Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light

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Harry Potter and the Legacy of the Light A Harry Potter/The Dark Is Rising Sequence Fusion By: Gramarye

Chapter Eleven - Same Song, Fifth Verse

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Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence.

    -- Robert Frost

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The moment Will entered the room, Harry finally understood the true gravity of the situation.

Until that point, he hadn't really accepted it. When he had arrived at King's Cross Station that morning, he'd fully expected to slip back into the predictable routine of the school year--once Dumbledore had been informed about Voldemort, that is. But now, not twelve hours later, he was in a strange little room he'd never seen before, standing in the presence of an immortal who had just charged him and his closest friends with a horrible, wonderful mission.

At the moment, he wanted nothing more than a long hot bath and the time to come to terms with the events of the day. Unfortunately, neither was possible. All he could do was to take things as they came, and hope for the best.

Will took hold of one of the high-backed chairs that stood against the wall and pulled it over to the long table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurriedly took their seats on the other side, facing him.

"Since you are going to be working with me, I feel that it is only fair that I tell you a little bit about myself," Will said. "I hardly need remind you I am trusting your discretion on this matter. You would not like to know the kind of repercussions that could result from the slightest carelessness. Do I make myself clear?"

The increased formality in his speech pattern--a subtle change which created a heightened sense of and urgency--made his words all the more nerve-wracking. They nodded slowly, afraid to do anything else.

Will seemed to relax a little, leaning back in his chair. "Then I might as well begin at the beginning, go on until I come to the end, then stop, as the good Mr. Carroll recommends."

He closed his eyes. "As you know, my name is Will Stanton. I was born in 1960, in a small village in Buckinghamshire, in the Thames Valley. Thinking back, it seems to me that my early years were almost a combination of your collective experiences."

He nodded to each of them in turn. "Like you, Mr. Weasley, I was the youngest son in my family. The seventh son of a seventh son, in fact. Like Miss Granger, my background is about as non-magical as one could find. And like Mr. Potter here, I discovered on my eleventh birthday that I was part of something greater and more terrifying that I could have ever dreamed. The Old Ones." They could hear the capital letters in his voice.

"The day I turned eleven, I assumed my destiny as an Old One and my duty as the Sign-Seeker, charged with finding six Signs that would be a formidable weapon in the Light's struggle to drive back the Dark. For at the time, the Dark was Rising over Britain, using the power it possessed in the darkest days of the year to launch a concentrated attack upon the Light and the world of men.

"The Light won that encounter, through the power of the Signs and the Circle of Old Ones. But the Dark was not entirely defeated, and over the course of the next few months, I found myself facing the Dark and its servants on several occasions. For that kind of evil changes its shape quite easily, and can take on many forms...human and non-human.

"The last battle was a hard one." His face hardened as the memory returned to him, and he opened his eyes. Harry shivered at Will's cold, distant gaze, and sense of immense age that surrounded him. "There was much loss, and much sorrow. Finally, though, the Dark was driven out of the world, and those of the Light returned to their final resting place outside Time. I alone was left, the Sign-Seeker-turned- Watchman, to ensure that the Dark could never find a way to return and threaten the world. But somehow, they did."

The look of fierce concentration left his face, giving way to the neutral, pleasant expression they knew well. At the same time, the lilting, epic quality left his voice, leaving it as casual as before.

"Of course, all of this happened in less than two years," he said. "By the time I was thirteen, I was a regular schoolboy again, and was lucky enough to remain so almost all the way through my school days. Yet circumstances have a way of changing...."

He paused for a moment, lost in some private memory, then continued. "Circumstances led me to pursue a teaching career. Circumstances led you three to Hogwarts. And circumstances also brought your world and mine together, and that is where we stand today. Now...do you have any questions?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Ron groaned out loud--then gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth when he realised what he had done.

"Miss Granger?"

She lowered her hand. "I couldn't help noticing that when Professor Dumbledore was here, you corrected him on one of his statements. What did you mean when you said 'three...for now'?"

"Exactly what I said." Will waved a hand, indicating the room as a whole. "You may notice that there are seven chairs in this room. That is not a coincidence. You three are the only ones here for now, but there will be three more by the end, if all goes well."

"Why six?" Hermione pressed.

Will was ready with an answer. "In the time of the last great Rising of the Dark, there were Six who did battle on the side of the Light. It was through their efforts that the Dark was defeated, in accordance with an old prophecy:

    'When the Dark comes rising, six shall turn it back

    Three from the circle, three from the track.'

That is only a part of the prophecy, but intuition tells me that it will define this battle, much as it did over two decades ago."

"Are we the 'three from the circle', then?" said Ron, asking a question for the first time that night.

"Perhaps. There are many interpretations. The circle could be almost anything, if you were to think about it long enough." Will stood up. "But it's high time you three were in bed--I've kept you up far too late as it is. You'll be tired in the morning."

Harry blinked, startled at the abrupt change of topic. He scrambled to his feet, and out of the corner of his eye saw Ron and Hermione do the same. "When do we start the actual training?" he asked.

"Once you learn what your schedules are like, let me know. I am on academic leave this term, and can afford to be flexible. If you come back here tomorrow night, we can discuss this further and agree upon a time that works for you."

"It might be hard to get back here without being seen," Hermione said musingly, frowning.

Will smiled cryptically. "I think you'll find that it will be easier than you imagine. But do be careful, and above all, be discrete."

"Of course," Hermione said. Ron and Harry nodded agreement.

"Good." Will nodded, and turned from them to face the mirror. He lifted his arm, the five fingers of his hand spread wide and pointing at the glass. He said a single word in a language none of them understood. The carved pattern on the mirror glowed a bright white in response, and the thin mist covered the glass, fading to reveal the interior of his office exactly as he had left it.

"Sleep well," he said, and stepped through the mirror.

As the last bit of his robes vanished from their sight in a swirl of deepest blue, the light faded. The mirror resumed its ordinary reflective quality.

"Wow," Hermione said softly, letting out a deep breath.

Ron flopped back into his chair. He looked very relieved that Will was no longer in the room. "Sleep? Who can sleep?" he complained. "He tells us all that and then expects us to sleep tonight?"

"Well, I for one am ready to drop," said Hermione. "I've had quite enough of being flung into walls for one day, thank you very much."

"I'd like to go to bed, too, but how do we get back into to the dorm? We don't even know the password," Harry said.

Ron smiled knowingly. "*I* know what it is--I overheard someone mention it at dinner. Tonight's password is--"

"--'flibbertigibbet'," Hermione finished for him.

Ron jumped. "What? How do you know?" he said, his eyes wide.

"Because McGonagall sends all the prefects a letter before school starts with their House's first password of the year," Hermione replied.

"I know *that*," Ron said irritably. "Percy got one every--" He stopped short, and gaped.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed. "You mean you're a--"

Hermione had a lazy smile on her face. "You expected anything less?" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a shining silver badge. Deftly, she pinned it to the outside of her robes.

"Why the bloody hell didn't you TELL us?" Ron yelled.

Hermione gave him a look. "I was *going* to surprise you when I met you at the train station, but with one thing and another...well...I never had a chance to mention it before now." She was beaming with embarrassed pride.

"Congratulations," Harry said, giving her a hug.

Ron, however, couldn't get over it. "I must've sent you about fifty letters this summer asking if you'd found out anything!" he spluttered. "And every single time you said you didn't know, you lying--"

Hermione snorted derisively and pushed Harry away. "Ron, you sent me a grand total of eight letters the entire summer, and out of those eight only two of them even *contained* the word 'prefect'." She winked at Harry. "Would you like to see them, Harry? Most of them are about you, anyway." She affected a shrill, squeaky voice. 'Oh, Hermione, have you heard from Harry? Hi, Hermione, did Harry send you that letter yet? Say, Hermione, could you write Harry a letter for me? I'd do it myself, but I've forgotten how to hold a pen--'"

Ron bellowed, and made as if to throttle her. Hermione danced away, making grotesque faces at him as she continued to tease him in the same squeaky voice.

Harry sighed, but he was smiling. He had a feeling that they wouldn't be going to bed any time soon. It didn't matter, though--all he really needed was a quick nap, since he'd spent so much of the summer resting that staying up late this one time wouldn't hurt.

        *        *        *

But Will was quite right. He *was* tired in the morning. And Ron and Hermione weren't much more alert.

It took a great effort to drag their sore bodies down the flights of stairs to the Great Hall. As they shovelled food into their mouths with the mechanical pace of people eating in their sleep, McGonagall came around their table, passing out their schedules. Along with the rest of the fifth-year Gryffindors, they moaned aloud when they saw what awaited them after breakfast.

"Smashing. The bloody first class of the bloody first day and it *would* have to be Potions with sodding Slytherin." Ron stuffed a forkful of egg into his mouth and chewed moodily.

Harry winced, waiting for the yelling to start, but Hermione was too busy falling asleep in her oatmeal to take notice of Ron's language.

"Slytherin. It's always with Slytherin," Neville said gloomily. He stood up to put his plate away, but his foot caught under the table and he tripped, his elbow jolting Hermione's arm.

Hermione's head snapped up, jerked awake just inches before her head would have landed in the cold oatmeal. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, and then resumed toying with the sadly withered remains of her grilled tomato.

"You'd think they'd know better by now," Harry remarked, taking a swig of his pumpkin juice.

"'They'?" Hermione repeated mockingly. "Who's this 'they', Harry? Is there some vast conspiracy that deliberately assigns us Potions with Slytherin? Oh, do tell, do tell." Sarcasm dripped from her voice like water from a soppy rag.

"Well, it looks like *someone* woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Ron teased in a nasty singsong.

"Oh, ha ha," she snapped. "That is *so* funny, Ron. Positively hysterical." She stabbed the sad-looking tomato with her fork and menacingly held it up in front of Ron's nose. Ron reached for his fork, but seemed to think better of it and grabbed the crumb-covered butter knife instead, raising it in self-defence.

The last thing Harry wanted was to watch his friends kill each other with cutlery. "Come on," he said, "let's get below stairs before Snape decides to start off the school year by knocking fifty points for our being late--ten minutes before class actually *starts*."

They made their way down to the dungeons, hurrying to get to class before a certain blond Slytherin did. However, their string of rotten luck seemed determined to continue, and they reached the door to Snape's classroom just as Draco Malfoy arrived, with Pansy Parkinson draped over his arm and the ubiquitous Crabbe and Goyle following in his footsteps.

Malfoy lost no time. "Look who decided to show up today...Potty and Weasel and the Mudblood. Good to see you're sticking close to them, Granger--wouldn't want see you end up like that whining Creevey brat."

Pansy sniggered, a simpering smile on her face. Ron went white, then scarlet. But before he could do anything, Hermione had swept forward, her wand out and pointed directly at Malfoy's forehead, right between his eyes.

Her voice shook with anger, though the hand that held the wand was perfectly steady. "I don't care what you say about me, but don't you DARE say another word about Colin Creevey or his family. You can call me whatever you like, but I don't even want to hear you mention his *name* in my presence again. Maybe taking ten points from Slytherin will teach you some respect for the dead."

Malfoy's sharp gaze flicked down to the badge pinned to her robes. His pointed face twisted in a sneer. "Pulling rank already, Granger? If that's the best you can do, you're even more pathetic than I thought."

A thin smile spread across Hermione's face. It was not a nice smile. "Not half as pathetic as you, Malfoy. Not even close."

Harry's blood prickled at the ice in her voice. He noticed that Ron had moved forward to stand beside Hermione, and he stepped forward as well, flanking her.

Very slowly, Hermione lowered her wand. "It's time for class," she said, addressing Harry and Ron but not taking her eyes from Malfoy. "Let's go in."

Without another word, they entered the classroom. Harry and Ron grabbed a work table in the middle of the room, while Hermione sat down next to Neville in their customary table closer to the front.

Ron was fuming as he unpacked his books. "That foul little--"

Harry removed his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose. His eyes burned. "Ron. Not now."

Ron huffed, but was silent.

Just as Harry sat down, the door burst open and Snape strode in, looking characteristically caustic. Harry idly wondered if the Potions Master spent hours practising his sneers in front of a mirror to find just the right one for their class--the one he had on at the moment was certainly a beauty.

Snape began to lecture them, much as he had done in the first class of their first year with him.

"As even the most oblivious among you may have realised by now, you've a series of exams at the end of this year. The O.W.L.s have a charming way of asking you the questions you don't know on topics you've never studied, so it is pointless to 'teach to the test' as some of your other professors may do."

His tone made it quite clear that these 'other professors' included a certain Gryffindor Head of House. The Slytherins snickered as the Gryffindors stared straight ahead, trying not to rise to the bait.

Snape ignored all of them. "Instead, you will learn the potions that *I* see fit to teach you. If you are not a complete and total idiot, you will use your acquired knowledge to help you pass this impending exam. Given your overall performance in past years, I have more than half a mind--"

"I certainly wouldn't have guessed it," Ron whispered to Harry, who bit his lip and kept his face forward.

Fortunately, Snape was so wrapped up in his diatribe that he didn't seem to have heard them. "--to give it up as a lost cause. But for the sake of those who might benefit from *proper instruction*," he said, bestowing an almost paternal nod of approval on Draco, who smiled fatuously back, "I will endeavour to pound some knowledge into your soggy little minds. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Longbottom?"

Harry, like the rest of the class, quickly glanced over at Neville and Hermione's table. The Gryffindors waited tensely, knowing what was certain to come next. They hoped with desperate optimism that Neville wouldn't start off the school year by breaking down completely in front of their most hated professor. The Slytherins were waiting to see him do just that.

Neville, for his part, had turned a strange shade of greyish-white. The tips of his ears were bright red. His round face was under tight control, but to Harry it seemed like a struggle was going on deep inside--there was fighting in every line of his face.

Suddenly, something seemed to snap. The fighting stopped, and Neville looked up and said, quite easily, "Perfectly clear, Professor Snape."

Snape's unpleasant smile faded slightly, but he rapidly recovered. His intense eyes smouldered, seeing an unexpected challenge coming from his normally passive target.

"Oh?" A true master of his craft, he made the one word sound so patronising that Harry had to grit his teeth. "Indeed, Mr. Longbottom? Am I to understand that you won't be making a fortune for the cauldron industry this year? I'm certain that will come as quite a shock to them, and to the rest of us--won't it?"

He looked to his captive audience, but only a few half-hearted laughs came from the Slytherins. The Gryffindors sat in stony-faced silence. Just because Neville seemed to have suddenly developed a death wish didn't mean that they wanted to watch it come to fruition.

But to their astonishment, Neville acted as though Snape had just made some bland comment about the day's weather. He smiled faintly, and returned the Potions Master's glare with a level stare. His reply was immediate and decisive, his face eerily calm:

"I will do my best not to disappoint you, Professor Snape."

*That* wiped the smile off Snape's face.

The room was deathly quiet. No one dared to breathe, not even Malfoy. He seemed as transfixed as the others by this unexpected contest of wills, where neither side was about to back down.

Parvati Pavil let out a high, hysterical giggle and slipped out of her chair, falling to the floor in a dead faint. No one moved to help her.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, Snape finally broke the silence.

"Well, see that you don't," he muttered darkly, and immediately launched into the day's lesson.

As a body, the students snapped out of their collective trance and picked up their quills. Lavender Brown leaned over and lightly slapped Parvati's face until she woke up, then helped her back into her seat.

Harry took notes with the rest of the class and silently began to concoct the bubbling Purgative Draught that had been assigned. Not surprisingly, his mind wasn't on the lesson. He doubted if anyone else was truly concentrating, either.

It was very rare that someone managed to get the better of Professor Snape, and that little victory was always brief, met with instant reprisal. But Neville...timid, forgetful little Neville whose fear of Snape had achieved a near-legendary status in the school, had just done the near impossible and gained the upper hand.

It couldn't have happened. It *shouldn't* have happened.

But it had, somehow.

For the twentieth time in as many minutes, he peeked over at Hermione and Neville's table. They had been working busily ever since Snape had assigned the day's classwork, but now they were both sitting still, hands in their laps. Snape was standing in front of their cauldron with a very odd expression on his face. Held aloft in one hand was a small phial filled with a thick yellow liquid, and he was turning it slowly, scrutinizing it from all angles. It looked like he was desperately trying to find something, anything wrong with it. When he couldn't, he practically threw the little bottle into Hermione's hands and stormed away to check on Pansy Parkinson, whose potion was dangerously close to boiling over.

Harry didn't have time to ponder this development. His own potion was threatening to coagulate before he and Ron had a chance to add the other half of the ingredients. They spent the rest of the class sweating over it, barely managing to finish in time.

Near the end of class, Snape came around to check their work. He made fewer snide remarks than usual, but Harry still had to sit through one or two choice taunts about his mental abilities, celebrity status, and overall academic prowess...or relative lack thereof.

Their homework was written on the blackboard. It seemed that Snape had taken out his anger on them in the form of an essay, with a three-foot minimum length, on the various medicinal and non-medicinal properties of Purgative Potions.

"And I do mean three feet long," he said threateningly. "Not two and a half feet, not two foot eleven inches, and I won't even *read* anything that goes on for more than five feet." He gave Hermione a very pointed glare.

Harry didn't care. He was in such a fantastic mood that he could have written ten essays in record time.

The moment Snape dismissed them, Ron and Harry bolted from their chairs and darted over to Neville. They each grabbed one of his arms and lifted him bodily out of his chair. He didn't even have time to yell out before they had hauled him out of the dungeon and down the hall with lightning speed.

Once they were far enough down the corridor, well out of earshot of Snape and the exiting Slytherins, Ron let out a whoop of delight.

"Bloody brilliant!" he shouted, smothering Neville in a full body hug that nearly sent them both tumbling to the floor.

"Did you see Snape's face?" Harry said gleefully as he threw an arm around Neville's shoulders.

Hermione joined them just in time to catch Harry's words. "Of course he did, you silly ass," she retorted. "He was right there."

"Oh, shut it, Hermione," Ron said cheerfully.

Shoes clattered on the damp stone floor as Seamus and Dean ran up to them. They were grinning from ear to ear.

"I don't know what the hell got into you, man, but I for one hope it stays there," Dean said.

"Yeah," Seamus agreed. "Keep it up. We could use a lot more classes like *that* one."

Neville's cheeks were still rosy and flushed, but he shook his head grimly. "It was a stupid thing to do. He's going to be even harder on me from now on."

"Who CARES?" Ron shouted, clapping him on the back. "Just let the greasy old bat do his worst--you'll be ready for it." His eyes lit up as an idea came to him. "Say, how 'bout we go to the kitchens and get the house-elves to whip up a feast?"

Hermione's jaw dropped. She looked horrified, though Harry couldn't tell whether it was due to potential house-elf exploitation or the suggestion to skip their next lesson.

His question was immediately answered. "Ron, we have class!"

Ron scowled. "Class? CLASS?! How can you think about classes at a time like this! We should get the day off! We should be celebrating!" His eyes shone even brighter as another idea popped into his head. "Tell you what--I hereby proclaim September 2nd to be 'Neville Longbottom Day'!"

"'Neville Longbottom Day'!" Harry, Seamus, and Dean cheered, raising their fists in the air.

"No."

The boys froze. They lowered their arms and turned to stare at Neville. Hermione, her indignation momentarily forgotten, stared as well.

"No," Neville repeated firmly. "We have Herbology next. We're going to class."

There was no arguing. Whether it was out of respect for his besting of Snape, or whether they were truly cowed by the finality in his voice, they couldn't tell. All they knew was that he was right--they had class, and they would be going to it.

"All right," Ron said. The other boys quickly nodded.

Hermione looked profoundly relieved. "At least someone here has a bit of sense." She adjusted the stack of books in her arms. She turned, about to leave, but stopped abruptly. "Oh, Neville?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

She smiled, a genuine Hermione smile.

"That was marvellous," she said softly.

Neville flushed again, colouring prettily.

"Thanks," he said, suddenly shy. "But to tell the truth, I thought for sure that I was going to be sick--all over his shoes!"

They all laughed. Together, the Gryffindors left the dank dungeons behind, heading up the stairs to reach the greenhouses and the bright, warm September morning.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ March 15th, 2002