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

Interlude - The Testing

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Whether you think that you can, or that you can't, you are usually right.

    -- Henry Ford

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"For heaven's sake, don't be so worried. They aren't going to ask you to do anything I haven't had you do a hundred times before."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Positively?"

"Mr. Longbottom, for the last time--no."

It was a very long walk from the little room off the library to the Transfiguration classroom, the location of their planned meeting with Dumbledore. They had assembled at seven o'clock as usual, performed the spell to bring Will through the mirror, and left the room. Nothing was said about what would happen during the evening...at least, not until Neville had begun asking Will that exact same question.

Harry had been listening to their conversation for the last five minutes. The Old One's unemotional replies did nothing to assuage Neville's fears. If anything, the questions only became more insistent as they drew closer to the classroom.

He didn't blame Neville for being nervous. He wasn't feeling too confident, either, if the truth be told. And though neither Hermione nor Ron had said a word as they hurried through the deserted, darkened corridors, he could feel uncertainty radiating off of them like heat waves.

Will took out his watch and checked the time, then started to walk a little faster. The four of them trotted next to him, taking two or three steps to each of his.

"I'm not certain," he said shortly. "And repeatedly asking me if I *am* certain won't change that fact."

Harry gritted his teeth. If Will was on edge, he didn't want to *think* about what that meant for them.

Neville sniffled. "I...I just wanted...oh, I don't even know what I want," he said in a small voice, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. "I just wish this whole thing was ov--"

Without warning, Will paused in mid-stride, coming to an abrupt halt next to a yellowing marble statue of a wizard with one missing ear. He hissed lightly through his teeth, face tight with concentration.

The four of them froze. Neville clamped his mouth shut, and clapped both hands over it for good measure.

Will raised a hand for silence--unnecessarily, since the four of them were barely breathing--and slipped into the enveloping darkness of a nearby doorway.

Following his example, they scurried for cover, scattering among the doors that lined the hall. Harry found himself sharing the relative safety of a darkened doorway with Ron, who was breathing so loudly that Harry was certain the whole school could hear them.

He strained his ears, listening intently. He thought he detected the faint sound of footsteps walking down distant hallways, and the fluttering hum of a voice, but it could have been his overactive imagination. He held his breath and tried his hardest to be silent, invisible, non-existent.

It seemed like an age before Will emerged from the shadows, pulling his cloak closer to his body. The four of them huddled around him, gathering together like timid ducklings pressed up against a mother duck.

Will looked down at the four frightened faces staring up at him, and wearily ran a hand through his hair.

"My apologies," he said. "It wasn't my intent to worry you. But at this moment, there are only seven people in the castle who are aware of my presence...and I intend to keep it that way."

They gazed at him, hearts beating in their throats.

"Listen to me," he continued. "I have little to no idea of what they will ask you to do, or even if they will ask you to do anything at all. But either way, there's no point in stressing yourselves over it. Please trust me."

Neville put up his hand, forgetting where he was. "But what if they ask us to--"

"Mr. Longbottom." Will's voice was faintly reproving. His eyes glittered dangerously in his shadowed face.

"Sorry," Neville mumbled.

"Please trust me," Will said, more gently this time. "Everything will be fine. You've pleased me with your progress so far. I am very proud of you, of all of you. Know that, whatever happens this evening."

Open compliments from Will were few and far between, and Harry felt the tips of his ears grow hot with embarrassed pleasure. It calmed his jittery nerves, as soothing as a bar of chocolate in Madam Pomfrey's infirmary.

They walked along in silence for a time, and finally arrived at the door of the Transfiguration classroom. Will stopped outside the door and knocked twice.

"Enter," said a muffled voice.

He turned the handle and opened the door, then stepped aside to let the four of them enter the room first.

Out of an instinctive sense to protect themselves against whatever waited inside, they entered in single-file. Harry went second, right after Hermione, shuffling forward quickly to prevent Neville from stepping on the backs of his shoes and accidentally tripping both of them up.

The student worktables had been cleared to the sides of the room, leaving only the vast teacher's desk at the farthest end, opposite the door. Stripped of its desks, the classroom looked empty, almost cavernous. The flagstones, worn down with the passing of hundreds of years of feet and countless diligent scrubbings, shone dully in the torchlight.

Three people sat behind the teacher's desk on its raised dais.

Harry stared down at the ground, trying to cover his initial shock. He had expected to see Dumbledore, and he wasn't at all surprised that Professor McGonagall was there as well. She had known about the sessions from the very first day, and as Deputy Headmistress it was her job to be aware of everything that went on in the school. She had probably suggested the Transfiguration classroom for this meeting-- it could hold more people than Dumbledore's office, and was a better place to perform elaborate spells. But the third person came as a complete surprise.

It was Mrs...no, *Professor* Figg.

For a crazy split second, he had a difficult time recognising her. She wasn't dressed in her normal drab work robe, but wore instead the black and scarlet formal robes he had last seen on the Hogwarts Express. She was an Auror now, not a teacher. The difference was unmistakeable.

The more he thought about, the more her presence made sense. What would be the point in demonstrating skills that would be used to fight Dark wizards without the presence of the actual Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?

Figg's official robes would have looked strange in the school setting if it wasn't for the fact that both Dumbledore and McGonagall wore more formal robes as well, ones he had seen them wear at the end of term feasts. Dumbledore sat in the centre, with McGonagall to his left and Figg to his right.

Seeing the three of them behind the large, imposing desk, Harry had the strangest feeling that he was in a court of law. It was like being in one of those police dramas that had always seemed to be on the telly in the Dursleys' house; Aunt Petunia had liked to watch them after dinner. In his mind's eye, he could see the stern judge in his long wig and elaborate costume, and imagined he could hear a rumbling voice say, "Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say in your defence...?"

*Stop that,* he scolded himself, breaking off that train of thought. *You're being stupid. This isn't a court.*

But as he studied the three adults through downcast eyes, the awful feeling that he and his friends really were on trial grew stronger.

He swallowed a large lump of nervousness that had lodged itself firmly in the back of his throat, and tried to look very interested in the scuffed toes of his shoes.

With a loud, jarring scraping of chairs, the three adults stood. They bowed to Will, and the Old One returned their courtesy with a curious, old-fashioned formality that would not have been out of place a century earlier--or even ten centuries earlier.

"Good evening, Headmaster, Professors," he said gravely.

"Good evening, Dr. Stanton," Dumbledore said. There was no merriment in his cheerful face; he looked very thoughtful and serious. "I thank you for conceding to our request this evening."

"Not at all, Headmaster."

"We have discussed a few questions that we wish to ask of you and the students. Will you allow them to answer?"

"Of course, Headmaster. Would you rather I not be present?"

"No, no. Please stay."

Dumbledore's polite, ceremonial requests and Will's equally dignified answers were almost too much to bear. Harry's hands tightened into fists, fingernails cutting into the callused flesh on his palms. He would remain calm, he wouldn't say a word. He would be patient and stand through this agonising ritual formality if it bloody killed him.

When he had regained enough emotional control to lift his head and look straight ahead, he saw that McGonagall had stepped down from the dais. She stood in the centre of the open space, directly in front of her desk.

"Dr. Stanton," she said. "I speak to you as a colleague and as a fellow educator. The process of learning is as important to the teacher as it is to the students, and it is my firm belief that true education should never be one-sided. I therefore ask you: what have you learned as a result of your contact with these students?"

Will thought for a moment. "I would say that I have learned two very important things during the time spent on this project. First, I have learned that I must be more flexible. It has been a long time since I dealt with magic that was not my own, and my work with these students has shown me that there is considerable...." Here he paused, and smiled to himself. "I would say there is considerable room for improvement on my part.

"But second, and more important, I came to this place with a very specific goal in mind: to stop the Dark from Rising and in doing so fulfil my duty. I have learned that to some extent I was mistaking the ends for the means. The valuable part is in the learning, not always in the doing. I had forgotten that--or perhaps, never truly learned it in the first place."

McGonagall nodded. She seemed content with his answer, because she merely said, "I see. Thank you, Dr. Stanton." With the soft rustle of robes, she returned to her seat.

As she sat, Professor Figg stepped down from the dais and took the same position that McGonagall had vacated.

"Will Stanton, Sign-Seeker," she said. She spoke with the same brisk, no-nonsense matter that she had used during the interrogation on the train. "I speak to you as a colleague and as a fellow warrior against the terrible forces of Dark magic. You have dedicated your life to the protection of mankind from the Dark, and have enlisted these students for that purpose. I therefore ask you: what have you done to prepare them to do battle with the Dark and emerge triumphant?"

"Perhaps it would be better if I let them demonstrate," Will said calmly. "Give them a task to perform, or a challenge to face. You shall see that they will not disappoint you."

Harry cringed, but he heard Will's voice drift into his mind almost before the older man had finished speaking.

*It's all right. Don't be afraid.*

*I'm not afraid,* he answered, feeling his knees begin to wobble. *I'm terrified.*

Before Will could reply, Professor Figg had taken out her wand.

"So you say," she declared, one hand on her hip. "Well, if you insist--Mr. Longbottom, step forward!"

Neville reacted out of pure instinct. "Defendo Lux!"

Instantly, both he and Will (who had moved to stand behind him the moment Professor Figg had called out his name) were surrounded by a faint, pulsing glow of white light.

The spell Neville had chosen was actually a combination of several basic defence spells they had studied in previous years. Along with whatever Will did--they still weren't entirely sure *what* he did most of the time, but whatever it was, they gladly welcomed it--the spell consisted of a powerful hex deflector and a curse blocker, plus a charm that would supposedly cause an attacker's spell to rebound and strike him or her instead. They had worked on it for the last few weeks, and it was possibly the strongest combined defence spell they had.

Professor Figg looked startled, and not a little impressed. It was likely that she had thought she was aiming for weakest link in their chain. Neville's sense of self-confidence, while far better than it had been in years past, tended to fluctuate under pressure--but his reaction showed a good deal of forethought. Or maybe it was panic. Either way, he hadn't choked up entirely.

"Don't you trust me, Mr. Longbottom?" she said with a little chuckle.

"Not really," Neville replied truthfully.

She laughed at that, a full belly laugh that would have been downright jolly under different circumstances.

"A wise choice," she told him. She was still smiling, a calm, sweet smile that sent chills up Harry's spine. "Let's see just what you've been working on. Education must have a purpose, mustn't it? IMPERIO!"

Harry realised too late the horrible mistake they had made. For obvious reasons, they hadn't tested their new spells against the Forbidden Curses. He mentally kicked himself for being so stupid--of course they would have to face the Forbidden Curses. He'd seen enough of Voldemort's work to know what awaited anyone who fell into the Dark Lord's hands.

"Neville," Professor Figg ordered, putting all of the authority of her years as an Auror behind her words, "you will kill Hermione Granger."

Harry and Ron gasped. Hermione gave a weak, defeated cry and stumbled backwards, fumbling for her wand. But just as she was pulling it from her robes, Ron grabbed her arm, stopping her.

"Don't..." he said. He was staring at Neville with a expression of surprise that bordered on awe. "Look at him."

Harry had been watching Professor Figg like a hawk ever since she had left the dais, but now he followed his friend's gaze, turning to stare at Neville.

During their Defence Against the Dark Arts classes last year, they had been subjected to the Imperius Curse as part of their training in 'constant vigilance'. Only Harry had been able to throw it off in the beginning, and Neville had never quite managed to escape its effects. He had done some marvellous things under its influence, most notably a series of extraordinary gymnastic exercises that he would never have imagined physically possible.

But that was a flip or two, maybe a forward somersault. It was good for a laugh and some teasing later on.

This was a direct order to kill a friend.

To Harry, it was like being back in their first Potions class of the year. Neville's round face, now a nasty shade of yellow-grey, was tightly twisted in the same intense struggle he had gone through when facing down Snape. The hand that held his wand feebly jerked up and down, sometimes pointing it in Hermione's general direction and other times letting it hang limp from his fingers. His other hand was hidden somewhere in the folds of his robe, pressed tightly against his shaking body.

For a very long time, there was no sound in the room except Neville's ragged, irregular breathing. The only thing that moved was Neville's arm, twitching up and down, up and down. All eyes were riveted on the wand, waiting with a sick fascination for the two forbidden words that were certain to come from its owner's mouth.

Everyone started when the wand dropped to the floor, rolled forward in a lazy and lopsided circle, then came to a stop.

"No," Neville croaked.

Figg lifted her wand, breaking the spell. Neville's shoulders sagged, and the glow that surrounded him and Will vanished as his defence spell faded away.

"That was excellent," Will said softly.

Figg coughed derisively. "Remarkable help you gave him, Stanton," she said, drawing the words out in a long sneer that would have put Snape to shame.

Will shook his head. A hint of a private smile played on his lips, though his face was calm and otherwise composed.

"I would gladly accept your compliment, Professor," he said smoothly, "if it was true. But Mr. Longbottom fought off your curse on his own. I did nothing."

Figg raked Neville with a harsh glare, making no attempt to hide her disbelief.

"Is this true?" she demanded.

Neville blinked, looking around the room in bewilderment as if he couldn't quite figure out where he was or what he was doing there.

"I...I think so," he said. His voice was thick and slow, his speech laboured and guttural. He looked over at Hermione with eyes that didn't really see her. "I'm...I'm sorry, Hermione. I-I-I didn't mean...mean to...I didn't mean to scare you."

Her own eyes were suspiciously bright. "It's okay," she whispered.

A look of profound relief swept across his face.

"Okay..." he repeated breathily. "It's okay...it's okay...."

He blinked again, several times. His legs shook as he rocked and swayed precariously on his feet, and he started to fall over backwards. Will leapt forward and caught him just before his head hit the ground, then gently lowered the unconscious boy to a prone position, turning him on his side.

Acting on some unspoken signal, Harry, Ron, and Hermione edged closer together, placing themselves between Figg and Neville. She wasn't going to do anything more to him if they could help it. Not now. Not like this--

But they didn't need to worry. The Defence Against the Dark Arts professor nodded curtly to them, a flat and vaguely satisfied look in her eyes.

"I've seen enough," she said brusquely, and sat down.

The three of them relaxed, but only slightly.

"He'll be fine," Will said, though they couldn't tell whether he was speaking to them or to the adults at the far end of the room. "Let him rest for a few moments."

As Harry moved aside to give Neville some space to breathe, his foot brushed against something that crackled dryly at his touch. Looking down, he saw that he was standing on the corner of a plain envelope. It was old and tattered, grimy around the creases and the flap from repeated openings. It lay a few inches away from Neville's open hand, as if it had dropped from his fingers or slipped out of the pocket of his robes as he fell.

Harry picked it up, and held it up to the light. It looked like there was something inside it--something thin, like a piece of paper, that had made the dry crackling noise.

"What's this?" he said to no one in particular, sliding his thumb under the flap to open it.

Quick as a flash, Will reached over and plucked the envelope from his startled hand.

"*This*, Mr. Potter," he said sternly, holding the letter high, "is Mr. Longbottom's personal property, and therefore none of our business." He knelt down and placed the battered envelope back into Neville's hand and closed the boy's fingers around it.

As he stood up, Dumbledore walked around the table to stand before them. The other two teachers remained behind.

"Will Stanton, Watchman of the Light," Dumbledore said. "I speak to you as a colleague, and as the representative of the wizarding world. We cannot face our enemy alone--there is too much at stake this time for the task to remain unfinished. All too often, pride prevents us from requesting and thereby receiving the assistance we desperately need. I therefore ask you: will you continue to give us your assistance and aid us in the fight against Lord Voldemort?"

Will bowed his head. "It is my duty, Headmaster, and my pleasure."

"That is a great comfort to us," said Dumbledore. "I for one am very impressed with what I have seen tonight. I would like to speak with you later, in private, but that can wait for another time. You may go."

"Yes, Headmaster." Will stooped and lifted Neville into his arms. "Miss Granger, will you carry Neville's wand? He will miss it, when he wakes."

Hermione retrieved it, and returned to stand by his side. Ron and Harry silently joined her, and together they bowed to the teachers and left the room.

Their pace was slower on the return journey. Will couldn't walk very fast with Neville in his arms, and their poor friend had yet to regain consciousness.

"Were...were we supposed to do something?" Ron asked him as they headed back toward the library.

"Apparently not," Will said blandly.

Hermione's face was crimson with fury. "That was a horrible thing to do to Neville."

Will frowned at her. "He stood up to the test he was given, and performed admirably. And as he said himself not too long ago, 'Why should I have to stop feeling good about something I've done right?' When he wakes, I think our Mr. Longbottom will be more than happy about what he's done tonight."

There was a note of finality in his words that they knew very well-- the one that allowed no questioning. As far as he and they were concerned, the subject was closed.

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Gramarye [email protected] http://gramarye.freehosting.net/ April 20th, 2002