The Necromancer Amulet

Chapter Sixteen - A Lesson with Mr Potter

The last days of the Christmas holidays passed by quietly. Realising that she had not planned her classes thoroughly yet, Secessa forlornly buried herself in preparations for the spring term, and her quarters were soon cluttered with piles of scrolls.

She was surprised when, the day before the start of term, she received a summons from the Headmaster. As she ascended the revolving staircase to his office with a slight flutter in her stomach, she realised this was the first time that she had been invited there alone.

"Do come in, Secessa," the Headmaster's voice sounded, soon after her knock on his large, ornamented oak door, and she entered.

Dumbledore's office looked just the way she remembered: it was filled with shiny magical items, and cosy and friendly. His pet phoenix watched her with golden eyes, and she could hear occasional snores from the portraits that hung along the walls. The fire crackled comfortingly and shed a golden light upon the old Headmaster where he sat at his desk, tips of his long fingers together.

"You called?" she asked hesitantly, sitting herself down in a chintz-covered chair in front of him.

The Headmaster smiled at her. "I am pleased to see that you are fully recovered from your ordeal. I hope your work has not been too taxing so far?"

"Not at all, Headmaster."

He surveyed her with much thought through his half-moon glasses, and she watched him apprehensively.

"And you are still willing to continue the duelling class in addition to your other duties?" he asked gently.

"Of course." Is he assessing my mental health? "Really, there is no need to worry. I am used to heavier workloads than this."

"I am glad to hear it."

Feeling scrutinised, she shifted in her chair.

"Actually," the Headmaster continued, leaning backwards, "I have called you here to discuss the dream-wards you have been using. You mentioned them to us before Christmas, saying they protected your mind from invasion."

"Yes, they did. Well, they protected my dreams, to be precise," she said, sitting up straighter. She was proud of her research into magic related to the Necromancy Era, and the dream-wards had been her most useful discovery. Such wards were not in use anymore, as the discovery of Occlumency had led to a more complete defence against mind invasion.

"In fact," Dumbledore said calmly, "I was wondering if you could pass your knowledge on to a Hogwarts student?"

"Is someone trying to invade the minds of the students?" she asked, taken aback by his words.

"Only one student. Harry Potter."

She stared at him briefly, puzzled.

"Pardon me for asking, but wouldn't it be better to just try to catch the culprit? It has to be someone at the school, probably one of the boys in his dormitory. Anything else is highly improbable."

"I'm afraid this threat comes from the outside. Lord Voldemort, the one you know as the Dark Lord, has managed to form a connection with Harry, and torments him at night."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

Heaving a great sigh, Dumbledore looked down at his hands. "He has found out that I care a great deal for the boy," he said softly. "Since he believes me to be his mortal enemy, he seeks to weaken me in this way, by making me act rashly and without judgement. And believe me, these past months have been hard."

"Has no one taught Mr Potter Occlumency?" she asked in confusion, worried by the Headmaster's sudden display of weakness. "Surely, that must be an even better defence for these sorts of attacks?"

"We have tried, but there have been...setbacks," he replied quietly. "And therefore, I would have him try something else, in parallel to his Occlumency studies."

"I will, of course, help him in any way I can," Secessa said evenly. This seemed to lighten the heart of the Headmaster, for he looked up at her with gratitude in his light-blue eyes.

"That's settled then," he said with a little smile. "I believe he practices Quidditch on Tuesdays and Fridays. Will Thursdays do?"

"Certainly," she replied, wondering why he was so attached to the boy. There is more to this than meets the eye, she thought slowly.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "You can tell him after your N.E.W.T. class on Wednesday."

"I will do so."

"There is one more thing," he said as she rose from her chair, preparing to leave. "No one is to know about these lessons, and hence we must find a suitable excuse for your meetings."

"He is generally late for class," Secessa replied, a bit dryly. "I have not given him detention yet but I could certainly start doing so. And then, after a few weeks, I will find another reason to detain him. Will that do?"

"Yes," said the Headmaster thoughtfully, "I suppose that will have to be our solution."

But he still had a sad look on his face as he said so, and as Secessa rose to leave, his face was solemn.

*

At 4.32 p.m. the following Thursday, a hesitant knock sounded on the door to Secessa's office, and she looked up from her desk expectantly.

"Come in, Mr Potter."

Putting her book on medieval curses (from the Restricted Section of the library) to the side, she watched as the gangly sixteen-year-old with the unruly hair entered. He stopped in the doorway, morose-looking, and obviously not very happy about life in general.

Having spent most of her own adolescence in self-chosen isolation, she had little experience with teenage angst or troubles of the heart, and she had never understood what the fuss was all about. Hence, she surveyed Mr Potter with great curiosity as he met her gaze with a look of frustrated melancholy, wondering what on earth could be the matter with him. Surely, some bad dreams would not be enough drive him into this agitated state?

His eyes quickly darted away from hers, to survey her sparsely decorated office instead, making her pleased that she had changed the horrid flowery drapes to black ones. Anything else really wouldn't do, she thought contentedly, if one were to receive visitors.

"Please have a seat, Mr Potter," she said, as kindly as she could.

He slowly approached her desk, but he did not sit down.

"Er...Professor Laburova, I would like to know how long I'm going to be here today. There's a Quidditch match next month, and...er...I'm supposed to be at an extra practice today."

She looked at him with raised eyebrows; if he really suffered from these dream-invasions, he was displaying an amazing lack of self-preservation skills.

"I believe these lessons have been ordered by the Headmaster, Mr Potter. I am hardly going to disobey his direct order. He did try to avoid the clash with your practices. What time are you meeting your team?"

He looked crestfallen. "Five o'clock, Professor," he mumbled.

"Well, I am sorry, but I cannot release you then," she said shortly. "You will have to be half an hour late."

She nodded at the seat in front of her desk. For some reason, her words seemed to have cheered him up slightly, and he quietly sat down at the edge of the chair, his eyes flickering nervously from her face to the vicious-looking book-pile next to him. The topmost book had a brown-red stain on it, and he stared at it briefly, before looking up at her.

"As I said," Secessa continued, "the Headmaster has ordered me to teach you some warding techniques, to aid your Occlumency practice. I said aid, for the wards only work in mild cases of mind-intrusion, such as manipulated dreams, and against a skilled Legilimens, they might not work at all. I don't expect you to have any trouble with this type of warding, and you should be able to master it quickly enough if you practice hard." This way, I will get rid of you fairly soon, and everybody will be perfectly happy.

His eyes slid away at her words. He is probably completely focused on his game, she thought with annoyance.

"I tutored the famous Viktor Krum personally," she added crisply, and got his attention like she had intended, "and he never had any trouble combining studies and sports. I will expect no less of you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Professor," he said, but his gaze was drifting away again.

"Fine," she snapped. "Wand out, then."

They brought out their wands.

"Let me demonstrate the ward," she said impatiently, and tapped her head with her wand. "Custodimens." A fine silver web briefly flickered before her eyes, and then it was gone. Potter's brow furrowed.

"You cannot actually see a ward, except when it is being cast, unless, of course, you purposefully trace it," she explained to him. "But I am not here to teach you how to Trace. Interpreting the strength of wards is difficult, as their patterns are very subtle. Now you try."

He raised his wand with a dull look on his face, tapped his head and said, "Custodimens." A fine, red thread of light erupted from his wand, but it faded quickly. He seemed to feel a bit ashamed.

"Well, you need to want to ward your dreams, you know," she said irritably. "Focus on a nasty one, think about how much you want to avoid it, and try again."

He tapped his head once more, a bit more determined this time, saying, again, "Custodimens". A tiny red web gleamed briefly around his head, before fading.

Secessa brought out her wand. "Vestiga," she said, pointing at him. A thin wisp of shimmery red meshwork appeared at her words.

"Not strong enough," she said coolly. "Try again."

After having forced him through what seemed to be an endless series of repetitions, she realised that time was almost up.

"We will finish now, but I will give you an exercise to master for next week," she said, and she saw relief mixed with trepidation in his eyes.

"It is an easier ward to cast," she continued calmly, "and it is useful against Trip Jinxes. Please stand up, Mr Potter."

He did as he was told, and she walked around the desk. Pointing at his feet, she said, "Custodipes." A silver web burst from her wand and landed on his feet, gleamed briefly, and was gone.

"I have noticed the Slytherins enjoy casting Trip Jinxes, especially during my Duelling Classes. Perhaps this could be a good incentive for you to practice. Cast the ward as often as you can."

She paused to look at him; he seemed unsure whether to thank her or not, and she smiled inwardly. Let's see if our dear Slytherins can disrupt my classes now, Professor Snape.

"Class dismissed, Mr Potter," she said curtly, and he did not need to be told twice. With a quick glance at her, he picked up is bag and rushed out of the room. Humphing to herself, she sat down again at the desk. The allure of that stupid game completely eluded her. Maybe it has something to do with having three hoops for one quaffle?