The Crux of the Matter

Author’s Note: A few things on the agenda -- firstly, this chapter contains one image of rather nasty violence and is thus rated a hard PG-13. If you’re squeamish, proceed with care.

Also, for those reviewers who were wondering, Volshebnik is Russian for “magician.” I wish I’d been playing on the Bolsheviks, that’s certainly a lot more interesting -- though Volshebnik has been living in his cave since the late 19th century, and if he knew about the Russian Revolution, I doubt he’d approve! Volshebnik also happens to be the name of an early Nabokov novel; in fact, the plot is basically what eventually became Lolita -- not that that should give you any ideas about the content of this fic, eep!

Thank yous go to PirateQueen for the wise advice, hollywood for her help with Russian cuisine, and to Frivolous Pink for always asking for more.

Thanks for reading and enjoy!

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Chapter 4: The Pupil in the Dark

It took Harry a moment to recover enough to follow the line of golems. They marched down the hallway, Ron and Hermione surreptitiously shooting Harry nervous looks, which he stonily returned. Volshebnik was following them, and Harry could almost feel the old wizard’s eyes boring into the back of his head. He felt so tense it was almost painful; he was ready at any moment for Volshebnik to test him with another curse.

The golems rounded the corner and ushered them into a towering room shaped like an inverted cone, circular at the bottom but coming to a point two hundred feet above their heads. A massive fireplace was set into the far wall, and bluish flames crackled in its hearth. In the center of this hall was a long wooden table with one stone seat at its head.

Volshebnik swept in front of them, eagerly observing their awestruck expressions. “My home,” he said. “Rather grand, no? But for me, I assure you, it is just big enough. Why don’t you sit down?”

He waved his wand, which looked like it might be made of ivory, and the ground under the table began to move, lurching up and reforming itself into three lumpy chairs. Harry, Ron, and Hermione reluctantly sat down, and were very surprised to find their seats quite comfortable.

Volshebnik elegantly conducted the golems into a side chamber with his wand. “We are eating holodetz.” He smiled at Harry’s blank look. “A Russian dish, Mr. Malfoy. Very traditional. My wife used to make it for me, many years ago when she was still living. You shall like it.” His tone sounded almost like an order.

Holodetz turned out to be a boiled herring with its head still attached, encased in what looked alarmingly like yellowish Jell-O. Harry’s portion wobbled on his plate as if the fish was still struggling to free itself.

Volshebnik took up his fork, scooped up a lump of Jell-O and stared around at all three of them, a look of great anticipation on his face. Hermione picked her fork up politely, but Ron, for probably the very first time in his life, looked reluctant to eat.

Harry took a bite of herring Jell-O, and only by pretending to himself that it was treacle tart was he able to take another. Volshebnik looked highly pleased, but there was no way of telling whether this was because he thought Harry liked his dinner, or because he was amused that Harry didn’t.

They ate silently, which felt very strange, but Harry thought this must be exactly what Volshebnik intended. Without conversation he could stare unapologetically at all three of his guests, as if trying with his eyes to catalogue everything about them. He seemed to do this more frequently with Harry than the others.

Finally Harry’s plate was mercifully free of holodetz. He decided it was time to break the silence.

“That is remarkable magic,” he said, gesturing at the golem who was taking his empty plate away.

Volshebnik smiled. “Golems,” he said. “It took me many years to perfect the spells that animate them. But my efforts were rewarded for they are immeasurably useful to me. They built this place, you see. And as you witnessed in the hall, they are quite effective against intruders.”

“Do you have many intruders?” Harry asked.

“Not as many as I would like,” Volshebnik said lightly. “For what is the point of having a home like this if you don’t have visitors to offer you compliments? I jest, of course. To be honest, I have very little interest in the world outside my doors. I used to be more involved, as I’m sure you know. But being too frequently among other people clouded my judgement. Now I remain here, away from all that.”

This was exactly as Harry had hoped. “You don’t know anything about what’s going on in the world?” he asked, just to be sure.

Volshebnik shook his head. “Nor am I interested to know. But don’t let that stop you from telling me about yourselves. I may be unconcerned with world affairs, but I have always liked young people with good, unsullied minds. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, that wonderfully strong Shield Charm of yours, how long have you been casting it?”

Harry thought about this. “I learned it when I was fourteen.” And then, on a sudden whim, he added, “For the Tri-Wizard Tournament.” He watched Volshebnik’s face for interest, recognition, surprise -- any reaction that might reveal the old wizard as a man better versed in world affairs than he claimed to be.

But Volshebnik merely looked a little bored. “Are they still going on with that nonsense? I have never known a fierce competition to foster international wizarding relations. You’d better have won.”

“Yes, I did,” said Harry, forcing himself not to think about exactly how his victory had come about.

“I congratulate you, “ said Volshebnik. “And you seem rather modest about it, which I find very refreshing. Have you completed your education? You would have gone to Hogwarts, I suppose?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, “we’ve just finished.” He felt it wouldn’t be impressive to say that he had not completed his final year.

“I was a teacher once, you know,” said Volshebnik, as he took a sip of wine. “For your rivals at Durmstrang. I cannot say I liked it much. Too many mediocre students clamoring for favors. I preferred to choose my own pupils, only those who could challenge me as much as I challenged them.”

“Are you still teaching?” asked Harry, watching Volshebnik closely.

Volshebnik smiled. “Mr. Malfoy, who would I be teaching up here in the wilderness? The golems are hardly interesting students.”

“I’ve heard,” Harry began, choosing his words very carefully, “that if someone who wants you to teach them comes up here, you’ll do it.”

Volshebnik’s smile grew wider. “I wonder where you heard such a thing.”

Harry couldn’t very well say that he had heard Volshebnik’s name during a painful stroll down his old student’s memory lane. Trying to buy himself time, Harry chanced a glance at his friends: Hermione’s eyes widened in warning and Ron tried to conceal his nervous gulp. Harry looked back at Volshebnik.

“I have my ear to the ground,” he said, inventing fast. “You haven’t been entirely forgotten by the outside world. Your name still comes up...in certain circles.”

Both Volshebnik’s eyebrows were now raised. “And you think that I would simply consent to instruct anyone who appears on my doorstep?”

“Sir,” Harry replied, wondering just how impertinent he ought to be, “it’s not exactly easy to appear on your doorstep.”

Volshebnik leaned forward with his elbows on the table, regarding Harry with the very amiable, but guarded expression that seemed to be his speciality. “Mr. Malfoy, are you trying to tell me that after attending Hogwarts School, which at least in my time was one of the very best wizarding institutions in the world, you still require further instruction?”

Harry returned Volshebnik’s stare. “There are things they won’t teach at Hogwarts. Things I’d like to know.”

For a moment, Volshebnik simply stared at him. Then he laughed, a heavy, almost wild laugh that echoed spectacularly throughout the cavern. Hermione cringed slightly, edging back in her chair.

“Oh, I do enjoy young people!” Volshebnik cried. “You all sound so eerily alike! How well I remember the lure of forbidden knowledge, kept just out of my reach! It used to torment me when I was your age. But now I have explored the very limits of what we wizards can do, and there are few mysteries left to me. The Dark Arts, as some call them, are for me no longer dark at all. But to you, having had nothing but a glimpse, they must seem quite impenetrable.”

Harry’s heart hammered away at his ribs. “Will you teach me then?”

Volshebnik’s smile faded slowly, leaving his face oddly unreadable, almost masklike.

“Tell me, Mr. Malfoy,” he said, shifting his weight, “if I were reluctant to do as you ask, how would you force me?”

Harry’s jaw dropped slightly under the weight of this extremely odd question. “F-force you?”

Volshebnik nodded. “You want something from me. I want to know how you plan to take it.”

“Well --” stammered Harry, completely thrown, “I was sort of hoping -- I mean -- that if I asked nicely -- ”

Volshebnik snapped his arm down loudly on the table and Harry could not prevent himself from flinching. “You Englishmen and your manners...Hogwarts ingrained them upon you, I’m sure. Now is the time to throw them off. Convince me to do your will.”

Harry frowned. “With magic?”

Volshebnik merely stared at him. Harry did not know whether to take this for a yes.

“I’d -- I’d -- ”(Volshebnik raised his eyebrows expectantly) “I’d threaten you.”

“Oh, you would? How?”

“Erm... I’d keep you talking to distract you, and then my friends would get their wands out and -- ”

“You think your friends can overpower me?” interrupted Volshebnik.

“I -- ” In truth Harry thought this a long shot. “No, they would be a second distraction. Once you transferred your attention to them, I would disarm you.”

“Ah,” said Volshebnik, nodding. “You would take my wand. I see. What then?”

“If you still refused to teach me?” Harry asked. He thought he understood at last that this was another of Volshebnik’s tests, and that if he were to impress the old man, he would have to play along. And playing along meant playing dirty.

Harry steeled himself. “I suppose, sir, that I would have to torture you.”

Volshebnik’s smile slowly spread over his face. It was almost threatening. “I suppose you would. So you mean to use the Cruciatus? Have you ever cast it?”

“Yes,” said Harry grimly.

Volshebnik’s eyes bored into his. “Well, Mr. Malfoy, that is a very bold plan for a boy who a moment ago thought ‘asking nicely’ would suffice. I see several flaws. If you really did manage to disarm me -- and frankly I find such an outcome doubtful -- then the Cruciatus Curse would be unlikely to convince me to serve as your instructor. The pain of that curse is so overwhelming that I could hardly concentrate upon your proposal. I would have no room for conscious thought at all. In persuasive torture, you need your victim to be always aware of you and what you want. The pain must be secondary. That is why the dramatic Cruciatus would fail you in this instance.”

“Then what do I do?”

“Something...subtler,” said Volshebnik. He leaned forward. “Take out your wand.”

For a moment, Harry did not understand. He thought Volshebnik was still speaking hypothetically; he thought they were only talking things through. But the old wizard’s mouth was firmly set, his features hardened into a stern challenge. Now, for the first time, Volshebnik expected action.

A weighty pounding immediately started up in Harry’s ears. “No -- you said -- only if you needed convincing -- ”

“Yes,” said Volshebnik, “and indeed I need convincing. You see, Mr. Malfoy, I find myself quite reluctant to take you on as my pupil. You say you want to harness the powers that Hogwarts has denied you, and yet here you are, faltering when faced with the opportunity. Why should I teach you if you do not care to learn?”

“I want to learn,“ Harry said firmly, and he removed his wand from his pocket.

Volshebnik settled back into his chair, and calmly folded his arms across his chest. “Then point your wand at me.”

Harry complied. His hand was steady. He tried to ignore the terrified stares of Ron and Hermione.

“The incantation is Tormendenta. Do not speak it aloud. Run it through your mind unceasingly, do you understand? Tormendenta. Tormendenta.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. He had yet to master nonverbal spellwork.

Volshebnik’s voice now acquired a note of cold annoyance. “Tormendenta. Come, Mr. Malfoy. Convince me to instruct you. I am waiting.” And he continued to repeat “Tormendenta,” faster and ever more breathless. The effect was deeply unsettling.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. Volshebnik taught Voldemort, he reminded himself. He knows all sorts of things about him, about his Horcruxes, and you have to do whatever it takes to make him trust you.

“Tormendenta, Tormendenta, Tormendenta...” intoned Volshebnik, his eyes gleaming.

Harry took a long, slow breath and focused on what he needed to do. Tormendenta. He thought of the Russian Aurors who had paid Volshebnik a visit only to have their eyes and tongues removed. Tormendenta. He thought of Voldemort glaring at him from under a dark hood at the Ministry of Magic. Tormendenta. He thought of Dumbledore plunging over the ramparts, of Snape’s face, twisted with malice, the blazing fire from Hagrid’s cabin burning in his eyes... Tormendenta.

It had no effect. Volshebnik tapped his fingers on the elbows of his crossed arms, a light smile playing on his face.

“I remain unconvinced,” he said, and the smile lengthened. “No, don’t lower your wand, keep at it! Tormendenta! You have excellent instincts, Mr. Malfoy. You have the ability to perform this spell with ease. Why do you stop yourself? Come, focus on what it is you want from me. Tormendenta!”

Harry repeated the spell in his head, until even his inner voice was hoarse and spluttering, and Volshebnik’s smile had long since disappeared.

“Why hold back?” the old wizard finally asked. “You came all this way, it seems such a shame to spoil your chances just because you have scruples against torturing strangers. I find it very strange, you did not strike me as the moral sort when you first arrived. After all, one of the first things out of your mouth was a lie.”

The Tormendenta mantra immediately ground to a halt in Harry’s mind. “What do you -- “

“Your name,” whispered Volshebnik. “You lied about that quite instantly, another native talent, I suppose. But lying will not help you here, boy. Have you heard of a branch of magic called Legilimency?”

At this, Hermione let out an unhelpful little gasp of horror. Harry’s throat was exceedingly dry as he replied, “Yes, sir, I have.”

Again the eyebrows climbed the high slope of Volshebnik’s brow. “Oh? Hogwarts must not be quite so bad about dispensing obscure information after all. Then you must know of Occlumency too, I would wager, but you clearly do not know it.”

Harry wanted to kick himself for being so intent on staring Volshebnik down during dinner. All that eye contact, how could he be so stupid? A wild panic rose up in him, and with it came Tormendenta, which silently started up again in Harry’s head, like some mad and desperate prayer.

“Take some advice, boy,” Volshebnik continued. “Never pick for yourself a pseudonym that actually belongs to someone you despise. Whenever I have called you Mr. Malfoy tonight, your disdain for this other boy has shown itself clearly in your eyes.”

‘Oh,” said Harry. “Next time then.” His voice was shaking, but underneath it Harry could hear a voice like steel, saying, “Tormendenta, Tormendenta, Tormendenta...”

“This is next time. And if you choose to lie again, it shall be the last of our little introductions. Now tell me your n-- ”

Volshebnik’s torso suddenly snapped forward, so the the edge of the table dug into his ribs. Hermione and Ron both jumped with shock. With one hand, Volshebnik gripped the underside of his jaw as if it pained him. But his eyes remained on Harry, and after a moment, he was able to speak.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

Tormendenta, Tormendenta, Tormendenta...

“No,” said Harry, slowly rising from his chair.

Volshebnik gasped. His fingers tightened around his jaw. “Your name,” he repeated, his voice shuddering.

Ron gaped open-mouthed at Harry, and Hermione shook her head over and over, her shaking hands steepled over her mouth and nose.

Tormendenta, Tormendenta, Tormendenta...

“Absolutely not,” said Harry.

The dark line between Volshebnik’s lips reddened, and a narrow trickle of blood worked its way out of his mouth. “Tell me the truth,” he gasped.

“The truth?” Harry asked. He could hear his heart thundering in his ears, and every pulse sounded like a plea for him to stop. He was surprised how calm and steady his voice sounded as he said, “All right. The truth is that I didn’t come here to be your student. I don’t give a damn about learning the Dark Arts, from you or anyone else. I’m not a Dark wizard.”

“Is that...a fact?” Volshebnik’s lips were shaking with pain, but his eyes were quite clear and cold.

“Yes, that’s a fact. I came here for only one reason.”

“Pray...tell.” Blood was sliding down Volshebnik’s chin. Ron looked very green.

“Tell me everything you know about Horcruxes, and I’ll lift this curse,” Harry said, staring Volshebnik down.

Volshebnik slowly raised his eyebrows. “Horcruxes?”

“You heard me.”

Volshebnik made an odd sound at this, a gagging chuckle. “Not a Dark wizard, eh? Of that...you’ve not convinced me.”

Harry ignored this. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Volshebnik’s eyes glittered. “Your name...first.”

Harry stared into Volshebnik’s pale eyes, and suddenly his name slipped up his throat and on to his tongue. “Harry Potter.”

Volshebnik blinked at him slowly, no sign of recognition on his trembling face. “A...fine...English...name!” he croaked. And then he smiled.

This enormous, gut-choking smile bared every one of Volshebnik’s blunt white teeth, which were all rotating in slow pained circles inside his mouth, whipping up frothy blood that dribbled over his lips. Harry looked into that horrible mouth, saw the awful undulation of the roots spinning beneath Volshebnik’s gums, and instantly the voice inside Harry’s head that had been muttering the Tormendenta Curse dried up and died.

Volshebnik’s teeth stopped their twisting. He registered neither relief nor surprise at this. He simply gave his wand a lazy flick and the blood rushed back up his chin, into his mouth, and actually slid into the grooves between teeth and gums. He gave the sleeves of his white robes one decisive shake; they were spotless again.

Harry’s wand made a clatter on the rocky floor. He was not aware of having dropped it. He felt terribly ill. He could not believe he had been able to cast that curse; he could not connect himself, his magic, with that disgusting image of Volshebnik’s teeth spinning in place.

He could feel Ron and Hermione both staring at him, but he could not look at them.

Volshebnik, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the turn events had taken. He smacked his lips once, almost mockingly, and settled back into his chair.

“Harry Potter,” he said. “Yes, a very good name. Solid, unassuming. Had you told me that the first time, I imagine I would have warmed to you instantly.” He gazed around the table at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were all still standing, frozen in their horror and shock. “Sit down!” cried Volshebnik. “We’ve yet to have dessert!”

The golems re-entered the chamber, bearing brick-like pieces of cake with blood-red filling. Harry could not bare to even look at his. He sat in his chair, his sweating hands compulsively kneading his wand.

“Well done, Mr. Potter,” said Volshebnik, who once again was having trouble speaking, except now the cause was a mouth full of cake. “A very convincing performance, truly.”

“I -- I didn’t mean -- I’m sorry --” gasped Harry, who felt an enormous pressure building inside him that a thousand apologies could not ease.

Volshebnik laughed loudly at this, pounding at the table in his amusement. “Of course you meant it! What an intriguing paradox you present, Mr. Potter. You insist so vehemently that you are not a Dark wizard, and yet you throw around Dark curses as though they were second nature! I have never had such interesting results from this exercise! Rather ironic, don’t you think, that the torturer can reveal so much about himself and the tortured nothing at all?”

“I am not a Dark wizard,” Harry quietly repeated. Compounding his feelings of horror and shame was a growing sense of dread that he had revealed far too much information to a man with completely unknown allegiances.

Volshebnik smiled at him, almost warmly. “As you’ve said. But in coming here, you risk life and limb in pursuit of one of the Darkest of arts. Horcruxes are no child’s play. I should know. I have made one. It is difficult magic, and not just anyone can perform it successfully. The human soul...”

At this Volshebnik’s voice acquired a note of heated awe as he continued, “It is one of the only remaining mysteries left for me in this world. Studying Horcruxes has helped me to see the soul for what it really is: a fire hotter than all other flames, and far more easily snuffed. You can keep it in your body and stoke it until it glows, or you can kindle it elsewhere, and protect it from the elements as best you can. But be warned, boy. Permanently splitting your soul...it may give you everlasting life, but that life will continue until you regret what you have done, what you have lost. I have tried to reverse the process, but I now know that it is impossible.”

He paused at this, and his eyes -- which had become unfocused in his fervor, as if he had somehow hypnotized himself -- now snapped back into cool clarity, and bored into Harry’s face.

“Take some advice, Mr. Potter. You are young and you look healthy enough to me. In fact, you strike me as one of those boys who has that sometimes unfortunate propensity to think himself immortal, when in fact he is quite exposed to death and danger. You do not need a Horcrux.”

“I never said I did,” Harry quickly replied, eager not to give anything else away.

“Then why are you asking?”

“That’s my business.”

“He already knows how to make a Horcrux,” said Hermione, speaking for the first time. Harry stared at her; he had almost forgotten she and Ron were in the room.

Hermione’s voice was very high and nervous. “He knows about the m-murder, and the Spell of Division, and the Vessel Binding, and all that.”

Volshebnik’s surprise was even greater than Harry’s. He turned to look at her, his eyebrows reaching their greatest height.

Hermione looked terrified to have his full attention; her voice now increased in pitch and speed. “He just needs to know how best to protect a Horcrux, how to hide it where no one can find it. Anything you can tell us, any advice you could give, we would really appreciate.”

Volshebnik tipped his head, his eyes on hers. There was something shrewd and appraising in his gaze.

Hermione did not seem to know what to make of Volshebnik’s silence. “Um...please?” she finished, biting her lip.

Harry felt a rush of gratitude warm him from within. He was glad Hermione had dropped the minion pretense and finally put a hand in to help. She had asked just the right question for Volshebnik to give them information about Voldemort’s hiding spots without Volshebnik being privy to any more damaging clues about Harry’s real purpose and identity.

Volshebnik also seemed impressed with Hermione. “What is your name?” he asked her.

Hermione glanced at Harry for only half a moment before responding honestly.

“Granger,” Volshebnik repeated. “Very good, very good. And Hermione from the Greek? Interesting. An odd combination, but pretty in its way.”

Hermione looked alarmed at the compliment. “Yes...well,” she said, “Can you teach us? About hiding a Horcrux?”

Volshebnik considered her for another long moment, and then his mouth hardened. “Planning to discover my secrets and murder me in my sleep, Miss Granger?”

“What?” gasped Hermione. “Oh, no -- that’s not at all what I meant -- “

But Volshebnik laughed again. “Do not be alarmed! It is an excellent, practical question.” He turned to look at Harry again. “You choose your friends well, another skill not easily learned. And one, I am sorry to say, that has always eluded me.” He gave a small smile at this that wrenched at Harry’s stomach; it was the melancholy smile worn countless times by Dumbledore.

He experienced a second unpleasant wrench when Volshebnik unexpectedly leapt to his feet. “Come!” he cried, with a clap of his hands. “If I am to answer your questions properly, I will need the appropriate tools at hand for demonstration. Follow me!”