at the bespelled broom.

"No need to get cheeky, you," he told it. The Firebolt remained silent.

That night, as they sat at the chessboard, Harry thanked Severus for his present. "It's like -- it's like being wrapped up in something very comfortable," he said, trying to explain the feeling.

Severus was obviously trying not to look too pleased as he moved his black bishop. "It is not to enable you to be more careless," he reminded Harry sharply. "If I see you doing any particularly crazed stunts during the next Quidditch match, I shall take it off posthaste."

Yeah right, Harry thought, but didn't say it out loud. "I'll be as careful as I always am," he said, and gave Severus his sunniest smile. Severus sneered. "Why'd you feel like playing chess tonight?" Harry asked curiously. He didn't mind, but it had come as something of a surprise -- they hadn't played chess in months, and just recently had been much more interested in other activities, but tonight Severus had brought it up almost as soon as Harry came into the room.

"Look at what you're wearing," Severus said.

Confused, Harry glanced down at himself. He was wearing his new Weasley jumper, green as always with the big gold 'H' on the front. He plucked at it. "Yeah -- Mrs. Weasley makes me one every year," he said. "So?"

"So I refuse to debauch you while you are wearing it, that's what. I do have limits."

"It comes off," Harry said dryly.

"Take it off yourself, then, and make your move before I die of old age." Severus motioned impatiently at the board, where Harry proceeded to get his knight in a very untenable position.

"You'd think you would learn," Severus said, capturing the knight.

"I am learning," Harry said, and captured the bishop.

       

The spell on Harry's Firebolt came in very handy on the next Gryffindor Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, which took place on a cloudy day in mid-January. Ellen, the reserve Beater, lived up to her full, dangerous potential and slammed right into Harry as she overenthusiastically knocked a Bludger away. Harry, keeping a keen look-out for the Snitch and trying to keep out of the way of three Chasers plunging straight towards him, hadn't been in the least prepared for it and felt himself spinning upside down, heard Ellen's shout, felt his legs and fingers loosening in their grip around the broomstick. He was going to fall, and it was going to be really nasty --

And then the Firebolt caught him gently back, tugging him back on so quickly as to be hardly noticeable. Nobody could have told it was magic: they'd just think he'd recovered his balance (and his wits) exceptionally well. Harry was amazed, but not so amazed that it prevented him from noticing that the Snitch had appeared and speeding towards it at a breakneck pace, easily outdistancing the Hufflepuff Seeker.

He held it aloft in the air, to mild applause; Hufflepuff matches were rarely exciting these days, and they were never favoured to win. It was as if all the fight had gone out of them with Cedric Diggory's death over a year ago. It seemed impolite to rub a victory in their faces, and the teams quickly went to ground.

All last year, after playing Hufflepuff, Harry had been deeply conscious of guilty feelings and lost chances. Cedric should have been there to help his House put up a fair fight. So many things should have been different. But after this particular match Harry felt too good from feeling Snape's magic winding around him so protectively to feel so much guilt; he'd put in plenty of time mourning Cedric, and he'd done all he could to bring him back to his parents from that hellish graveyard. After over a year of telling himself that, maybe it was finally starting to feel true. He wondered if Cho was any closer to feeling something like that.

Harry held his broom rather closer to himself than usual as he accepted the congratulations of his friends and Housemates. It seemed to like the extra attention, and he could feel the magic humming through him. It was wonderful. He glanced up at the Slytherin stands in time to see Snape leaving. Not too many Slytherins had attended the match, except for the diehards who had been hoping, half-heartedly, that Gryffindor would lose. Harry supposed Snape could be counted among those without too much trouble, if anyone had wondered why he was there. He wondered if Snape would have felt the spell when it was activated. If so, he'd no doubt get an earful later about keeping his wits about him.

As for the spell itself, Harry was now insatiably curious. He'd tried asking Snape about it, but his lover had told him sternly to go to the library and find something out for himself for a change. So Harry determined he'd do just that. With Hermione's help, of course.

"Protection spells?" she asked, brow furrowed, when he told her about his plan after lunch the next day. "Whatever for? We've got that Charms test next week, you should be studying for that, you know."

Harry liked Hermione very much as a friend, but he was glad he wasn't the one dating her. "I have been," he lied. "C'mon, I thought…I thought it might come in handy for the next Defence exam," he finished on a moment of inspiration. Ron stared at him as if he'd lost his mind.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "You're right," she said, to Harry's great relief. "I mean, most protection spells are sort of related to what we've been doing -- advanced versions of blocking spells, a lot of the theory's the same, especially when you -- "

"Right," Harry said firmly, and led the way to the library. Hermione trotted along, thinking out loud about what books they'd need, while Ron trailed more slowly, hands stuck in his pockets.

Apparently delighted by Harry's enthusiasm, Hermione pulled down lots of books on protection spells. So many, in fact, that they barely had room to sit at the table. Harry wondered desperately how to narrow down the search without giving away that he was looking for something in particular. "You know," he said, hoping he sounded nonchalant, "I bet what would be really interesting would be protection spells you could use in Quidditch, that's what."

At the word 'Quidditch' Ron perked up, only to realise that it still pertained to their extracurricular studies. Then he drooped again. "Not sure why you're getting into this all of a sudden," he said to Harry.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, eyes going big. "It's obvious, isn't it? Harry, you should have said. Then I wouldn't have had to pull down all these books!"

"Er…what's obvious?" Harry asked nervously.

"We saw how Ellen Beers almost knocked you off your broom yesterday," Hermione said patiently. "It's only natural you'd want something to make you feel a little safer."

Harry bristled. "I feel perfectly safe!" Not least because of that protection spell, but still. He didn't want anyone thinking he was some child afraid of heights. "I'm just…interested, is all. I'm…I'm thinking of designing a new broom some day," he blurted, with another spurt of inspiration. "I just got interested in the spells and charms on them, after -- after reading the book you gave me for Christmas! And I thought -- "

"New broom?" Ron asked, finally looking interested. "Well, why didn't you say? Bet there's some stuff in here that'd be good…anti-gravity charms, you know, sort of thing…hey Harry, you'll let me help you design it, won't you?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry said distractedly as they began to sift through the books, eliminating the ones that would be of no use.

"I thought this was about our Defence exam," Hermione said sternly, though she pulled a heavy book on flying magic into her lap.

"Our what? Oh, of course it is," Harry said quickly. "Two birds with one stone and all that. Exactly."

Hermione didn't look convinced, but any sort of academic inquiry was bound to get her attention. Motivated now, the trio began leafing through the heavy, musty tomes.

An hour later, Harry was starting to get frustrated. Ron looked bored. Hermione was plainly just getting warmed up. Harry wished there was some way he could just say which particular spell he was interested in, without giving the game away. Hermione might have heard of it already. Probably had, knowing her.

Then again…maybe there was. "You know what I wish there was?" he asked, trying to look thoughtful and choosing his words carefully. "I wish there was a really strong protection spell you could just -- just tailor to the player. Individually. Something that could keep them from falling off, even. Wouldn't that be good?"

Hermione's eyes went very wide, and Harry tried to suppress his feeling of triumph. "I -- I think I've heard of a spell like that," she said. "I've seen it -- it was on a book about broom magic in the Quidditch section. I found it first year, you remember, back when we were afraid Snape was trying to kill you during the matches. But it was far too advanced for me to cast then, or I would have. I'd forgotten all about it, though…"

Harry felt his heart start beating faster, hoping she hadn't forgotten all about it. Not likely, knowing Hermione. "Maybe it wouldn't be too advanced now," he said. "D'you remember the book?"

"I think so," she said, frowning. "It was in the Sports and Games section, and I remember it being very big -- although I was shorter then, of course -- red cover, yellow writing…"

"I know that one!" Harry said, and leapt out of his chair before anyone could say anything. Minutes later he returned, lugging the book in question. "Was this it?" He'd certainly been through that part of the library enough to recognise the description, but he'd never actually read this one before.

"I think so," Hermione said. "A really hard spell like that, though, it's probably cross-referenced in at least some of these, if I remember it right."

Ron eyed the mountain of books surrounding them. "Er, good job we found that one, then."

Harry opened the book, scanning the table of contents impatiently until he came to the chapter on spells and charms. He flipped quickly to it, skimming the pages until -- there. That was it. The description of the spell fitted in perfectly with what Snape's spell had felt like.

As he read through it, tuning out Hermione's excited inquiries, Harry felt his eyes getting big. This was a really hard spell, indeed. No wonder most brooms didn't have it on them. It took ages to cast, and some incantations in a language he'd never heard of before, and even a nasty potion or two, and -- he almost gasped -- bloodletting. From the caster.

Hermione, getting impatient, took the heavy book from his frozen hands with a grunt. "Oh, my, this is the one," she said, sounding pleased, as Ron craned over to get a look for himself. "Goodness, now that's a proper spell!"

"It looks awful," Ron said, shuddering. "I'd stay clear of this one if I was you, Harry."

Hermione nodded, looking reluctant. "We're probably not up to it yet -- some of this magic is almost Dark, you know, and you're supposed to cast it on objects, not people…but the bit about shedding some of the spellcaster's blood, that sounds right, the most powerful protection always comes from sacrifice…" her voice trailed off, and her eyes went, as if automatically, to look at the scar on Harry's forehead.

Suddenly Harry's chest hurt, and his eyes started to sting dangerously. Biting his lip, he took the book back and looked over the spell again. Severus could cast this monster? Harry was intimidated just looking at it. He could never do anything like that -- couldn't do anything of the sort to protect Severus in turn, or Ron and Hermione, or -- or anybody.

Hermione could probably do it if you gave her enough time, no matter what she said, he thought ruefully. She'd been working so hard for so long, and she read everything in her spare time. She'd successfully brewed up a batch of Polyjuice Potion in her second year, for God's sake. Why hadn't he ever done anything like that? Voldemort was out there somewhere, killing people and burning houses, and Harry was wasting his time on Quidditch! He learned all right when he applied himself, but he never applied himself, not really. And there was Severus, stuck inside this castle because there was no one to take care of him if he left; there was Sirius, somewhere on the run doing God-knows-what and sorely in need of such protection…and Harry…

"I don't know anything!" he burst out in sudden frustration, shocking Ron and Hermione into staring at him and causing Madam Pince, the librarian, to glare his way. "All these spells -- all this magic, all this power, just sitting here in these books, and I've never even looked at them!"

Ron's jaw dropped. Even Hermione looked amazed, if approving. "Well, Harry, it's never too late to learn," she reminded him. "If you'd only just work a little harder, I'm sure you could…"

"I will," Harry said, so softly they had to strain to hear him. "You just watch me. There's so much I must learn. I will!"

Madam Pince hissed at them, and they took the hint and fled the library, Harry's head swimming with the knowledge of his own inadequacy. "Harry, what's got into you?" Ron asked.

"Oh -- nothing," Harry managed, unable to explain what was happening even to himself. "I just…"

Hermione stopped, almost causing the two boys to run into her. "Is that Neville talking to Malfoy over there?" she asked disbelievingly.

It certainly appeared that way. Over in a shadowed corner, two boys stood near a statue of Mumbleberry the Odiferous and conversed in what appeared to be a very secretive sort of way. One of them slim and fair and threatening, the other pudgy and trembling -- it had to be Neville and Malfoy. "Come on," Harry said grimly, and Ron and Hermione fell in as they marched towards the unlikely duo.

At their approach, Draco straightened up and stepped away from Neville, out of the shadows. Neville turned to see them, and his face went chalk-white. "O-o-oh," he stuttered.

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" Ron demanded. "Where's your big, ugly cronies? Didn't know you could walk about without them."

"That must be the famous Weasley wit I've heard so much about," Draco said. "Pity you're so damned poor. Otherwise you could afford someone to write your jokes."

Ron stiffened, and Hermione laid a hand on his arm. Seeing it, Draco laughed. Harry could almost hear the joke about Mudbloods coming on, and said in a warning voice, "Push off, Malfoy. Now."

He expected Draco to make another snide remark, or even to threaten him. He might even have welcomed it. But Draco merely sneered, turned and made a mocking bow to Neville and said, "Until later, Largebottom. Remember what we've talked about." Then he stalked off.

"Prat," Ron spat. "Too scared to deal with all of us without his goons…You okay, Neville? What'd he say to you?"

To Harry's surprise, Neville drew himself up. "N-nothing," he said, voice squeaking a little. "H-he was just talking to me."

Hermione stepped up. "It's all right, Neville," she said. "You can tell us -- we won't let him get away with it, whatever it is -- "

"He's not doing anything!" Neville said shrilly, and stepped away from the statue, towards the nearest corridor. "We were just talking! Can't a fellow mind his own business around here? I -- I don't need you protecting me!" And then he turned and hurried away down the corridor, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione gaping after him.

"Well!" Hermione said after a moment.

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked in disgust. "You'd think we weren't trying to help! And Neville needs all the help he can get, that's obvious…" he glanced at Harry. "Looks like you aren't the only one with something up your bum today."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said reprovingly, but she didn't disagree with him.

Harry was still staring in the direction Malfoy had taken. What was the bastard up to now? His blood boiled at the thought that Draco might intend harm to one of his friends. Oh no -- not again, he wouldn't. Just let him get one toe out of line in front of Harry…

He bet there were some really good spells in those library books for dealing with this sort of thing. Spells that would put Malfoy in his place, and put him there good.

"Harry?" Ron prodded him.

Harry started. "What?"

"Where were you? Getting all spaced out in the library, and now just staring off -- " Ron grinned. "Thinking about going after Malfoy?"

"Yeah," Harry replied without thinking.

"Harry," Hermione said warningly, "that isn't a good idea."

"Going after Malfoy is always a good idea," Ron said. "Now Harry's with George, we have access to all their new developmental stuff -- maybe we can get them to make us something that'll have Malfoy puking all day, or turning blue -- "

Or dead. Harry had enough sense not to voice the thought aloud.

He couldn't quite get rid of it, though.

       

Harry was actually rather glad that he wasn't going down to see Severus that night. He was still angry, and distracted, and he couldn't quite explain why. It couldn't just be the encounter with Malfoy that had him so worked up, could it? Malfoy had done and said things that were much more obnoxious in the past, and Harry had usually been able to forget about them fairly quickly.

But this time, for some reason, everything was swirling around in his mind, making him even angrier, more tense, unable to sleep. He lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe sex would have helped, and Severus might even have understood the way Harry was feeling -- if anybody knew what it was like to hold onto a grudge, it was Snape, and there was no love lost for Draco Malfoy between the two of them. But Harry would have been at a loss to explain the depth of his restlessness and anger. It seemed to go beyond Malfoy, beyond the nasty words in the corridor, and that he couldn't understand at all. If he couldn't understand it, how could he expect anybody else to?

If only he knew what to do about it. If only he knew lots more things, period.

Harry tossed over in his bed, thumping the pillow crossly. He couldn't sleep. He knew from past experience that he wouldn't likely get to sleep. He could hear the sound of Ron's even breaths across the way, and Dean's loud snoring competing, tonight, with Neville's.

Neville. Now that had been weird. It was another puzzle Harry didn't feel like dealing with right now -- just another distraction that kept him from sleeping. Maybe he could do a quick Lumos spell and read a bit, enough to help him doze off…something really boring, like History of Magic, or Potions…or he could get his cloak, sneak down to the kitchens for a hot drink and a bite to eat…

But then, the thought of reading and the thought of his invisibility cloak, combined with his own frustrations, produced a most unexpected thought. If he was going to sneak off somewhere -- why not the library? Why not, indeed? Hadn't he been thinking just that afternoon how ignorant he was, how useless he'd be unless he improved himself? Hadn't he thought how easy it would be to trounce Malfoy, one day, if he just knew more about magic?

Harry felt his body moving almost without his conscious volition: listening quickly for the sounds of his wakeful friends, and then stealthily pulling the cloak from underneath his mattress. Half of him was astonished that he was going to use the cloak and break the rules to go study, of all things. The other half of him, in the back of his mind, seemed to be whispering in a soft, encouraging voice for him to go on, go on...

There was so much he must learn. He didn't have much time. He would have to study very hard, very fast. It was the only way.

Wrapped in his cloak, feet shod in bedroom slippers, Harry slipped down to the library as silently as a ghost -- or more silently, if you counted the cackling Peeves, whom he narrowly missed going down a corridor.

Once safely inside the bookstacks, Harry took a deep breath and looked around, remembering his first year, when he'd sneaked in here to find information on Nicolas Flamel. He'd hoped that the impression of the library as a scary place would have faded somewhat since then, but it hadn't -- devoid of people, shadows encroaching on all sides from the enormous shelves, and silences looming as large as trolls, the library was decidedly creepy at night.

Harry swallowed hard, brought out his wand and whispered, "Lumos." The faint glow of light helped a little, though he'd have to be careful not to let Filch catch him. Then he looked around again, wondering where he should start, now he was here. For a moment the enormity of his task boggled him: he couldn't learn all that was in the library, not if he lived to be older than Dumbledore, who seemed to know everything.

Maybe he should look through some of those books on protection spells Hermione had found. He could try casting one of those on Severus, and maybe Sirius too, the next time he saw him. That didn't seem like a bad idea.

…Except suddenly, it did.

It felt like a black cloud descended on his mind, cold and full of purpose. Protection spells? No, he didn't need those. He wasn't going to use a protection spell on Malfoy, was he? He wasn't likely to want to shield Voldemort from harm either. No. What he needed was attack magic. Things that could hurt people. Things that would make people think twice about hurting him and his again. Start out small, and work his way up, that was the key. Soon he'd know enough to be a really powerful wizard, as powerful as everybody seemed to think he was, powerful enough to never let anybody down, ever.

And there was only one place to learn something as important as that.

Soft voices seemed to be murmuring approval into his ears. Harry's feet turned him, slowly but surely, towards the Restricted Section.

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