Revenge

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The first time Harry successfully cast the Cruciatus curse was on Remus Lupin.

In his own mind, he was already guilty of this particular Unforgivable since his attempt on Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. He had since been taught differently. Despite intent, in his teacher's eyes what he had tried to do to Bellatrix could not have been considered a successful casting. Apparently, the intent alone was not enough--though that particular distinction made little difference to him.

If cast correctly, the Cruciatus curse fully incapacitated the victim. Harry's attempt did not have sufficient accumulated and focused power to inflict the necessary amount of pain, no matter what he might have wished at the time. He had since learned that it was the combination of focused power and intent that led to the Unforgivables being considered such.

He had also learned the Ministry's views on the casting of Unforgivables by minors.

A child, according to the Ministry, had neither the deep understanding of magical theory nor the ability to fully recognize and focus hatred that was required by this curse. The Ministry's approach to a child's use of an Unforgivable was similar to that taken by Muggle authorities when a minor managed to kill someone. Most often, punishment was diminished significantly based on the argument that the child did not sufficiently grasp the seriousness and consequences of their actions.

Basically, an Unforgivable could be both forgiven and forgotten, as long as the caster was under the age of 18. If the Ministry had learned of his attempt, he almost certainly would have suffered few repercussions had he been a normal child and not Harry Potter; as things were, though, all bets would probably have been off. However, Harry's teachers refused to let him take any unnecessary chances just to find out for certain.

Certain precautions had therefore been taken. When Harry walked into the classroom one evening, there was a wand already lying on his desk. He hesitantly picked it up and looked questioningly to Snape, who was standing at the front of the room.

"Thanks to that wretched Skeeter woman, the whole of the wizarding world currently knows your exact wand measurements, along with every other inanity about you. Why they seem to find a delinquent little orphan so compelling is beyond me."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape glared repressively and continued.

"We have endeavoured to find a way to negate the inconvenience of your celebrity, and our solution is what you are so carelessly fumbling about in your hands. It is called a Mediatus, and most likely is worth more than the entirety of the werewolf's bank vault."

Slowly settling into the chair behind him, Harry stared down at the innocuous-seeming wand in his hands.

"You are to use this wand only in this classroom, and only for the spells learned here. But you will carry it on you at all times, hidden under an obscurement charm cast by me. If you manage to get into a life-threatening situation-not unusual, as you seem to be just as blindly arrogant as both your father and godfather-you are to use this wand and only this wand for any curses you feel forced to cast to get out of the situation alive."

Harry shut his eyes for a moment to try and keep from reacting to the expected but still painful insult, and focused instead on the more important part of Snape's statement.

"Why do I need to use a different wand? My wand-"

Raising his voice, Snape overrode Harry's objections.

"You foolish boy, can you try and think of the consequences for one moment? If a dead or cursed body is found, and you are in the immediate vicinity, the first thing they will do is check your wand, the one of which they have all heard. Hopefully, they will not think to look for another."

"But...I don't understand. What if they do decide to search for another wand, and find this one? Wouldn't I just be better off with a wand I was familiar with?"

"Your stupidity and ingratitude continually amazes me, Mr. Potter. As you have nothing useful to say, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and your opinions to yourself, and possibly you will eventually learn something."

The backup wand, Harry learned, was quite unique.

Normally, when a wand was created it was attuned to a particular personality, or 'flavour' of magic. The wandmaker had only to craft a certain number of wands suited to different attitudes, and a person would eventually come along and fit one almost perfectly. Most often this worked out quite well for all concerned. Only the owner of a wand and others quite similar in magical temperament could successfully use it to cast spells, and inevitably an affinity would form between the wand and the caster. All wizards found that they could cast spells most effectively when using their own wands; indeed, it was often impossible to obtain the correct results using a wand which belonged to someone else.

The Mediatus wand they provided for Harry was altogether another matter, as it had been crafted to work in precisely the opposite way. As such it required a great deal more effort to make. The materials needed to create one had to be either neutral in nature, or sufficiently contrasting as to cancel out the other's conflicting nature. Both options were remarkably difficult to attain, and the price of these wands reflected this.

Except for the small sector of society that found a need for Mediatus, their potential use was so sufficiently restricted and limited that few even knew of their existence. But for those that did request or require them, money was usually no object.

These wands were, after all, very special. Because Mediatus had no special affinity for a specific kind of magic, almost anyone could cast with them, regardless of the witch or wizard's natural magical temperament. The neutral magic inherent in the wand would attune itself to each caster's needs, and once put down would return to its balanced state.

More legitimately, many of these wands remained entirely in the area of academia and research. Those attempting to create new spells often used them to determine the necessary movements, as well as the type of magic that needed to be affiliated with the casting of the spell. For example, the Patronus Charm was classified as light magic, with feelings of joy and jubilation required in the casting, while Memory Charms were a darker magic requiring an entirely different set of emotions. Usually only the greater spells called for specific emotional intent in the magic fuelling them; such spells also required great effort, concentration, and focus to create. The research requiring these wands was most often very difficult and time-consuming, so not many entered this remarkably unrewarding field.

There was another, less ethical reason why these wands were in demand among a certain circle of witches and wizards. Once the wand was out of a person's hands, it shrugged off its affinity for that person's magic and returned to its own neutral state. Priori Incantatum would show the spell the wand had cast, but no unique magical signature would be attached to it, thus making it impossible to conclusively determine a person's guilt. The problem with this helpful feature is that anyone found with a Mediatus while in the immediate vicinity of a curse was automatically under suspicion. The safest thing to do when trapped in such a situation would be abandoning the wand before being questioned, but that quickly became both inconvenient and wasteful.

That was not the only reason why some practitioners of the Dark Arts would want to obtain one of these wands. If the caster became sufficiently proficient in understanding the nature of magic Mediatus possessed, he or she could, with practice, learn to attune their own magic to that fairly unique neutral state. If they managed that, their spells would become untraceable even when using a normal wand.

Given the small number of legitimate researchers, the lack of people willing to devote the time necessary to change their magical signature, and the secretiveness of Dark Arts practitioners in general, demand for these wands remained fairly low.

Dumbledore had bought a Mediatus wand for Harry's training at Snape's suggestion, and Ollivander had not even looked askance at him, not that he would to anyone buying such a wand. Ollivander was one of the few wandmakers in the world with the talent to create a Mediatus, and as they were part of his means of income, he was in no position to raise questions as to what his customers would do with what they purchased. His was one of the many businesses in Diagon Alley staying neutral during the war.

Having received Dumbledore's doubtful approval and Snape's begrudging consent to Remus and Harry's vehement demands, Harry had started a much more rigorous education in Dark Arts theory and practice. He studied under both Snape and Lupin in the Dark Arts during the evenings, and their teaching methods, though remarkably different, worked at almost the same success rate.

The basis of much of the training he received in the Dark Arts from Snape focused on manipulation, both of thoughts and actions, and Occlumency factored into it more than he could ever have imagined. Everything Snape taught him about curses was through the angle of how to hide the very casting of the spell.

"Misdirection, Potter, if you can get that through your thick skull. Subterfuge! Anyone with an ounce of sense would not stand docile and allow you to curse them! If you persist in this arrogance, you will eventually end up just as your father, and I will deny ever teaching you, to spare myself the shame of your failure."

Harry again tried to clear his face of anger. They had been working on this for months, and Snape refused to let him try any actual spells until Harry could control his emotions to Snape's satisfaction.

Unfortunately, keeping stronger emotions from showing in either his expression or his mind was an incredibly difficult endeavor around Snape, and they both knew it. Snape took sadistically gleeful joy in using Harry's struggles to belittle him, sprinkling the verbal abuse only occasionally with suggestions as to how to improve. Harry knew that if he managed to successfully shield his true emotions and throw false ones out at a level enough to deceive Snape, he would be able to do so with anybody. With that as impetus, ignoring Snape's jibes became easier.

Once he was able to hide his reactions behind a blank face, Snape set him to work on generating false emotions. To test him on his 'progress,' Snape took the opportunity to try his best and piss Harry off, telling him to generate amusement or joy instead of whatever he was truly feeling. Snape was surprised at how quickly Harry picked this technique up. Harry was just glad he had progressed enough at Occlumency so that Snape could not see precisely what he was imagining to generate these feelings of amusement.

All this training had been to teach Harry control over his emotions, and how to summon and direct them quickly and appropriately. Dark Arts required precise control over the emotions used to cast a curse.

Looking back Harry could see why all this training had been necessary. Subtlety in both his emotions and actions was key, and directness was nothing but a hindrance. Very often in Dark Magic, a spell was effective only if the target was unaware of the spell being cast.

For once he regretted that he had not allowed the Sorting Hat to place him in Slytherin. He knew this must have been hammered into them from first year on.

Remus, on the other hand, had encouraged him to do the opposite, and that approach did work better for the defensive side of his Dark Arts training. Often a shield spell required nothing more than sheer, stubborn thick-headedness to maintain it, and Remus was quite good at teaching that. He was a Gryffindor, after all, as his actions regarding Harry that summer had made clear.

Harry had not been allowed to return to Grimmauld Place at all, despite his initial disbelieving protestations. Dumbledore had come to Privet Drive in person, just a day into the summer holidays, to deliver the news. Apparently, the blood protections set in place around Privet Drive prevented Voldemort from reaching Harry mentally, and Dumbledore regretfully told Harry that he was not proficient enough in Occlumency to risk leaving the Dursleys.

By the time Dumbledore had left, Harry had understood the reasons why he was not allowed to leave. He may not have liked them one bit, but he understood them. The threat of Voldemort controlling his thoughts or actions in Grimmauld Place while friends surrounded him left him horrified. Snape had gone back to his espionage activities full-time and so was not available to continue his lessons in Occlumency, and Dumbledore had to organize a war. For once Harry recognized that there were greater things to worry about than his summer.

Heartsick and guilty at Sirius's death, his first weeks back at Privet Drive were spent completing as many chores as possible during the day and studying at night.

The Dursleys had made an effort to leave Harry be, at first, since the Order had threatened them at the station. But long-ingrained habits were difficult to overcome, and after a few days of uneasily avoiding him, Petunia had mindlessly snapped at him to weed the flowerbed. She had only realized what she had said as he was already moving to the door, but he had followed her order without question. Things quickly returned to normal after that. The demands might have been phrased a bit more politely, so she could justify her actions if they were called into question, but they were still orders, and Harry still completed them as if required to do so.

He had focused on the mindless tasks to try to avoid thinking of Sirius, and his plan worked fairly well for just over a week. At the end of each day, he had fallen into bed in exhaustion, and slept without being interrupted by dreams of Voldemort for the first time in a year. Those nights were the best sleep he had got in months.

But after the first week and a half of putting magic out of his mind, he had been firmly confronted with it and all of his unwanted memories by Remus's arrival.

He had forgotten to owl the Order as he had promised, so they sent Remus to make sure he was all right.

Remus had followed him upstairs to his room and absolutely refused to leave, his Gryffindor stubbornness coming into play, until he had received Harry's word that he would write. He had implacably wrung from Harry his reasons for not writing, and had sympathized with his longing to forget, but had refused to allow him to do so. Remus understood Harry's need to get away from it all, comparing it to his reaction after James and Lily's deaths.

He had promised to let the others know Harry did not want them to write, and his one condition had been that Harry write to him so that the Order would know he was safe. Harry had not wanted even that, but Remus had unashamedly used the memory of Sirius to make Harry agree. Sirius would want Remus to look after Harry, he had said, and Harry hadn't had the heart to refuse.

As Harry walked Remus down the hall to the front door, they passed the opening to the living room. He glanced in at the blaring noise to see the Dursley's focused on the TV, determinedly refusing to even glance in his direction. Petunia glared straight ahead with pursed lips.

They continued to the door, and Harry followed Remus out, pulling it shut behind him. Awkward goodbyes hung in the silence, unsaid but heard in anticipation. Harry looked into Remus's face, and inhaled deeply, opening his mouth to speak. Remus interrupted before he could get a word out.

"You know you could talk to me about anything, if you ever wanted," he said hesitantly, hand hovering over Harry's shoulder as if afraid to land.

"I...I would never mind, nor judge, anything you felt like telling me. These years have been lonely- for the both of us, I feel. You must promise me you'll write. I think we both need it."

Remus's hand rested on Harry's shoulder for a brief moment, then slowly fell to his side. He looked at a loss for words after his uncharacteristic openness.

Harry was left strangely moved by Remus's solemnly earnest words, and looked down for a moment in silence. He cleared his throat and raised his head again as he grasped for the doorknob behind him.

"I...of course I'll write. Once a week, I promise." Turning the doorknob, he added:

"Goodbye, Professor Lupin."

"Call me Remus if you can, Harry. I'm not your professor any longer."

"Goodbye then, sir...Remus."

"Goodbye, Harry" was said quietly as Harry stepped into the house, and Remus turned to walk down the drive.

Harry softly closed the door, leaned back against the solid wood and closed his eyes.

During the first few weeks after Remus's visit the letters had been brief: I'm alive, I haven't dreamed, goodbye. But in response to each letter Remus had persistently sent a politely worded missive, gently inviting Harry to say or ask anything, or even reflect on the inanities of the week, and gradually the letters had grown longer. Exchanged details of homework completed and articles on Dark Arts read had slowly given way to reminiscing about happier times, then to memories of Sirius, and eventually to shared feelings of bitterness and regret.

In his grief and anger, Remus had seemed to forget he was commiserating with a fifteen-year-old boy, albeit one who shared his feelings. At times he had spoken candidly of his need for revenge, mentioning how he felt that the werewolf influenced the intensity of the emotion. They had fallen into discussions of Remus's dual nature, and how Sirius had always seemed to understand. Sirius had compared it to his family's darkness, and Remus had written that one of his dearest memories was of Sirius casually mentioning that he preferred Remus's dark side to his family's any day.

Harry could only agree with Remus's need for revenge, comparing it to his desire to make Snape and Bellatrix pay, and had slowly opened up with his own feelings about that night in the Department of Mysteries. Remus hadn't known all the details, and Harry had found himself painfully explaining it all.

In the midst of his explanations of that night's events, he had ashamedly confessed to what he had attempted to do to Bellatrix Lestrange, expecting Remus to condemn his use of the Unforgivable. Instead he had received only understanding. As Remus had written in one of his letters, how could he disapprove of Harry's actions when he would have done the same? While Remus did not say Harry's actions were right, he did say they were both human and understandable, and he left Harry unable to hold on to his guilt.

Their letters over Snape's involvement and degree of guilt had been a bit more argumentative. Snape was certainly guilty of wilful neglect in both their eyes, but while Harry believed him as guilty as Bellatrix in contributing to Sirius's death, Remus's view was more restrained. He believed that Snape was wrong for holding on to a juvenile grudge for far too long out of pettiness and spite, but at the same time he had expressed his understanding of some of the reasons and feelings behind Snape's actions.

Harry had been outraged by Remus's defence of a person he saw as unredeemable, and Remus had been forced to explain. He had spoken candidly of the Marauders' feud with Snape, their constantly exchanging taunts and attempting to humiliate him. Snape's long career as a spy had also been discussed, the lack of acknowledgement and unrewarding nature of his efforts. In spite of all that, though, Remus had confessed that he was still puzzled as to why Snape had so precipitously cut off Harry's Occlumency lessons, and asked Harry if he had done anything to provoke Snape to the unreasonably foolish actions he had taken.

When Harry had confessed to viewing the memory in Snape's Pensieve, Remus had understood Snape's reasons, and was at first shocked at Harry's presumption. He had explained precisely how private a Pensieve was considered in the wizarding world, and that what Harry had done was essentially similar to raping Snapes most private memories. But then his shock had given way to understanding, and he had qualified his criticism by stating that there was no way for Harry to have known this, after being raised as a Muggle. Harry had protested that Snape had done precisely the same with his repeated mental attacks during the Occlumency lessons, deliberately seeking out Harry's worst memories to parade in front of him and mock.

They had eventually come to an agreement. Remus had admitted that Snape's actions disgusted him also, but that you could expect nothing else from Snape, and Harry would have to learn to tolerate them. He still had too much to learn from Snape to try and avoid him out of a grudge, however justified it might be. He had told Harry, only half-jokingly, that he would just have to endure it for now, and if Snape survived the war they could kill him then.

Harry had accepted that, and determinedly agreed to settle back into Occlumency lessons with Snape when he returned to Hogwarts. He had also mentioned how unprepared he felt for the war he knew was going to come to him, and said that the extra lessons with Dumbledore's Army just would not be enough. Remus had confided that he would be returning to Hogwarts that year to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, and mentioned the possibility of providing Harry with extra training in their free time.

They had discussed the Unforgivable he had tried to cast, and Harry had expressed his mix of happiness and regret that he had not succeeded. He had almost been shocked that he hadn't had more of an effect on Bellatrix with the curse, given the amount of rage he had had backing it. At the moment of casting he hadn't given a thought to what he was doing; all he had wanted was for her to hurt.

Remus had explained that, considering his age, it would have been remarkable had he successfully caused Bellatrix to writhe; that she flinched back in pain at all was in itself notable. Most wizards his age could not have caused a twinge in a rat.

His ability to want to cause another pain intensely enough to achieve that level of success at the Cruciatus curse at such a young age was quite remarkable, really. Or at least that's what Snape had said.

Or rather, that was what Snape would have said, had it been a different student. Or maybe he only would have allowed himself to think it, but the fact that he chose not to say so out loud was irrelevant, really. After months of the resumed Occlumency training, Harry knew exactly what Snape thought of both him and his potential, or lack thereof in most cases. Multiple brushes with another's mind had left neither of them in any doubt about the other's opinion of them, and as the lessons had been only between the two of them in the beginning, they both had ended up learning a great deal more about each other than they had ever wanted.

Once the first few months had passed, of course, Harry had slowly become proficient enough at Occlumency to shield his casual and random thoughts from observation. But in order to learn how to do that, Snape had needed to lower his shielding so that Harry could observe the process of putting it back up.

Until they were certain he could retain mental blocks at full strength against Snape's attacks, Dumbledore had insisted on imposing his own layers of shields on Harry's mind. Those, combined with potions in the evenings and protective wards on Gryffindor Tower, effectively blocked out any attempt Voldemort might have made to penetrate his defences.

Over the months of Occlumency and Dark Arts training, Harry had slowly become accustomed to the subterfuge that Snape insisted was as necessary as air in both subjects. As he had grown in proficiency the protections set in place around him were cautiously lowered one by one, until at the beginning of the Christmas holidays only Dumbledore's shield remained.

Both Ron and Hermione had decided to visit family over the holidays, and his teachers had seized the rare opportunity of an almost-empty school as the perfect chance to begin Harry's practical lessons on the Unforgivables. These were the largest test of just how well his understanding of dark spellwork was coming along.

The Imperius curse had been the first they taught and the most easily mastered. Out of the three Unforgivables, it was the one Harry felt the most confident with. It was almost too easy for him, and he had tried summoning up worry at how good it felt to have total control over another's actions.

Next had been Avada Kedavra with its flash of brilliant green, the only visible curse of the three. In the lessons they worked their way up from bugs to rats, and when he had succeeded with both they had left it at that. The next logical step would have been casting on cats or dogs, and they didn't want Harry's nerve to break at any possible imagined familiarity. They hadn't been surprised when he'd had no trouble with the rat.

The real reason for these lessons had been familiarizing him to the feelings required to use the Dark Arts and the type of magic needed to fuel them, so that when he needed to use a curse later on it would be familiar. Too many people had died on battlefields because of misplaced pride in the purity of their magic, and his teachers did not want Harry to do the same. It did not matter to them if he was tarnished, and it would not matter to the Ministry as long as Voldemort was defeated.

They saved the Cruciatus curse for last, and wisely, as it ended up being the one Harry had the most trouble with. Both the Imperius curse and Avada Kedavra he could justify to himself as necessary in a war, but he just couldn't see a reason to curse someone for the specific purpose of causing them unimaginable agony. Because he could not muster up the intent, the spell failed. Attempting to cast it with Remus as the victim did not help matters, but, as a werewolf, he would hold up better than Snape, who had already been exposed to the curse more than was wise. They had ruled out casting on animals, because even though it would have been easier, it was nothing like casting on a person. The Cruciatus curse had to be maintained, unlike Avada Kedavra, which required only a single wand movement.

After two days of trying and failing, Snape had had enough.

"Mr. Potter, step outside for a moment with me."

He strode out of the classroom without looking to see if Harry was following. Harry glanced in frustration at Remus, who shrugged. Harry followed Snape into the hall, putting the wand down as he walked past the front desk.

Once he was outside the classroom, Snape closed the door behind them. Then he very coldly and with terrible precision, proceeded to rip Harry's emotions to shreds.

"You are not going to waste the extra training that I have so generously provided to you out of my own free time, because you cannot muster up the nerve to soil your precious Gryffindor hands with this curse. Use. Your. Training. Revenge is the key to this, and I know you harbor the necessary emotions, despite the world's misguided belief in your nobility. You must simply summon them up and focus them correctly, as you have been trained to do. Consider this a test, in more ways than one, of your progress this year. Surely you have absorbed enough to manage this little feat."

He paused gleefully, expecting some reaction, but Harry said nothing, just focused on the floor.

"Just think of those relatives of yours, Potter, and how vilely you feel they have treated you. Or perhaps how that reporter and your classmates have slandered you at times. Possibly Pettigrew? You did not seem to have any trouble raising anger towards him before...If all else fails, I'm certain you could just focus on your beloved godfather."

With that, Harry pivoted and re-entered the classroom, snatching up the wand as he passed the front desk. He came to a halt in front of Remus, who looked at him in expectation.

Harry concentrated on Sirius, and Bellatrix and the Dursleys, and on Rita Skeeter and Cedric and Pettigrew and his parents, but the thought that crossed his mind as the successful Crucio slipped from his lips was of Remus's promise for after the war.

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