Slave Magic

Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts brought with it many changes. With Dumbledore back in charge, the D. A. had become a public club with Harry as its president. Every Tuesday, one of the professors would give a lecture on how their area of expertise contributed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. Thursdays were usually spent trying the new strategies they had been told about on Tuesday, and Fridays were general sessions for learning and practicing defensive and offensive spells.

The system worked well, but it put a lot of stress on Harry, Ron and Hermione. They had to organize the Thursday and Friday hands-on sessions and look up new spells to teach the group, and this was on top of schoolwork that had got much harder as they moved into NEWT-level magic. Hermione had to juggle these responsibilities with her prefect duties, Harry with his position on the Quidditch team, and poor Ron had to do both. For all three, the days seemed to melt into one ceaseless sea of work.

Somehow, though, they managed to keep up. They even had a little time to concentrate on a small side project of their own. And as the school year went on, and every professor at Hogwarts had spoken to the D. A., Harry woke up one day to find that next Tuesday's schedule simply said, "Guest Speaker".

Obviously Dumbledore meant to bring in a surprise lecturer, probably someone who had been an Auror or had fought Voldemort. But Harry needed to know who it was so he could organize the Thursday session to put whatever the speaker said into practice. So he decided to slip up to Dumbledore's office to get the information from him. What he got, however, was a cup of tea and an evasive answer.

"Don't worry, Harry, the speaker will be responsible for the Thursday meeting. All you have to do is learn."

"But who is he? Someone who's lived through Death Eater attacks? Is it an Order member?"

"She is an Order member, as a matter of fact, though not one you've met before. You'll find out what else she has to say next week just like everyone else." And with that the matter was closed. Harry bowed to the inevitable and sipped his tea.

"Well, it's a woman, and she's an Order member, but not someone we've met before." Harry slung his bag to the floor and flung himself into one of the cozy chairs in the Gryffindor common room.

"I don't see why you're so stuck on this, Harry," Ron said. He had spread Charms notes on the table in preparation for studying, but at the moment he was contemplating a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He finally popped a red one into his mouth, but spit it out immediately. "Eurgh, blood," he said, his mouth working in disgust.

"Anyway," he continued, "as long as we don't have to plan Thursday I'm fine with it. It was a bloody nightmare trying to convince the centaurs to let us use the Forbidden Forest for Professor Sinistra's ‘Navigating by the Stars' thing, and in the end we still had to get Hagrid to grow us a maze."

Harry sighed. "I'd just feel better if we had a general idea. Everyone will want to practice whatever-it-is on Friday too, and if we're still learning it ourselves then that'll be a problem."

Just then, Hermione stepped through the portrait hole. She spotted Ron and Harry and made a beeline for them. "Any luck?" she asked briskly.

Ron answered her. "Bad news is that we still don't know what's going on. Good news is that it's not our problem. The speaker is going to do Thursday herself."

"I think it'll be more than that," Hermione said. "I was just talking to Dobby in the kitchen, and he said that McGonagall told the house-elves to prepare a new room and keep it up for at least two weeks. So I think the speaker will have longer than Thursday to teach us. Can I have a bean?"

Ron lifted his hand wordlessly, while Harry filled Hermione in on his conversation with Dumbledore.

"So it's a woman we don't know, whose field is so obscure or difficult that she's going to stay to make sure we can do it right." Harry brightened. "At least that means less work for us in the next few weeks."

"That's exactly what I said," Ron chimed in as Hermione took a green bean from his hand. "It'll be nice to just coast for a little while."

"Yes," Hermione said meditatively. "Whatever we learn, it should be interesting." She popped the bean into her mouth. "Hm. Lime. Anyway, I think I've finally worked out all of the Arithmancy for that creepy spell we found, and it doesn't look good. There's a reason it's theoretical; it would require way too much magic for one wand, or even three."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked. She nodded once.

"Well, I reckon it's for the best," Ron said grimly. "Like I said before, there are reasons why everyone doesn't do this, good reasons."

"Not to mention that we found it in a Dark Magic book," Hermione said.

They were dismissing the whole thing so easily. "There has to be a way to do it," Harry insisted. "If this won't work, we'll just find something else." Neither Ron nor Hermione replied to that, but he could feel them exchanging concerned looks behind his back. He pursed his lips and pulled out his own Charms work.

Walking into the lecture classroom with Hermione and Ron, Harry was not that surprised to see Dumbledore on the dais. Standing next to him was a light-skinned black woman in black robes, her face a mass of wrinkles.

"Is this—" Harry started, but Dumbledore merely shushed him and pointed them to a place near the front.

After everyone had squeezed into the small classroom, Dumbledore stepped up to the podium and cleared his throat apologetically.

"I would like to introduce to the D. A. the first in a series of guest professors." He gestured to the woman at his back. "Mrs. Flossie Goode recently retired from the Mecklenburg Special School for the Colored, in the United States of America and has graciously agreed to aid the D. A. for the next two weeks. Please treat her as you would any other professor."

He stepped back from the podium. Everyone applauded of course, but there was also a lot of whispering. Dumbledore's introduction had raised more questions than it answered. Mrs. Goode stepped up to the podium and rapped her hand against its side for quiet.

"Thank you," she said in a drawling American accent when the whispering had died down. "Professor Dumbledore gave me a very good introduction, but I would like to correct him about one thing. Our schools have integrated now, and I had the privilege of retiring from the Dare Academy for the Gifted.

"So. Does anyone know why I'm here? After all, Hogwarts is well known as the best place to learn magic in the world. Why isn't one of your own professors standing up here? Raise your hand if you want to answer."

Padma Patil was the first one called on. "Well, Hogwarts is a good school, but not everyone who's expert in their field comes to teach here. Are you especially good at Charms or Herbology or something like that, Mrs. Goode?"

"That's a good guess, but I'm afraid it's wrong. I do know the classical magic that you are taught here, but I'm not an expert in any of it. Anyone else?"

Hermione tried next. "Well, America is a long way off," she said, sounding unsure. "This must be something rare but important if you had to come all of this way to teach it to us."

Mrs. Goode nodded. "You're on the right path, Miss--?"

"Granger."

"That's Granger, ma'am." When Hermione gave her a bewildered look, she sighed and shook her head. "Never mind. I'm used to more courtesy from my students."

Hermione looked a bit put out at that. "I thought that American magic was basically the same as what we learn, though . . . ma'am."

"I'm sure you've been told that. It doesn't make it true."

There was a silence as everyone tried to resolve this dilemma. Finally Seamus raised his hand and said what they were all thinking. "I don't understand, ma'am. Americans learn the same things we do, so why would Dumbledore want you to come from so far away? What can you teach us that no one else can?"

Mrs. Goode favored him with a smile that crinkled her entire face. "Slave magic."

Hermione frowned. "Slave magic? I've never heard of that before. It wasn't mentioned in A General History of American Wizardry or Magic of Our Times, and those are fairly exhaustive works."

"I'm not surprised. Most Americans who are not the descendants of African slaves disdain our magic. Let me give you a little history, and then maybe a demonstration."

At the word ‘history', about three quarters of the eyes in the room reflexively drooped. Mrs. Goode noticed, and Harry could see the corners of her mouth tighten.

"I'll make this short. I'm sure many of you are aware of the Muggle slave trade from Africa to the Americas. What is less known is that many obeah, or what we now call witches and wizards, were also taken and sold into slavery.

"Now, in Africa, magic is a community affair. It includes both Muggles and magical folks, in rituals using drums and dance. For the most part, these rituals could not be performed in the Americas, however. There were no drums, and since people from many different West African cultures were thrown together it was unlikely that slaves on one plantation would all know the same dances.

"Magic cannot be denied, however. We simply had to come up with a new discipline to channel it. Those who learned it quickly escaped, of course, and as time went on we established our own culture, which has endured to this day.

"Now for the demonstration. My pocketbook please, Professor Dumbledore." Dumbledore handed Mrs. Goode a large pink handbag, which she rummaged around in for a moment. Eventually, with a look of triumph, she fished out a plastic bag with several large green leaves inside, causing all the Muggle-borns in the room to smother giggles.

"Here we are. Now, these are obviously not wands. In fact, they aren't even magical ... just ordinary tobacco leaves. But watch this." She took one of the leaves out of the bag. Holding it by its stem, she moved it in something like a wand motion, at the same time muttering some quick syllables in a sing-song tone. A jet of green bubbles shot out of the tip of the leaf and into the face of Anthony Goldstein, who jerked to a start and tried to look like he had been paying attention all along.

This woman had done magic, controlled magic, without a wand! Harry gaped in awe with everyone else. Mrs. Goode, pretending not to notice, looked appraisingly at the tobacco leaf.

"There should be enough magic left for one more spell," she said easily. With a similar incantation, she turned her robes pink, and the leaf crumbled into dust. Undeterred, she used a few of the other leaves to levitate a few students, turn the podium temporarily into a goat, and conjure a bouquet of flowers. "That's all for today," she said finally. "Any questions?"

Everyone had questions, of course, and it was later than Harry would have liked when he stumbled up the stairs to the Fat Lady's portrait. "Leo ante serpens," he said wearily, and climbed through the hole and into his common room. He would have liked to have time to chew over the implications of Mrs. Goode's brand of magic, preferably while drifting off to sleep in his bed, but there was a six foot Transfiguration essay due in about twelve hours and so far he only had a few feet of research.

The next morning saw Mrs. Goode speaking to Professor Flitwick at the staff table. On her other side was a small child in overalls, whom Professor McGonagall was amusing by turning teacups into mice.

As Harry passed by, he heard a small snatch of conversation.

" . . . planning on touring the countryside. Rose has never been to Scotland before."

"Be sure to visit Zonko's in town, she'll love it . . . "

The little girl kept up a running chatter that none of the adults actually listened to.

"Whose kid is that?" Harry asked Ron when he reached the Gryffindor table. Uncharacteristically, Hermione hadn't come down yet.

"I don't know," Ron replied lightly. "Maybe Mrs. Goode's granddaughter or something. I don't know why she'd be here, though."

Harry recalled what he'd heard. "Sightseeing, I guess. Though there's not much to see here." At that moment, Hermione took her seat beside Ron. She made sure that no one was paying attention to them, then helped herself to a generous portion of oatmeal, and addressed the boys. "I think I've figured out a way to get past the problem with the spell."

Ron sighed heavily, but Harry grinned. "I knew you could. So, what do we have to do?"

"Well, I was thinking about what Mrs. Goode showed us and the theory she mentioned while she was answering questions. I'll have to research it, but since with slave magic the magic you use can be increased or decreased according to the amount of inherent magical energy in the catalyst, we should be able to get all that we need if we use something with sufficient power."

Ron blinked. "In English, please?"

"Basically, if we can find something with enough energy in it, we should be able to use slave magic to release that energy for the spell." She frowned. "Though even with that, it'll take an awful lot. Maybe even something living."

Ron looked at his friend dubiously. "Living? That doesn't sound too good to me."

"Well, I didn't say it was a good thing," Hermione snapped, stung. "It's really up to Harry to decide whether or not it's worth it."

While the two bickered, Harry considered this new information.

"You said maybe. How much energy, exactly?"

"Well, I'll have to look up slave magic theory in the library, or else ask Mrs. Goode. Either way, we'll know by tomorrow night."

On Thursday, Mrs. Goode led the D. A. outside, to a lighted area near the Forbidden Forest. It was chilly, and there were patches of melting snow on the ground. When they reached their destination she waved a tree branch at the group, and Harry could feel warmth sink into his bones.

"Like I said yesterday, any object can be used as a channel. However, some work better than others. Organic things are best: a leaf, a branch, a feather, something that was once part of a living thing."

Hermione and Michael Corner raised their hands at the same time. Mrs. Goode called on Michael first.

"Could you channel magic through something while it's still alive?" he asked.

Mrs. Goode glared at him sternly. "Never even consider it. First, chances are it would be too powerful and you'd be burnt to a crisp. Second, even if you are powerful enough to control that amount of energy, it is considered the worst of abominations to drain power from another being. Remember how those leaves crumbled? Would you really want to do that to a living thing?"

"Maybe Malfoy," Ron muttered, and the people around him laughed. Mrs. Goode rolled her eyes.

"It isn't a laughing matter. Was there another question?"

"That was actually mine too, Professor," Hermione said. Her voice was steady, but Harry noticed that she had paled considerably, and looked stricken.

"All right. Now, see this oak tree? Its branches should be pretty easy to use. Everyone strip off a switch, and then wait for directions. We're only going to try a simple Lumos, but if you don't know what you're doing then you could really hurt yourself."

The technique was radically different from anything Harry had learned before, and he had a lot of trouble adjusting. All of them did, but by the end of the session most of them were able to hold the light for a second or two, and Mrs. Goode seemed pleased.

"Excellent. Practice during your free time, and don't be afraid to experiment. Now that you've all gotten the knack of it, I'll be here tomorrow to help you learn a few other simple spells. Next week we'll go over some defensive and offensive spells."

The lesson was over, but several people stayed outside to practice with leaves, soil, rocks, and even balls of snow. The oak branches still gave the best results, but a handful of dirt proved surprisingly effective. Others, including Hermione, stayed to chat with Mrs. Goode. Harry, who was trying a Summoning Charm with a twig and some success, could hear them clearly.

"I looked in our library for some reference books on slave magic, but I couldn't find anything about it," he heard Hermione say doubtfully. "There was a reference to ‘primitive Negro spellworking' in Enchantments of the Everglades, but of course that didn't help much."

Mrs. Goode tapped her head. "There's only one definitive book on slave magic, and it's all up here. I've spent most of my life recording everything people could tell me about it, and translating the theory behind it into European terms. It should be ready to publish in just a few years."

"You mean no one's ever written it down?"

"There've been a few small books. None of them were very accurate, though, and they were never popular enough to bring across the ocean."

"I'll look forward to getting a copy of your book, then, when it comes out. Er, ma'am."

Mrs. Goode smiled warmly. "I'll be sending a personal copy to Hogwarts, of course. And I think I may also send copies to everyone who's attended these lessons."

The Heating Charm was wearing off by now, and most of the students outside began drifting toward the castle. Mrs. Goode shivered.

"It was a pleasure speaking to you again, Miss Granger. You did a wonderful job today. However, I think it's time for me to go back inside." And that was exactly what she did, Harry following her with Hermione and Ron.

"Just think ... an entire method of using magic that's never been written down," Hermione exclaimed. "I hope she doesn't die before it's finished."

"Honestly, Hermione, don't be so morbid," Ron chided her. "Besides, she probably has notes and things, so they'd still be able to put it together."

"Yes, but it just wouldn't be the same."

The three had lagged behind the other students, and when they were out of hearing range, Hermione turned to Harry.

"I guess we can't do it then," she said sadly. "Even using this kind of magic, we'd need a living thing, and obviously that's not an option."

Of all the things Hermione might have said, Harry hadn't expected that. "What are you talking about? Of course we can."

"But Mrs. Goode said—"

"Who cares what Mrs. Goode said? This is more important than her rules!"

"Look, we can talk about this later," Ron broke in. "It's almost curfew. Let's just go back to the common room for now."

The room was crowded when they got there, and Ron had to shoo a few first years out of the way so that the three could take their favorite seats. Harry spread his Potions work over the table, but somehow he couldn't seem to focus on it. He found himself staring into the flames of the fireplace too often, and finally he put his books away.

"I'm going to bed," he announced. Ron, absorbed in his Potions book, didn't even notice. Hermione frowned, but she didn't try to stop Harry as he grabbed his bag and walked back to the stairs. In bed, he stared at the ceiling for what seemed like a long time before falling into a restless sleep.

As the days passed, Harry kept expecting Ron and Hermione to come to their senses. They had worked on this project for too long; there had to be a way to do it. But neither one seemed that concerned. And as time went on, he placed more and more of the blame on Mrs. Goode. If it hadn't been for her stupid rule about using living things, they would even now be on their way to bringing him back. Surely his friends could see that she was the enemy here.

But inexplicably, they seemed perfectly content with the situation. Hermione had even agreed to have tea with Mrs. Goode Saturday afternoon, which Harry saw as fraternizing with the enemy. He told Hermione that, practically quivering with righteous indignation, but she only snorted.

"Harry, she's a good woman. Besides, morals aside, we can barely do a Leglocker Jinx with an oak branch. What makes you think we could control all the energy of a living creature?"

She added a few words to the end of her Transfiguration essay, then rolled it up with a satisfied look. "Besides, Mrs. Goode said it was a horrible thing to do to anything alive, and I agree. Would you really be willing to kill something else just so you could be happy?"

"In case you've forgot, this isn't about me at all," Harry said sourly. He mentally rejoiced at Hermione's stricken look. "Wouldn't it be worth bringing Sir- bringing Snuffles back?"

"We miss him too, Harry," Ron said. "But he still isn't worth it. No one is."

"How can you say that?" Harry flared. "You wouldn't be saying that if it was one of your parents instead!" He saw tears in Hermione's eyes, and tried to calm down. A repeat of the summer after the TriWizard Tournament wouldn't help anyone. Plus, people were starting to stare. The more he thought about it, though, the angrier he got. "If we were trying to bring someone you loved back from the Veil, I would be helping you," he whispered furiously. "So aren't you going to help me? Aren't you?"

Neither Ron nor Hermione could meet his eyes. "Fine then." He rolled up his own essay, even though it was only half finished.

"Wh-where are you going, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Flying," Harry returned shortly. He wasn't inclined to be very conciliatory at the moment.

Hermione did have tea with Mrs. Goode, and insisted on telling Harry, Ron, and anyone else listening about it that night over dinner.

"She's absolutely amazing! She just retired from five decades of teaching, and even with that she's had time to compile all of the slave magic stuff. And she does even more than that! She's one of the top members of the World House-Elf Freedom Movement. That's why she's in the ... why she's over here. They managed to free all the House Elves in the US, but they're afraid now that Voldemort will get a lot of Americans on his side by promising to re-enslave them. And she has the cutest little granddaughter ... though she did go on about Rose."

"You mean there are more people like S. P. E. W.?" Ron asked, incredulous.

"Yes; only she says I've been going about it all wrong. She gave me a list of book titles to order to help out, and she says that they'll help me set up a chapter of WHEFM right here at Hogwarts! I told her about Dobby too, but she already knew all about him."

Ron shook his head, but he was smiling. "Who would've thought," he said.

Harry waited until they were leaving the Great Hall to say, "I suppose you didn't even ask her about the spell."

"Of course not," Hermione said with some asperity. "She brought up the use of living things herself, though, and it only gets worse. Apparently everyone who's ever tried it ... and lived through the attempt ... becomes totally depraved. She said they think it must be addictive. So you see, Harry, there's another reason we can't do it. It . . . it would be like drinking unicorn blood."

Harry flinched at the old memory, and then stiffened in outrage. How dare she? He shot Hermione a venomous look and stalked down the hall, not trusting himself to say a word.

They expected more practical lessons on Monday, but the weather was bad and Mrs. Goode announced that she would be giving another lecture, this time going into more detail about the history of her people in America. Harry had no desire to attend, but as the leader of the D. A. he was obligated. So he took his seat in the front row, fuming with his arms crossed.

Against his will, though, Harry found Mrs. Goode's speech fascinating. She began by talking about the obeah, who were the witches and wizards in Africa, and the ways that they used magic. She told them how the Muggle slave trade between Africa and the Americas had netted many of the obeah, unrecognized for who they were. She then went on to how the first obeah managed to free themselves, and the ways that they found to free Muggle-borns born into slavery. They learned how this small, wary group of people came out of hiding after Emancipation of the Muggle slaves, and how they had been treated as second-class citizens by the white American wizards who didn't understand their culture or their magic. And finally, she talked about the long, slow march to equality that was still going on. As she spoke, one question grew in Harry's mind.

As before, she asked for questions after she finished the talk. Almost everyone put their hands up, and Harry had to settle for an eternity of waiting until she called on him. Eventually, though, he got his chance.

"Mrs. Goode," he began, his tone argumentative. "What I want to know is why the obeah didn't go back to Africa after they escaped."

Mrs. Goode looked at him approvingly. "That's a very good question, and I've been waiting for someone to ask it. We stayed for several reasons. First, it was because we couldn't figure out how to get back. You have to remember that slave magic is a pretty new development, and it took a few practicing generations to figure out how to perform long-range transportation. After we gained that ability, however, there were still obeah newly arriving from Africa and Muggle-born witches and wizards being born every day. We simply couldn't leave them in shackles, and so we stayed to free them.

"After Emancipation, there was actually an intense debate about returning to Africa. A few of us did decide to go back, but in the end most of us felt that staying in America, even with all of our hardship, was the better choice."

"But why?" Harry asked. Suddenly the issue seemed very important to him. He tried to keep his voice from rising, but with little success. "Africa was your home! How could you stay in some strange new place if you had even the slightest chance of getting back?"

"Africa was our home once, but it isn't any more. We can't go back to the way things used to be. We have to look to the future."

"A future without Africa?" Harry's voice cracked slightly on the last word. His stomach churned. He didn't know exactly why, but the future of the world seemed to hinge on the answer to that question. Mrs. Goode sighed.

"There's an African symbol called the sankofa bird. It faces forward, but its head is turned backwards to see where it has come from. And that's how it is with us. We move into the future, but at the same time we remember the past. We will never forget Africa, but neither will we refuse to be a part of America."

There wasn't anything Harry could say to that. She was right; he knew she was right. But he simply couldn't accept it. Struggling to keep his temper, he stood up and almost ran out of the room. Ron and Hermione could make excuses for him. They were good at making excuses.

He had barely got down the corridor, though, when Ron and Hermione began calling out to him. He slowed, allowing them to catch up with him.

"What was that, mate?" Ron asked.

"Harry, I can't believe you!" Hermione added. "You didn't have to take it out on Mrs. Goode just because of . . . of . . . "

"Look, I didn't take anything out on anyone. I was just trying to figure out how . . . how she could say things like that."

He didn't know what Hermione saw in his face, but she seemed indignant. "You still don't get it, do you? Harry, Sirius is dead. And there's nothing we can do to bring him back."

Hearing it stated that baldly left Harry weak. His knees started to sag, and he had to hold onto the wall to keep his balance. With a small shock of surprise, he realized that there were tears on his face.

"Why can't you just leave me alone? I just want time to work this out myself. This isn't even about you!"

"Harry--"

"JUST LET ME FIGURE THIS OUT ON MY OWN, OKAY?!"

Hermione was speechless for a moment. She just stared at him in shock. Ron, however, seemed to understand.

"We're going back to the lecture. Don't stay out too long, Harry." Hermione finally started to make signs of protest, but Ron pulled her back down the corridor and into the D. A. classroom. Harry watched them go. After a while, he began to walk.

He made his way out of the front doors and out onto the grounds. Cold rain fell onto his head and down his face, mingling with his tears and seeping under his collar. As he walked around the lake, misty through the downpour, Hermione's words seemed to ring in his head. Sirius was dead. He would be remembered, but he would never come back. And Harry had to face a future without him.

Eventually the rain tapered off, and Harry went back to his dormitory room. He was soaked to the bone, but his face was dry. He tried to be quiet, but Ron heard him changing and popped his head out of the hangings around his bed.

"I reckon ... you'll be okay, right Harry?"

"I will be," Harry whispered. That was answer enough for Ron, who closed his hangings again with a muffled "G'night."

After that, the week went relatively quietly. Harry and Hermione apologized rather stiffly to each other, but soon they were as close as ever. Mrs. Goode stayed to help the D. A. on Thursday, but had to leave the school Friday morning. Once again, next week's schedule read only ‘guest speaker', a topic of much speculation among the students.

"I don't know how Dumbledore'll be able to top her," Ron said over Charms homework.

"Well, I know I'll be looking forward to whoever it is," Hermione said. "I expect that by the end of this year we'll have a bag of tricks beyond V-Voldemort's wildest dreams."

"Next time we confront him, we'll definitely be ready," Harry said. He thought of Sirius. "Next time, no one's going to die."