Harry Potter and Unexpected Beginnings

Chapter thirty-eight

The weeks flew past, and still Hermione found herself sitting in the library, reviewing nearly every book she got her hands on. She felt certain she could find the information Harry needed to locate the Green Flame Torch, as well as some sort of information on Tom Riddle's heritage, if she just looked hard enough and long enough. Ron, Harry and Ginny were currently battling it out with Ravenclaw, before the last game of the Quidditch season. Gryffindor was leading the season, and once they defeated Ravenclaw, they would only have the final game with Slytherin left and the House Cup would once again belong to them. This meant she was left alone a great deal of time to investigate, since Harry had increased their practice sessions to two hours every night. He was actually quite good as team captain and made Oliver Wood seem less obsessive about winning every game.

The group had come to a silent agreement over the past few weeks, that Hermione was to be the one researching information and locating anything that would help the D.A. but she didn't really mind. She loved learning, she loved reading and she would do anything to help her best friend succeed against Voldemort. There were times though, when she would rather be more like Ginny, athletic, outgoing and just 'one of the guys'. In some ways, Hermione felt jealous of the relationship Ginny had with Ron and Harry, in other ways she just accepted it. Hermione closed her eyes, thinking back on the first time she had met her best friends. At that time in her life, she was actually quite attracted to Harry and found herself daydreaming about him nearly as much as Ginny had done in her first year. But as time passed, she discovered the more she was with him, the more she felt like his sister, allowing her more time to argue herself into falling in love with Ron.

Funny how fate had its own agenda. Who would have thought that the one person she felt herself most irritated by, would now be her future husband? She was still amazed that Ron had the courage to ask her to marry him. She had thought he would ask her to be his girl, and after giving her the ring he had worked so hard for, she was convinced without a doubt that he loved her. But when he fell to one knee, there in the passageway of the Hogwart's Express and asked her to spend her life with him, she had lost all rational thought. Her heart reacted and she answered before she knew her mouth even knew the words to speak. Not that she regretted it of course, but there were times when she was certain they were too young to be considering such things as marriage. At least they had agreed to postpone telling anyone, outside of Harry of course, until later next year. She only hoped she was able to find the information she needed to help Harry before that, or it was going to be one hell of a final year.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed another book, tossing it to the stack along with the other dozen books she had been searching. Her eyes hurt, her head throbbed and she had the distinct feeling she was being watched. Hermione closed her eyes, her palms pressing against them as she rubbed the fatigue throbbing behind the closed lids. She stood to return to the shelves, when she saw a lone figure watching her. She suddenly felt very self-conscious and quite irritated. She could only imagine what he was doing, or how long he had been watching her.

"What exactly are you looking for Granger?" Malfoy asked his arms folded across his chest as he leaned into the side of a large bookcase.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," she answered, gathering the stack of book and returning them to the cart for resorting.

"Why aren't you out watching your little boyfriend defeat Ravenclaw?"

"Because I have work to do, now if you'll excuse me?"

"What are you searching for in all of these?" Malfoy picked up one of the books she had been looking through, flipping open the dark green cover with its black letter, which read 'Legends and Other Tales of Wizardry'. "Reading fantasies and fairy tales? Aren't you a little old for such nonsense?"

"And I suppose you know every legend of the wizarding world?"

"Only the real ones not rubbish such as these."

"Then I suppose I'm one up on you, because I enjoy reading all types of books, even those termed as rubbish."

"Suit yourself, but I think you're wasting your time."

"It's my time to waste then isn't it?" Hermione began down an isle of books, when Malfoy stepped up behind her, trapping her in a corner between shelf and wall, unable to escape.

"I'm not sure what's going on with you and your little friends, and frankly I could care less, but if you're looking for genealogy, you're in the wrong section."

"How would you know what I was looking for?"

" 'Pedigrees of Famous Wizards'," he read holding up a book she had placed on the stand to be returned to the shelves. "Not exactly your typical weekend reading, is it, even for you? If you're interested in finding out if you're from magical blood, you'll need to search the top racks of section nine. That's where the more complete books of family trees are kept."

"Thanks, but why would you want to help me?"

"This has been a rather interesting year for me," he said honestly, tossing the book back to the stack. "I've had to spend a great deal of time reevaluating my ideas and morals. I'm not as well adjusted as you might think, especially after this past summer."

"I am sorry about your mother," Hermione said with a soft blush. Malfoy didn't answer this, he only nodded.

"Just don't go getting all girly on me," he said, offering her the famous Malfoy smirk. "I'm not really all that anxious to help anyone from the famous Potter Party, but I wouldn't be object to learning that you're less Mud-blood than originally thought."

"If I didn't know better, Malfoy, I'd swear you just gave me a compliment."

"Don't take it to heart, Granger. I promise it won't happen again." Malfoy turned and left her standing in the same spot she was certain she had sprouted roots in. She watched him leave the side door to the library, heading up the stairs that were visible beyond the open wall. It seemed almost impossible that the young man, who was just standing there actually talking civil with her, was the same hateful Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. He seemed almost...if she dared use the expression...pleasant.

Hermione went to section nine and looked up. There on the top two shelves were over fifty books of famous wizard families throughout he ages. She retrieved her wand from her robes, and summonsed several of the old dusty books, taking them to the table and flipping through the pages. Holy Cricket, he was telling the truth! Perhaps in time, she thought to herself, she would finally be able to understand boys. One moment she was arguing with her best friend, the next she was planning on marrying him. Then she was placed in a very awkward position of conversing with a person she had spent the past six years feeling was her worst enemy and then actually finding herself un-repulsed by it. Bloody hell, she thought again, it's a good thing Ron wasn't here. He'd have called her mental a long time ago.

"So what was he doing in the library again?" Ron asked, when Hermione joined them for the celebration of Gryffindor's win.

"I don't know, but he did point me in the right direction," Hermione said, lifting the book she had checked out of the library. "The Riddle family is pretty dominant, or rather the Black family is."

"Black?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Yeah, Black. He's a cousin to Sirius. His line goes all the way back to Slytherin himself. He's related back to Phineas Nigellus who was his great grandfather three times removed," Hermione said, opening the book and reading off the information she had found. "From Phineas and his wife Artemis Dorcus Black, it goes to their daughter, Nipheria Gertrude Nigellus and her husband - actually a second cousin to Artemis - Horace Baxter Black."

"Horace Baxter Black?" Ron asked with a frown. "That name sounds familiar."

"That's because our great grandmother was his sister, Marianne Eris Black," Ginny commented. "She married Hyperion Andrew Weasley."

"You mean we're related to the Dark Lord?" Ron asked, his voice cracking in surprise.

"So it would seem," Hermione said with a frown. "Remember what Sirius said? All pure-bloods are related in one way or another? There aren't enough of them left, so there would have to be inbreeding along the lines. Maybe that's why you get such evil ideas." Ron narrowed his eyes on the young woman, but kept quiet as she continued her lecture on genealogy. "From Horace and Nipheria, it's their daughter Mathilda Hestia Black, who married Julius Draco Marvolo."

"Draco?" Ron asked again. "Like Malfoy?"

"It would reason, since Julius was a great uncle to Lucius Malfoy." Hermione glanced up from her book as she answered.

"You mean, not only am I related to Voldemort, now I'm related to Malfoy? This just keeps getting better and better," Ron grumbled, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest.

"The Marvolos had a daughter, their only child, Anna Felicia Marvolo, who was 16 when she met Tom Riddle and they married in a Muggle ceremony. According to this notation I found, Tom Riddle did not know Anna was a witch, but learned the truth when she became pregnant. He was confused, but eventually accepted the idea, until her parents learned that he was not a wizard, and threatened his life if he didn't leave their daughter."

"But Voldemort thought his father left his mother, because he learned she was a witch," Harry said with a frown.

"According to this book, which was written shortly after Anna and Tom learned she was pregnant, he didn't leave her willingly. He wanted to run away with Anna, but she was having serious complications with her pregnancy and they decided it was best for her to remain where she could get help from a Medi-witch. There was a notation that Tom Riddle had planned on returning to his wife and child after it was delivered, but when Anna died shortly after giving birth, it was her parents, Mathilda and Julius who placed the baby in a Muggle orphanage, and told him that the baby had died with his mother. He never knew his son survived. I did however, find two other books written after this one, which stated that Tom Riddle left his wife, as Voldemort said, because he learned of her magical heritage. I tend to believe this first book however, because the notation was written and signed by a very trustworthy wizard. You'll never guess who signed it."

"Who?" Ron asked, as Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, watching as Hermione nodded her head.

"Apparently, he was there as a witness to the birth, when Tom Marvolo Riddle was born, but learned of Mathilda and Julius's actions only when it was time to send out letters to invite the boy to Hogwart's, which his mother had already arranged for and paid for before his birth."

"So all these years of Voldemort hating Muggles, it was because he was told his father left his mother because she was a witch?" Ginny asked.

"His anger caused him to become the man he is today, but it was a misled and misplaced anger," Hermione surmised in her usual lecture-tone. "I guess he was determined to become the greatest wizard alive in order to make his father pay for leaving his mother and putting him in an orphanage."

"Bloody hell," Ron said. "If his grandparents hadn't put him there, he would never have become the Dark Lord."

"That may not be necessarily true, but it does seem to reason, at least psycologically anyway," Hermione answered.

"But if Dumbledore knew about this all along, why didn't he say something?" Ginny asked.

"That's a question we'll have to ask him," Hermione said.

"At any rate, this information may be exactly what we need to use against him," Harry said. "When he possessed me in the Ministry, I thought about all of you and how I felt about Sirius, and Dumbledore said it was compassion and love that he couldn't bear. That was the reason he let me go. If he knew his father didn't hate him, he may not be able to adjust to that information and it will give us enough time to use the Green Flame Torch against him."

"Providing we can find it," Hermione said, shutting the large, old book. "I still have not been able to locate any maps or charts or anything that can help us find where the witches traveled."

"Then we'll have to reexamine the information we already have," Ginny said with confidence. "Come on Hermione, nobody thinks as rationally or as logically as you do. I'm sure you'll be able to find the right course. You'll just have to keep looking and we'll all help."

"You still have the final game to practice for," Hermione said a little disappointed at the idea of spending more time alone in the library.

"But that doesn't mean we can't all look," Ron told her, sensing her emotions and picking up on her expression.

"We can make it part of the D.A.," Ginny suggested, looking at Harry.

"Sure, why not?" he answered. "The more of us looking, the quicker we can find it."

"Are we ever going to have a normal year, at this school?" Ron grumbled.

"What makes you think this isn't a normal year?" Harry asked with a smile. "So far, something has happened every year we've been here. That would make this just another year, in our books."

"What I wouldn't give for a few weeks without incident, chaos, evil spells, or threats of death." Harry chuckled at his friend's reaction, while he stood from his chair and smoothed his robes.

"I have lessons with Snape," he said, suddenly feeling a lot less eager to leave the celebration happening around them.

"Harry, why are you doing so many weird spells?" Ron asked, looking at his friend. "You've never read about this 'lapis gelu' thing, but you know how to do it. Don't you think that's a little odd?"

"I think it's very odd, but I have no way to explain it. Even Dumbledore was surprised by that one. I guess I'll find out soon enough though. Professor Dumbledore's going to sit in on my lesson tonight. Maybe he can tell me how I'm doing these things and not know about them." Harry leaned down and kissed Ginny briefly before leaving the three of them and headed down to the dungeons. He was passing the closet on the main floor when a strange sound, like a strangled muffle escaped from behind the closed door. He slowly retrieved his wand from his cloak, thinking that Wormtail had found a way into the castle after all and stepped to the door, jerking it open. Inside were two very surprised, nearly naked young people, staring blankly at Harry and his wand.

"Neville?" Harry said in a shocked tone.

"Harry...I'm sorry...I mean..." Neville stammered trying to pull his jumper back across his exposed chest, his pants missing its belt and the zipper undone exposing a little more of his anatomy than Harry would have cared to see. Standing behind him, trying to cover herself, was a very red faced blonde. Luna turned her back on the two, struggling to return her undergarments to where they should be.

"I am so sorry," Harry said at last, a little more amused than he should have been. "I just heard a noise and I thought...I'm sorry, never mind, just forget I was here." He shut the door quickly and hurried down the stairs, a much lighter mood accompanying him on his final staircase. He was glad Neville and Luna were getting on so well, he just didn't want to know how well and he certainly didn't care much to see it first hand.

Inside Snape's classroom, Harry found Professor Dumbledore wearing a pale blue robe, with planets magically circling around the material. On top of his head was a tall pointed hat, much like his robes, and beneath it was the friendly face of the man Harry most admired. His long gray hair and beard looked as if they had just been brushed, and as he smiled, Harry noticed the twinkle of contentment in his eyes. He couldn't remember ever seeing the old man look quite so relaxed or pleased.

"Good afternoon Harry," Dumbledore said, stepping to his side and placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Congratulations on your victory today."

"Thank you sir," Harry said with a smile in return, then glanced to the dark expression on Snape's pasty face. "I just hope we do as well against Slytherin, in the finals."

"Yes, let's hope so Potter," Snape said with a tone of bitterness in his voice.

"Well now, shall we get started?" Dumbledore said, stepping up to the front row of desks and taking a seat. "I told Professor Snape I was going to sit in on tonight's lesson. I am very eager to see how well you're progressing."

"Yes sir," Harry said, feeling suddenly much more relaxed, knowing the old wizard did not let on the real reason he was here.

"Potter, come here and prepare yourself," Snape told him, turning his back and taking the pensive from his desk, placing it on the top shelf of potions. "I suppose it is best if we just start at the beginning. Remember to try and block me from your mind." With that said, Snape stared in Harry's eyes, concentrating on the spell. "Protect yourself against me," Snape said in a mocking tone, as Harry narrowed his eyes, focusing his mind. He could see Snape's actions from that day, sitting in the bleachers watching the game, jeering as Ginny made a goal, snarling when Ron blocked a shot from Ravenclaw, and cursing when Harry returned from beneath the bleachers with the golden snitch. Then he saw him earlier, in his room. He was sitting at the desk behind a stack of homework parchments. He opened the drawer and pulled out the framed picture of the woman Harry had seen in his mind during an earlier lesson.

"Potter! Stay out of my..." Snape shouted, and without thinking Harry imagined the greasy haired git frozen as solid as a statue. He blinked his eyes, realizing Snape had done exactly that, he was frozen in place, the shocked expression on his face revealing his reaction to Harry seeing him that morning, his wand gripped hard in his hand. Harry turned to Dumbledore who rose from his seat and stepped toward his Potion's master.

"It is indeed the 'lapis gelu' spell," the old wizard said with a frown.

"But I didn't do anything, I swear it."

"What were you thinking just before this happened?" Harry thought for a moment.

"I thought about him turning to stone," Harry said. "Is that how the spell is performed?"

"Not usually, but then you aren't exactly a usual wizard."

"But how did I do it?"

"There is another branch of magic, Harry, a much more serious and very advanced branch. It borders on the line where magic and evil is divided. It can be crossed over very easily, but once crossed it is difficult to come back. It's known as 'Imago- figura'. It's the art of spell casting through thought, using one's mind as the weapon. I suspected you may posses the talent over the summer holidays when you confronted Professor Snape, but until now I could not be positive."

"How did I learn it? We've never had lessons on it, and I've never known of anyone who could do anything even similar."

"There are two people I've known capable of doing such magic, but it has been some time since I've seen it preformed so well."

"Who are the two people?" Harry asked, certain he knew of at least one person who could do it. Dumbledore looked at Harry and smiled.

"No Harry, one of them was not Voldemort," he said, as if reading his mind. "I know he tried to master such magic while here at Hogwart's, but to my knowledge he never succeeded."

"Then who are the two people?

"One was your father, he developed the talent shortly before discovering he could perform transfigurations, before he became an Animagus. The other one is someone a little closer to you. You consider him much as a brother."

"Who? You mean one of the Weasleys?" Harry asked, thinking about whom he considered a brother. Dumbledore smiled, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Who is the one person in the Weasley clan who seems in control, calm, comfortable with his surroundings? The one person able to keep his temper under control and always seems content." Harry thought for a moment, considering each Weasley in turn. It was obviously not Ginny, since he would never consider her a brother, and it couldn't be Ron because he rarely had control over his temper. Percy was never comfortable with his surroundings, and the twins were too high strung to be content. There was Mr. Weasley, but he was less scatter brained than Ron and more a father than a brother, and Mrs. Weasley was neither a brother, nor in control of her temper. The only ones left were Charlie and Bill. He thought hard on both, but he couldn't determine which one it may be, until he recalled the way Bill had reacted at the Valentine's Day party at his brothers' house.

"You mean Charlie?" Harry asked with a frown. "But how?"

"Charlie was a very quiet and very talented student," Dumbledore explained. "At school he was rather popular, especially with the girls, though maybe not as much as his elder brother. He was in transfigurations when he transformed a teakettle into a baby dragon. It surprised him so much as it began puffing fire and smoke that he made it freeze like a stone. Professor McGonagall was so amazed, she brought him straight to me. That's when he admitted that he had been able to perform such magic during certain classes, when he was having difficulty and it gave him a few extra minutes to complete his tests or assignments. His powers grew quickly, and it was only with serious dedication, that he was able to use his talent for good. He didn't use it on his teachers again - at least not that he would admit to - but he was able to use it to help him with his dragon training. Occasionally he needs it when one of his creatures gets out of hand, and normal magic is not effective."

"I never knew," Harry said softly, thinking about how he had been able to keep the dragons under control during the first task at the Triwizard Tournament.

"Only his father knows, and now you. He had strict supervision and very detailed lessons, in order to master it as well as he has. Your father was much the same. He discovered his talent during a rather heated argument with Professor Snape, over Lily's attentions to tutoring. Your father felt she was spending too much time with the one person James felt the least affection for. It's not surprising that you were able to perform it on him as well. It seems to run in the Potter blood."

"I didn't intentionally mean to do it Professor, I swear."

"I know you didn't Harry, but nevertheless, you know how and now your lessons on the subject must be specific. The art of 'Imago-figura' is very strong and powerful. You must be trained to use it properly."

"That doesn't mean more lessons with Snape, does it?" Harry asked with a sorrowful expression. Dumbledore chuckled softly.

"No Harry, I'm afraid not. Professor Snape does not possess the ability, therefore he cannot teach you to use it properly. It will have to be Mr. Weasley, if he feels he can spare the time to teach you. If not, I will take over your lessons myself."

"You Professor? But I thought you said there were only two that could do it, my dad and Charlie?"

"That's true Harry, there are only two I knew of - outside of myself. I have many secrets that are not found in books or legend."

"Does anyone know everything about you, sir?" Harry asked with a smile.

"Only one person came close, and she has been gone for many years. Now, we need to release Professor Snape, before he sticks that way permanently."

"Do we have to?" Harry asked with a smirk. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Harry, who smiled in return. "You can't blame a guy for asking."

"You'll have plenty of time, to understand fate and destiny, Harry. Until then, patience is a lesson well learned, and well rewarded. I'm sure you learned that with Miss Weasley?" Harry blushed openly, remembering exactly how much the old wizard knew of his students. "Now, Harry, you need to return to your position in front of Professor Snape. It would be best if he didn't know about this. He would very angry if he knew you froze him for the past fifteen minutes. Stand there," he said, issuing Harry back to where he once was, taking his own seat at the front of the class. "All you have to do Harry, is think about him as he normally is and reverse the thought you had. You may need to concentrate a little harder." Harry looked at Snape and curled his lip. It would be so nice to keep him this way, he thought. Imagine him as a statue in the Owlery.

"Harry," Dumbledore scolded, having sensed his thoughts. Harry blushed softly, then focused his mind on the beak-nosed man in front of him. He concentrated as hard as he could, his eyes focused on the dark eyes of his Professor, and he thought about him as a living, breathing person. His head was beginning to pound at the temples as he thought harder and harder.

"...thoughts!" Snape growled. "This lesson is over." Harry blinked, jumping in surprise. He hadn't expected him to return to his usual state of shouting, or to pick up his conversation where he left off. Snape turned back to Dumbledore who was rising from his seat.

"I can not teach him further, if he is unwilling to cooperate," Snape told the old wizard.

"Yes, I understand Severus," Dumbledore said. "I am expect Harry's training in the art of Occlumency is complete, anyway. I will take over from here on out."

"Good luck Headmaster," Snape said, turning back to Harry. "He is not a very studious pupil."

"Yes, well, good night then Severus. Come Harry, I'll walk with you to the second floor." Harry left the room in front of Dumbledore, glancing back to Snape who was running his hand through his hair, glancing at the clock on his desk. He smiled, knowing the old greasy git was wondering what happened to so much time.

"Harry you must promise me something," Dumbledore said as they stepped up to the main floor. "The art of Imago-figura is very powerful. You must promise me to listen to all instructions and follow them explicitly. This is not to be taken lightly. If Lord Voldemort were to discover you could do this, he would stop at nothing to persuade you into joining his side. He would have reason to keep you alive, and that can not happen." Harry's eyes widened.

"Excuse me?" Dumbledore shook his head, a gentle smile creeping across his thin old lips.

"That is not what I meant Harry. I simply mean, we cannot allow him to persuade you into joining him. You must learn these lessons with the most serious mind. You must promise me, Harry. You must do as you are told, there can be no diverting from the lessons."

"I promise Professor," Harry told him.

"This can not be like it was with Occlumency, Harry. You must not promise and not do it."

"I will do as I'm told sir, you have my word. I won't lie about this, or take short cuts."

"Good lad," Dumbledore said, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "I'll contact Mr. Weasley and see if he is available to teach you. If not, I will meet you in the Room of Requirements for your first lesson, this Friday at this same time?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, and watched as the gargoyle statue jumped aside and the old wizard stepped onto the moving staircase. Harry frowned as he disappeared from sight. He was starting to look old again, old and weathered, and more fragile than ever. Harry turned and headed back to his common room. He didn't know how he was going to do it, or how he was going to fit more lessons into his schedule, but he made a promise to the one man he admired most, and this time he would keep it. No matter how hard it would be.